The Day He Left Me in the Snow, My Love Died

If I was too tired and accidentally fell asleep, I would still leave the bedside lamp on, afraid he would come home to darkness and feel lonely. But tonight, I had no strength left to care. I turned my back to him and said nothing. My silence seemed to annoy him even more. He clicked his tongue. "Are you seriously giving me attitude right now? Serafina's son had a 102-degree fever. If I hadn't taken them to the hospital, he could've suffered brain damage. Can you stop being so cold-blooded for once?" Something inside me snapped. I sat up and stared at him, my voice shaking with anger. "When you left me on the curb in the middle of a snowstorm, did you think about whether I would be okay? Did you care whether I made it to the hospital safely? Dante, I'm pregnant. I'm carrying our child." My eyes burned, but I forced myself to keep looking at him. "Tell me, who is your wife? Me or Serafina? Is she so helpless that she can't call 911 by herself? Why does she have to call someone else's husband every time something happens?" Dante let out a long, impatient sigh. He looked at me as if I were being unreasonable, as if I were making trouble out of nothing. "Adriana, don't be so petty. Serafina just came back from London. Her husband over there divorced her, and she has no one here. I'm the only person she knows. Life hasn't been easy for her. Raising a child alone is exhausting. If I can help her, then of course I should." "For her?" I repeated softly. My throat tightened, and tears stung my eyes. "So because life is hard for her, you can abandon your pregnant wife on the roadside? Because she has no one, I deserve to be left alone in the snow?" Dante frowned. "That's not what I meant." "Then what did you mean?" I asked, my voice breaking despite myself. "If you care about her so much, why don't you just divorce me and go back to her? Isn't that what you really want?" The words hung in the room. In any other Family, a wife suggesting divorce to an Underboss would have been unthinkable. But I was a Bellandi before I was a Valente, and my father's name still carried weight on both sides of the river. The more I spoke, the more my chest ached. I suddenly remembered the Dante from before. Back then, if I so much as caught a cold, he would panic. He would wrap me in a coat, rush me to the clinic, and ignore even the most urgent calls from his Capos just to stay by my side. He used to be afraid I would suffer even a little. But now, he could leave me alone in a snowstorm while I was pregnant and still accuse me of lacking compassion. Maybe he finally noticed the pain on my face, because his expression softened slightly. He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. "Alright, honey. Don't be angry anymore," he said gently, as if coaxing a child. "I was wrong this time. Forgive me, okay? I swear it won't happen again." His voice was tender, but it no longer warmed me. Then his hand slid beneath my collar, and his lips brushed against my neck. "I've missed you," he murmured. "It's been a while since we last did it." Disgust and disbelief surged through me at the same time. I slapped his hand away. "What do you mean, a while?" I snapped. "We were together just last month. The doctor already warned us that I can't have sex again until after the baby is born. If something goes wrong, I could miscarry." Dante's face darkened. "Fine, fine," he muttered, clearly annoyed. He let go of me and picked up his phone. The moment he saw the screen, his expression changed completely. The impatience vanished from his face. His eyes softened, and even the corners of his lips lifted slightly. He stared at the phone as if he had just received the most precious message in the world. I called his name. "Dante."

