The Last Thing I Gave Him

On my thirtieth birthday, someone placed a photograph of my husband and another woman among my gifts. Dante Rossetti had his arm around Serena Caruso, the young singer he claimed was only a business investment. Every guest at the Don’s feast watched me, waiting for me to cry, break down, or chase after him like I always had. But this time, I only turned the photograph face down and cut the cake. For three months, Dante had been coming home late for Serena’s performances, Serena’s troubles, and Serena’s future. He said he was protecting the family’s investment. He said she was the next big thing. I believed him until the night I needed him most. When my pregnancy took a dangerous turn, I called Dante for help. He never came. That night, I lost the child we had both once treasured. After that, I went to the Rossetti matriarch and made one request. I wanted my marriage dissolved. Dante thought I would always forgive him. He thought I would always wait for him to come home. He was wrong. I left with nothing but the pieces of my broken life. Only after I disappeared did Dante learn the truth. The child he had promised to protect was gone. The wife who had loved him for five years was gone. And for the first time, Dante Rossetti realized that the one person who would have stayed by his side forever was the one person he had pushed away. Chapter 1 On my thirtieth birthday, the first thing I received was a photograph. In it, Dante's hand rested on Serena's waist. They stood backstage at the private club, close together, the lighting angled in a way that made it look intentional. Someone had placed it among the gift boxes on the table at the entrance. The envelope had no name on it. An hour earlier, he had knelt beside me in the bedroom, pressed his lips to my belly, and whispered to the child inside. He had told me he had business to handle that night and not to wait up. He kissed my forehead before he left. The guests at the feast turned to look at me at the same time, their faces bright with anticipation. The family's steward came over and asked if I wanted him to handle it. I said no. I turned the photograph face down on the table and went to cut the cake. I blew out the candles. Thirty flames, gone in one breath. Then I poured myself a glass of wine and stood by the window, watching the fireworks. From every direction, whispers drifted toward me. They thought I could not hear. "What is wrong with Yvette? Why is she not crying?" "She used to cry until dawn every time. Remember the night she called him forty times?" "I remember. She was standing in the hallway in her nightgown." "And he still did not come home." "Remember what happened three months ago? She followed him to the club and waited outside all night." "And what happened? He said it was all for the family business and went back to doing the same thing the next day." "Maybe she finally understands." "Or maybe she is pretending. She is probably counting down the days until she can leave him." "She would never leave him. Where would she go?" The fireworks burst one after another against the black December sky. I had ordered them weeks ago, back when I still believed the night might hold something worth celebrating. Their light reflected off the glass and caught in my eyes, bright and brief, like most things. I had cried too much before. I was tired of it. After the last guest left, the estate fell quiet. I had just taken off my gown when Elena came in. She walked straight through the door, her cane striking the marble floor, each step sharp and quick. She tried to reach Dante. No one answered. She pulled up the security feed from the private club. On the screen, Dante sat on a couch in the back. Serena stood close to him. He had his legs crossed, relaxed, like he was in his own living room. Elena glanced at it once and turned it off. She took my hands in hers, her grip firm. "Yvette, if you need to cry, cry. You do not have to hold it in." "I am hungry," I said. "The cake is cut. Will you have a piece with me?" She hesitated, but she did not let go. I made her sit down, poured her tea, and told her what I had come to say. Elena raised me. On her deathbed, my mother had called Elena to her side and placed my hand in hers, saying, "Watch over her." Elena was not my grandmother by blood, but she was the only family I had. She taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to hold my head up at a Don's table. She married me to her grandson because she believed I could steady him. I had believed it too. But after five years of marriage, Dante had become someone else. He no longer needed me to pull him back. He started coming home late, started saying "Serena has a performance tonight" like it was the most natural thing in the world. Serena was the singer he had signed, the one he called gifted. He gave her an apartment, gave her access to his private club, put her name in all the places he frequented. I had met her once. She was young and pretty, and the way she looked at him was not the way you look at your boss. "Six months ago, I was ready to leave," I said. "But I found out I was pregnant." Elena's fingers tightened