On my last night there, I almost called him.
Maybe I wanted closure. Maybe I wanted him to fight for me. To stop me. To prove I hadn’t imagined everything. I dialed his number more than once, my finger hovering as my heart pounded—but I never pressed the button.
Then his message came through.
If you haven’t acknowledged your mistake and apologized to Antonella, there’s nothing left for us to talk about.
I stared at the screen, a hollow laugh tearing out of me. Seven years. Seven years of loyalty, silence, sacrifice—and he still saw me as the one at fault. He never asked for my side. Never questioned his own actions. Never once wondered what he’d broken.
If that was all I was to him, then there truly was nothing left to say.
At dawn, I closed my suitcase and walked out for the final time. As the door shut behind me, something unexpected surged through my chest—relief. Not enough to erase the hurt, but strong enough to remind me I’d survived.
At the airport, while waiting to board, my phone buzzed repeatedly. Birthday notifications. I’d forgotten the date entirely. In past years, Rocco had always been first—lavish surprises, grand gestures meant to remind me I was treasured.
This year, his silence said everything.
The rest of the messages were sincere—friends wishing me luck, strength, prosperity in my upcoming alliance. I replied to each, carefully, then turned my phone face down.
As the plane lifted off, sunrise spilling gold across the horizon, I closed my eyes and made myself a promise.
I would be happy again.
And this time, my happiness wouldn’t be tied to any man. Not Rocco. Not Antonella. Not anyone who thought they had the right to define my worth.
This time, I would build my life with my own hands—by my own rules.