around mine. "He started acting like my husband again. He knelt by the bed. He talked to my belly. I believed him. I stayed. But every time it came to Serena, he went back to the way he was before. Worse." I lifted my eyes. "Nonna, I am thirty years old. I do not want my child to grow up in this. I want the marriage dissolved. But the child will still be your great-grandchild. Rossetti blood. Can you help me?" Elena was quiet for a long time. The fireworks outside had ended. The room was still, the clock the only sound. I thought she would say no. I thought she would say, for the family, for the child, hold on a little longer. But she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her voice was quiet. "Yes. Nonna will take care of it." The last thing she said was, "Though I am Dante's grandmother, in my heart, you are also my granddaughter." When I held her, I smelled the old perfume she always wore. She murmured against my hair, so softly I almost missed it, "You two were so good together. How did it come to this?" I did not know how to answer. Chapter 2 Dante had truly loved me once. He had stayed up with me designing every floor plan for Il Nido, back when he still stayed up, back when he still said "we built this together." On the night Il Nido opened, he stood at the door with my hand in his and said he hoped our love would last as long as the club. The day I told him I was pregnant, his eyes went red, and he transferred every asset he owned into my name, announcing it in front of the entire family. We were the perfect union. Love and loyalty made flesh. Late that night, I went back to my room and found my phone lit up on the nightstand. Dante had sent two photographs. Serena, changing backstage, adjusting her dress in front of a mirror, her face unreadable. Beneath them, a message from him: "Which one do you think looks better? Serena has a big performance coming up, and you have a good eye. Let me know." I stared at those words until the screen went dark. I did not reply. Before, every photograph would have made me cry until morning. But this time, when the darkness swallowed the last pale glow of the screen, I felt something inside me had run out, like the last candle burned down to nothing, smoke and all. Elena told me to give her a week. The dissolution documents would take time to prepare. She had to work around Dante's people, around the eyes watching from inside the family. There was nothing I needed to do but wait. Seven days, and I would be free. The next morning, I woke to find Dante beside me. His hand was on my belly. After a moment, he said, "The baby is moving." He lifted his head and smiled. "He is scratching me." As if in answer, a small movement pressed against his palm, faint but real. Dante was always like this. No matter what happened outside, when he came back to me, he was the same husband. He pulled the blanket up over my shoulders and spoke softly, like he was soothing a child who had been upset. "Do not overthink it. Everything I do, I do for this family. You think I want to spend all my time with those people? I have responsibilities." He even kissed my forehead. When he said "for this family," he sounded sincere. He probably believed it. As long as I did not mention Serena, we could go on like nothing was wrong. But I did not want to do that anymore. "Get up and eat something," Dante said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. His lips were warm. "I will drive you to the clinic." At the table, I sipped a cup of herbal tea. Dante sat across from me, turning his coffee cup in his hands. He laughed suddenly. "I thought you would call me last night. You used to call until I picked up." His tone was light, but there was something underneath it. "So you really do not care anymore?" I did not lift my head. "Is this not what you always wanted? A wife who understands, who makes allowances, who does not create problems for your work?" Dante paused, then reached over and brushed the hair from my face. His voice slowed. "You understand now. That is good. I have more to deal with every day than you see. You just need to remember that you are my wife. The only woman I will ever marry. The mother of my child." I put my cup down. "Let us go." The drive to the clinic was quiet. Dante glanced at me in the rearview mirror several times, but he did not speak. He probably thought I was still upset. I was thirty-two weeks along, and this was the appointment he had promised he would not miss. I used to talk about the baby on these drives. It was the only thing that would make him look up from his phone. Now I did not want to say anything. Just before we arrived, his phone rang. The voice on the other end was urgent, and I caught fragments, "gambling debts," "her mother," "they showed up." Dante's face did not change. "That is her problem," he said. "I am in clinic with my wife." He hung up. He parked in front of the clinic, put his hand on my belly, and softened his voice. "Baby, we are here." I got out, checked in at the front desk, and turned around. The seat next to me was empty. A message appeared on my phone: "Sorry. Serena has a situation with her mother's creditors. I have to handle it. I remember your mother's anniversary. I will be back the day after tomorrow. Do the checkup alone today. I will make it up to you." Chapter 3 I stared at the words and let out a short, quiet laugh. I did all the tests alone. The nurse drew blood without meeting my eyes. Cold gel spread across my belly, the probe pressing down, neither too hard nor too soft. When it was done, I sat in the hallway waiting for the results. Word traveled fast through the family network. I saw a photograph Serena had posted, the restaurant lighting warm and golden, Dante across from her, his gaze fixed on her face with a focus I had not seen him direct at me in months. The caption read: "Some people always know when you need them most." I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron. The hallway was quiet. I placed my hand on my belly and lowered my head. "Baby, if one day Mommy and Daddy separate, will you blame Mommy?" The child inside me shifted, a faint movement, like a reply or just a turn. I did not say anything else. The answer was already there. I went back to the estate alone after the clinic and started going through the holdings under my name. Anything I could settle immediately, I handled right away. Anything that needed more time, I listed clearly and sent to the advisor Elena had quietly arranged for me. The Rossetti family assets were not mine to touch. But Il Nido was different. I had built it with Dante, from the first sketch to the last lamp. I had to take what was mine. Not for myself, but for the child I was carrying. Since I had already decided she would not grow up in the Rossetti family, I had to lay out every step for her myself. Her name, her assets, her future. Even if she did not carry the Rossetti name, she would grow up safe and free. After I finished reviewing the last document, my advisor asked quietly, "For Il Nido, do you want the payout or the operation itself?" I did not answer right away. I walked into the back office and opened Il Nido's ledger again. The familiar numbers and floor plans spread out before me, and my fingers paused. Il Nido, from its design to its construction, from the first performer to every show schedule, had been built during the best years between Dante and me. Countless sleepless nights, countless drawings crumpled and redrawn. Those days had really existed. I thought I had already moved past them, but in that moment, I still hesitated. I walked to the private lounge on the top floor, the room at the end of the hall that only Dante and I had keys to. But before I reached the door, I noticed something different. The display case by the entrance had been moved. Inside that case, there used to be an old brass key. Dante and I had hung it there together on the night Il Nido opened. We had said it would be the symbol of everything we built from nothing. A reminder that this place began with the two of us, a single key to a single room, and nothing else. The case was empty now. The key was gone. In its place stood a framed photograph. Serena on stage, mid-curtsy, her face glowing under the stage lights. Dante in the front row, clapping, his eyes fixed on her, a smile I recognized too well. Beneath the photograph, a small brass plate read: "Serena Caruso · Milestone Performance · Il Nido's First Resident Singer." The key had been there for five years. He had taken it down without telling me. He had replaced it with her picture, as if that moment mattered more than the one we had shared. A messenger arrived a moment later with a note from Dante. "Serena needs a proper space to prepare for her upcoming shows. I'm borrowing the private lounge for now. I had the old display piece put away. Let me know if you want it back." Put away. Borrowing. He had a generous way of borrowing things. And he had a careless way of putting away five years of our history. I closed the ledger and walked out without touching the frame. Then I turned to my advisor and said, "I want the full operation. Every part of it. The performance schedule, the artist contracts, the venue leases. I want all of it." The next two days, I stopped keeping track of Dante. But he was everywhere. Serena's performances at Il Nido filled almost every night. Her name appeared on every new poster, bigger and closer to the front. I never set foot inside, but photographs kept arriving, as if by accident. The latest showed that Dante had put the entire night's tab under Serena's name, letting everyone know that "tonight was Serena Caruso's treat." He had thrown a party to celebrate her sold-out show. But she had not paid for a single bottle herself. I told the person who brought the photograph not to bring me another one. Then I lowered my head and continued organizing the arrangements for my mother's memorial. Everyone was talking about how Serena was the woman Dante had kept closest for the longest time. They speculated whether she would one day take my place. No one noticed that I had stopped wanting to fight for the title of Donna Rossetti. Chapter 4 On the anniversary of my mother's death, I wore all black, a single white rose pinned to my chest and stood at the center of the estate's great hall. The guests wore dark colors and spoke in low voices. After paying their respects, they filed past the altar one by one. Members of the family, associates, old friends of my mother's. Everything should have ended quietly. But as I was guiding the staff to seat the guests, a voice came from the doorway, soft but pointed: "Oh... why is everyone wearing black?" I looked up and saw Dante standing at the entrance. Behind him stood a woman holding a cake box tied with a pale blue ribbon, folded neatly. She wore a light dress, her hair half-braided, small pearls hanging from her ears. She leaned forward to look inside. Her gaze moved across the room and stopped on my mother's photograph at the center of the altar, framed by flickering candles. "Oh... today... someone passed away?" She looked down at the cake box in her hands, as if only then realizing she had brought the wrong thing. "I am so sorry. I did not know... this cake, should I not have brought it?" She stood there holding the cake box like a butterfly that had wandered into the wrong funeral, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. I stepped forward without thinking and blocked her path. "Get out. Who let you in?" The woman stumbled back, almost losing her balance. Dante reached out and caught her. I stared at him, my voice shaking. "Dante. This is my mother's memorial. You brought her here?" All the guests went still, their eyes turning toward us. Serena looked stunned for a few seconds, and then her eyes filled with tears, as if on cue. "I... I did not know... I really did not know today was your mother's memorial. I just came because Dante asked me to..." Dante glanced at her, then back at me. His voice was calm. "Yvette, she just brought a cake. If you do not want her here, I will take her back. There is no need to make a scene in front of everyone." I stared at him and let out a dry, hollow laugh. My mother had treated Dante like her own son when she was alive. She had set a place for him at her table, pressed her hand to his cheek, whispered blessings over him in the old language. Those blessings were meant for family. She gave them to him. And now he had walked through her candlelit altar with another woman beside him, stood in front of the flames I had lit for her, and told me I was making a scene. I lifted my head and met his eyes. My voice did not shake. "Dante, today is my mother's memorial. You brought your signed singer, carrying a cake, into her altar room, and you are asking me why I am making a scene?" His face darkened. "Yvette," he said, his voice low, "I told you she was just passing by. Do you have to make everything so difficult?" He did not look at me again. He turned and guided Serena toward the door, his hand resting on the small of her back, as if protecting something that might break. I took a deep breath. Then I turned around, put on the smile Elena had taught me, and walked through the remaining guests. I thanked each one, said goodbye, shook hands, as if nothing had happened. No one would say that Yvette Bellini had lost her composure at her own mother's memorial. When the last guest left, the estate's heavy front door closed behind them. The whole house fell into that particular silence that only old houses and old grief can hold. I walked slowly back to the altar, knelt in front of the small shrine, the photograph, the candles, the white rose I had placed there that morning. I let the walls I had held up all evening fall. "I am sorry, Mama." My voice was barely a whisper. "Today was your day, and I made a scene. I am sorry. Let us not talk about the painful things." I pressed my fingers to the cool edge of the frame. "Mama, I prepared a room for the baby. Will you come see it?" I lifted the framed photograph and carried it down the hall to the small room at the end. I had spent weeks getting it ready, fresh paint on the walls, light curtains, the crib by the window. But when I pushed the door open, I stopped. The room was empty. The baby clothes in the dresser were gone. The toys on the shelves were gone. Nothing was left. I thought someone had broken in. I called the estate security. The guard hesitated before answering. "Madam... it was not an outsider. It was the Don. He sent his men to take everything." Chapter 5 I stood in the middle of the empty room, a sharp ringing filling my ears. I hung up and opened my phone, scrolling through Serena's account. She kept everything public, like someone who wanted to be seen. I scrolled down a few posts. Her dog was wearing a tiny outfit I recognized. Soft cotton, hand-washed and ironed flat, now chewed shapeless, stained with saliva, hanging loose on the small animal. On the carpet behind it, torn into bright, unrecognizable pieces, were the toys. My baby's toys. Those toys had not come from a store. I had borrowed them from friends with children, mended each piece, washed them, dried them in the sun. Each one had been handed to me with a smile and the words "for your baby." Dante had taken them and given them to Serena's dog. I held my belly with one hand and left the estate. Il Nido occupied the top floors of a building in the city. I walked in. The receptionist stood when he saw me, his voice quick. "Madam, the Don is—" I walked past him like he was furniture. He followed, blocking my path. "You really should not go in there right now." The door at the end of the hall was open, light spilling out. When I reached it, I saw Dante sitting in an armchair, legs stretched out, half-leaning against the armrest, a glass of barely touched wine beside him. Serena stood near an old upright piano in the center of the room, singing a song I did not recognize. Dante's gaze followed her voice. He did not notice me until she finished the last note and the room fell silent. I stood in the doorway, my fingers gripping the frame. "You took the baby clothes I prepared and gave them to her dog." He sat up slightly, pushing the glass aside. His voice still carried the ease of someone who had just been listening to music. "Those clothes were old. I will order new ones. If you do not want her to have them, I will get you better ones." He even stood up. "You came all the way here for that?" "Those clothes were not bought," I said. "I asked for them from friends. I mended them. I washed them—" But he had already stopped listening. I could see it in the way his eyes flicked past me, toward the door, toward where Serena was waiting. "Then you can get new ones," he cut me off. "You are the Rossetti wife. Our child should not wear hand-me-downs." Our child. The words landed like a stone dropped into still water. He said “our child,” but he had already given her things away to another woman’s dog. He said “our child,” but he hadn’t asked once what she needed. He hadn’t asked how I was. “I will have Milan send over a new batch tomorrow,” he continued, already turning away. “They will be better than what you had.” "Better than what I had?" I repeated. "You do not even know what I had. You never looked at them. You just took them." He looked at me like I was being difficult for the sake of being difficult. "They were clothes, Yvette. Just clothes. I am offering you better ones. What is the problem?" He stood there, waiting for me to nod, to accept. He really thought it was a fair exchange. Old clothes for new, old toys for new, the account settled. I should have been satisfied. I had always believed that when it came to the baby, at least Dante cared. When he knelt by the bed and spoke to my belly, his voice was real. The pressure of his fingers against my skin was real. He had probably believed he would be a good father. But he could take everything meant for her and give it to another woman before she was even born. He never thought about what those clothes meant to me. He only thought they were old, and new ones would fix everything. His love was real, but it was too light, like something floating on the surface, gone with the slightest touch. I understood, suddenly, that this would happen again and again. He would give me new things and keep giving the old things to someone else. My child would learn that what she had could be taken away at any moment. Dante came toward me when I did not speak. He bent down, his eyes on my belly, his voice soft. "Baby, Daddy will buy you new things. The prettiest dresses, the softest cashmere. Okay?" He straightened, pinched my cheek, and returned to his familiar, easy tone. "Do not make that face. I will make it up to you. I promise." Chapter 6 A wave of absurdity washed over me. In this very room, he and I had drawn the floor plans for Il Nido together, calculated the first year's revenue, discussed which artists were worth signing. Back then, the desk did not have so many empty bottles on it, and the air did not smell like cigarette smoke. Now there were overturned glasses on the rug, and the ashtray was full. I turned and walked out, bent over the sink in the bathroom down the hall, and vomited until the tears and acid came up together. Over the next few days, I packed up everything for the baby. The small clothes, the hand-stitched blankets, the little leather shoes I had asked a friend to bring back from Florence. I wrapped them in paper, put them in boxes, and sent them to the house I owned in Europe. The house sat on a hillside, its windows facing olive groves, far from any Rossetti presence. Dante did not notice. He started sending things to the house instead. Expensive couture dresses, jewelry, boxes of designer children's clothes, stacked in the dressing room like shelves. I did not open any of them. He sent them in, I sent them out. Meanwhile, Serena's performances grew more frequent. She had secured a regular stage at a theater in the north, and tickets sold well. Sometimes Dante appeared in the audience. Sometimes a photograph caught his shoulder and the hand resting on the back of a chair. Sometimes she smiled from the stage toward a certain direction, and the camera followed. Those photographs always seemed to find their way out. Someone said at a dinner table, "Dante really does care about her." Another voice, lower, replied, "Do you think he knows what it looks like from the outside?" Even people on the edges could see it. Dante himself seemed to notice nothing. Hearing those words, I thought of something from years ago. I had handled several asset restructuring cases for allied families back then. Every proposal I wrote myself, and the clients signed on the last page without reading the rest. They trusted me. I used to think that if you did good work, people would see it and respect it. But in Dante's world, he had never needed to be seen for his ability. The Rossetti name carried him through every door, doors that opened before he even knocked. He had never learned to sit in an empty room and wait for someone to call back. He spoke, and people answered. He asked, and people gave. If not for Elena, I never would have crossed paths with him. That year, she looked at me with eyes that had seen too much and said, "Everyone around Dante lets him have his way. You are different. You can show him there is another way." I took it on. I brought him to see the proposals I had written, brought him to meet clients who needed real conversations. He had not done much coursework, but he could see what others were doing. He started pulling away from the circles where nothing was required of him and began taking on the parts of the family business that actually needed thought. And then he fell in love with me, standing beside me wherever he appeared, as if it had already been decided. Everyone said I had tamed Dante. I believed it too. Now I think maybe I had just arrived earlier than the others. There were only three days left before the dissolution. Tonight was the Rossetti family's annual gathering with their allies, held at Il Nido. I stood near the back wall, where the light was dimmer and the shadows longer. I had positioned myself there deliberately, so I could see the whole room without being seen first. Il Nido had never looked better. The chandeliers were newly polished, the flowers fresh and low on the tables so guests could talk across them. I had chosen those flowers myself, months ago, back when I still believed I would be standing at the center of this room as the Donna. It was the face of the Rossetti family, the place where allies, partners, and political connections converged. The rehearsal two weeks ago had gone smoothly. Dante's speech had been good. The lighting had been right. I thought tonight would be the same. But as I stood at the edge of the room, I watched Dante with a glass in his hand and Serena beside him. When he spoke to an important partner, she stood there next to him, like she belonged there. Across the room, I heard someone ask who she was, and another voice answered quietly, "Dante's girl." Chapter 7 The murmurs at the tables had not stopped, and I could hear fragments from the chairs nearest me. "Has anyone seen Yvette?" someone asked. "She was here earlier." Another voice answered, "She is standing by the back wall. She has been there the whole time." A third voice, lower, almost inaudible: "I would not want to be in her position tonight." I kept my face still and let them talk. When Dante stepped onto the stage, the room went quiet. The lights found him. He looked comfortable up there, confident, like a man who had always known how to stand in front of a crowd. Serena stood aside, close enough to be noticed. "Thank you all for being here tonight," Dante began, his voice amplified and warm. "Il Nido has been built on trust, on relationships, on the belief that what we build together outlasts what we build alone." "The past five years have taught me a lot about loyalty," he continued. "About who shows up when it matters and who does not. And I have come to realize that some people have been carrying more weight than I have acknowledged." He looked toward Serena. "There is one person in particular." Dante held his hand out toward Serena. She stepped forward, smiling, and took her place beside him: “Serena Caruso. She has worked closely with me on many things, from performance planning to event coordination. So tonight, I am announcing that from now on, she will hold a ten percent share in Il Nido." A low murmur spread through the room, like ice cracking across a frozen lake. Some raised their glasses. Others glanced at their phones or exchanged brief looks with their neighbors. I stood in the shadows at the side of the stage, my phone vibrating in my hand. Calls from the operations team, from partners, from numbers I rarely saw. Dante had just handed Serena a glass. He thought he was rewarding someone deserving. He had not considered where that value had come from. The reactions would not fall on him immediately, but the looks had already changed. The evening continued, but the rhythm was off. Dante did not return to the main table after his speech. He went backstage instead. I followed. At the end of the hallway, I heard him standing next to Serena, his voice low. "I have settled the share arrangement. I will sign the formal documents later." Serena's voice was soft, almost timid. "Dante, you really did not have to go this far." He laughed. "I decide these things." When Dante turned and saw me, his smile had already faded. His tone was steady. "How long have you been standing there?" I stepped forward and held up my phone. On the screen, headlines had already appeared, Il Nido's name in the title, a photo of him handing the glass to Serena. "I will handle it," he said. "Go rest." "Before you gave that share away," I said, "did you think about who it belonged to?" "She deserves it," he said, like it was obvious. "You know how much her performances have brought in this quarter. She's packing the house every weekend. Her social following alone has driven a twenty percent increase in our younger demographic. That's not just her success, Yvette. That's Il Nido's success. And Il Nido's success is yours too. Her star rises, the club's value rises, and your share rises with it. She makes you money. You're not losing anything. You're gaining from her work. I'm giving her a stake, yes, but you're getting the return on it without having to lift a finger. Both of you win. That's just good business." He looked at me, waiting for me to say yes. Waiting for me to see the logic, to nod, to thank him for being so generous with my future. After a moment, I said, "You gave away my share. Il Nido was built on my designs. My work. My contacts. You gave away part of what I built." He paused, just for a second, then said, "I will make it up to you. Whatever you lost, I will replace. You do not need to worry about this." Near the end of the night, as I walked out from the back, Serena called my name from the end of the hall. The careful look she usually wore was gone. She looked at me, her mouth curving slightly. "When he stood on stage and said those things, his eyes were on me. That means he chose me, not you." She stepped closer. "What does it matter that you are pregnant? You are just standing in the way of that spot. Why not step aside while you still have some dignity left?" She paused. "If you do not leave, he will make you leave. Which do you prefer?" I looked at her. "Il Nido was my design," I said. "That position you are standing in? It is not yours." She smiled briefly. "But he gave it to me, in front of everyone. Do you think he can take back what he has already given away?" Before I could answer, she turned, her shoulder striking the wooden paneling on the wall. A dull thud echoed in the hallway. She crumpled, her knees hitting the floor. Dante appeared at the end of the hallway. He hurried over and knelt beside her. "What happened?" Her voice was low. "I was trying to explain to her that I do not want the shares. She pushed me. I was afraid to fight back because she is pregnant..." Dante stood and turned to me. "How many times have I told you? Serena is just a singer. I gave her the share for Il Nido's business. Why do you have to treat her like this?" "I did not push her." "She said you did," he said, his jaw tight. "She said you pushed her. Her shoulder is bruised. Do you know what she told me? She said she was afraid to fight back because you are pregnant." He stepped closer. "How much longer are you going to keep this up? You made a scene at your mother's memorial. I let it go. But now, how am I supposed to believe you?" "You never wanted to believe me." My voice rose, like something in my chest had finally broken open. "You did not ask me a single question. You ran over, knelt beside her, and did not even look at me. What kind of person do you think I am? Do you really think I would push her for no reason? What do you even see me as?" "I see you as my wife." His voice was tighter now. "Look at yourself. You were not like this before. You never used to make such a fuss over small things. Now you lose your temper over everything. I do not even recognize you anymore." "You do not recognize me?" I said, looking at him. "You think I am the one who changed?" "You humiliated her at your mother's memorial. And tonight, you were standing right in front of her when she fell. What am I supposed to think? How can I treat you the way I used to? You have become bitter and sharp, nothing like the Yvette I knew." I lifted my head and met his eyes. My voice was shaking, but I did not look away. "And you? Are you still the man who once swore I was the only one? You brought Serena into Il Nido. Into our family gatherings. Into the candlelight of my mother's memorial. When you did all of that, did you ever once think about the vows you made?" Dante's jaw tightened for a moment. All he saw was that I had not obeyed him in front of others. He lifted Serena and walked away, leaving only one cold line behind him. "You had better not regret this." At the hospital, while I was waiting for the test results, Elena called. “Two more days until the dissolution is final,” she said. “Il Nido is almost settled too. Yvette, you have suffered.” I lowered my eyes and forced a smile, though she could not see it. “I am fine.” Chapter 8 After I left the hospital, my car had barely turned off the main road when an unfamiliar dark sedan appeared in the rearview mirror. I did not think much of it at first. It was normal for cars to follow on a suburban road at night. But then I turned at the next curve, and the sedan surged forward, headlights filling the mirror. I pressed the gas, but the other car was faster, pulling alongside and forcing me toward the shoulder. The tires hit gravel. The car jolted and stopped. The door was pulled open, and a hand reached in, grabbed my arm, and dragged me out of the driver’s seat. My shoulder hit the door frame, and the back of my head struck something hard. Before I could react, another hand covered my mouth and pushed me into the back seat. The door slammed shut. A man sitting in the front passenger seat turned to look at me. “Your husband ruined my company. He caused me to lose everything. I want five million dollars as compensation.” He leaned closer. “If you cannot get the money, I will kill you and the child in your stomach.” My blood ran cold. “Call him.” My hands shook as I picked up my phone. I called Dante. Once.Twice.Ten times. No answer. I sent message after message. [Dante, help me. They said they will kill our child if you don’t pay.] [Please answer.] There was no reply. The man’s expression darkened. “So you really are not the one he love about.” He looked away in disgust. “We should have kidnapped that woman instead.” The next second, his foot slammed into my stomach. A sharp pain tore through me. I fell out of the car as they pushed me away. The last thing I remembered was the cold ground beneath me. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the city hospital. The doctor looked at me with pity: “I am sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.” I stared at the ceiling, unable to say a word. The nurse told me they had called the number saved as my husband, but no one answered. “Do you have any other family members we can contact?” I took the phone from her: “I will contact them myself.” The moment I unlocked the screen, it lit up with an incoming call. Dante's name. His voice came through first, cold and clipped: "Why did you send people to follow Serena?" I froze. “What?” “Someone threw things at her house and threatened her. They said she did not deserve the shares of Il Nido.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “I did not do that.” "You were angry about the shares. You made that very clear. I do not know what you expected to happen, but this is going too far." "Dante," I said, "I was kidnapped last night." The line went quiet. I heard him breathe, but he did not speak. "They took me off the road. They told me they would kill me and the baby if you did not pay. I called you. I sent you messages. You did not answer." I closed my eyes. "The baby is gone. It happened during the kidnapping. They kicked me in the belly and pushed me out of the car. I bled on the side of the road until someone found me." The other side went silent. I could hear static, then a muffled sound, like someone was moving the phone. Then Serena's voice came through the speaker, soft and shaky, like she had been crying. “Yvette, please don’t do this.” "I know you are angry. I know you are hurt because of the shares. But the child is innocent. Please don't say things you can't take back. Don't curse a child just because you are in pain." Then she turned to Dante. "Dante, go to her. Please. She needs you. Do not be angry with her. She did not mean what she said. I know she did not. She is not a bad person. She just loves you too much, and she could not handle it when you were not there. She wanted you there, and when you were not, she broke. That is not her fault. That is love." A few seconds later, Dante took the phone back. His voice was colder than I had ever heard it, flat and distant, like he was talking to someone he no longer recognized. "Yvette, I do not know what you are trying to do. I do not know if you are trying to punish me or if you are trying to punish Serena. But this is not how we solve things." "Serena told me everything," he continued, "She told me someone threw things at her house. She told me they threatened her. She is scared, Yvette. She is not making this up. I was there. I saw her." "I called you ten times. I sent you messages. I told you they were going to kill my child. Our child, Dante. " The line went quiet. I heard him exhale, slow and heavy. "You have been angry for months. You have been distant. You have been pushing me away. Do you really expect me to believe that on the same night Serena was attacked, you were kidnapped by someone who wanted to hurt you and our child? I am not stupid. I know what this looks like." "You need to calm down. When you realize what you did wrong, I will come back. I cannot talk to you like this." I heard him exhale, slow and deliberate, like he was ending a conversation he had already decided was over. "Get some rest." The call ended. A moment later, it buzzed. Elena's message came through: "The documents are ready. Il Nido is yours. The shares, the leases, the artist contracts, everything. It is done. The person for you is already there." Then I got out of bed. The hospital corridor was quiet. A nurse looked up as I walked past, but she did not stop me. The helicopter was already waiting on the rooftop pad. The wind pulled at my coat as I stepped inside. This time, I did not look back. From now on, I would not be Yvette Rossetti. I would not be Dante's wife. I would not be the woman who waited by the window. I did not know exactly who I would be yet, but I knew I would not be her anymore. And I would step into that new beginning myself.