He didn't respond. "Dante." Still nothing. It was as if I had disappeared from the room. The Underboss of the Valente Family, a man whose attention soldiers competed for, whose silence could empty a room. And he couldn't hear me sitting three feet away. Later, while he was in the shower, his phone lay on the bedside table. I stared at it for a long moment before reaching out. My thumb drifted to my left ring finger, pressing against the band there without thinking. To my surprise, the lock screen code had been changed. It used to be my birthday. For years, he had used my birthday as his code. He once said it was because the day I was born was the luckiest day of his life. But now, that code no longer worked. I tried again. Wrong. Again. Still wrong. Then, for some reason, I thought of Serafina. My fingers stiffened. I entered 1123. The screen unlocked. For a few seconds, I just stared at the phone in silence. So that was it. My birthday had been replaced. And so had I. November 23rd. That was the day Serafina Russo came back from London after her marriage fell apart. No wonder Dante had changed his cipher to 1123. The moment I realized it, I couldn't help letting out a cold laugh. My fingers tightened around his phone as the screen unlocked, and the first thing that appeared was his message thread with Serafina. I opened it. The sweetness in her words was almost nauseating. [Serafina: Dante, thank you so much for today. I really don't know what I would've done without you. Sometimes I think, if only you were Matteo's dad.] And Dante had replied almost immediately. [Dante: If you don't mind, let Matteo call me Dad. I actually quite like it. ] A smiling emoji sat at the end of the sentence, bright and harmless-looking, but it stabbed into my eyes like a blade. My heart sank so hard it felt as if it had fallen into a frozen lake. For a moment, my whole body went numb. The blood in my veins seemed to turn cold, inch by inch, until even my fingertips lost feeling. Somewhere down the hall, one of the soldiers shifted his weight outside the bedroom door, the floorboard groaning beneath him. Even the guards knew not to knock when the Underboss was home. Just then, another notification popped up. It was from Serafina. A voice message. Only two seconds long. I stared at it for a few seconds before pressing play. A young boy's cheerful voice came through the speaker. "Thank you, Daddy Dante." The room fell silent. Then I laughed. It wasn't because I found it funny. It was the kind of laugh that came from pain too deep to cry over. I was carrying Dante's child inside me, risking my body, enduring the discomfort and fear of pregnancy, while he was out there happily playing father to another woman's son. A Bellandi daughter, married into the Valente bloodline to carry an heir, and the heir meant nothing to the man who put it there. On our wedding night, he had held my hand and promised me forever. He had said he would love only me. He had said he would be loyal. He had said he would cherish me for the rest of his life. It had only been three years. And already, those vows had rusted into something ugly and worthless. The bathroom door opened. Dante stepped out with damp hair, a towel in his hand. The moment he saw me holding his phone, his expression changed. His face twisted with rage. Before I could even speak, he strode over and shoved me hard. I lost my balance and crashed to the floor. The cold marble of the townhouse sent a shock up through my palms. A sharp pain tore through my lower abdomen, and I instinctively curled one hand over my stomach. My teeth sank into my lower lip as I forced myself to breathe through the pain.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dante snapped. "Have you ever heard of privacy?" Privacy. The word was so absurd that it almost made me laugh again. Privacy, from the man whose soldiers swept the house for listening devices every Tuesday. Privacy, in a marriage that had been negotiated between two Families over a Sunday dinner neither bride nor groom had been invited to. I struggled to push myself up from the floor, my voice shaking with anger. "Privacy? What about boundaries?" I shot back. "You're letting Serafina's son call you Dad. Then what is our baby supposed to be?" Dante's face remained cold. "Oh, come on. It's just a godfather thing. Why do you have to turn everything into a problem?" He stood there, looking down at me. He didn't reach out. He didn't ask if I was hurt. He didn't even glance at my stomach. There was only impatience in his eyes, as if I were some unreasonable burden he had been forced to deal with. "It's not like I'm leaving you to marry Serafina," he said. "Isn't that enough for you?" His words hit me harder than the shove. Enough? So I was supposed to be grateful that he hadn't abandoned me completely. I was supposed to accept that my husband could answer another woman's every call, let her child call him Dad, change his cipher to the date she returned, and still expect me to stay quiet because he had not officially severed our alliance marriage yet. For a second, my mind drifted back to three years ago. Back then, when Dante proposed to me at the Bellandi estate garden with my father's ring still warm from his handshake, his eyes had been full of warmth. He had looked at me like I was the only person he could see. Every word he spoke had been tender enough to make me believe in a lifetime. But now, he looked at me with nothing but disdain. As if I were something troublesome. As if I were something he wished he could scrape off the bottom of his shoe. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, his phone rang again. I glanced at the screen. Serafina. No. Not Serafina. He had saved her contact under an unbearably intimate nickname. Fina mia. The sight of it made my chest tighten. Dante picked up without hesitation, completely unbothered by the fact that I was still sitting on the floor. Serafina's soft, delicate voice came through the phone. "Hey, Dante. Sorry to bother you again, but Matteo's been fussy all night. He says he misses his Daddy Dante and wants you to come read him a bedtime story." The anger on Dante's face disappeared instantly. His eyes softened. His expression lit up like a child who had just received the gift he wanted most. "Aww, isn't he a cute boy?" he said, his voice full of affection. "How can I let him down?" He was already turning toward the closet. "Alright, I'll be right there. Wait for me, Matteo. Daddy's on the way." Daddy. The word made my stomach twist. "Dante!" My voice trembled as I called out to him. He paused at the door, impatiently looking back. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and said, almost pleading, "Please don't go. Stay with me tonight. When you pushed me just now, I sprained my ankle." It was true. My ankle throbbed with every tiny movement, the pain shooting up my leg like needles. My stomach still ached faintly too, and fear sat heavy in my chest. My thumb drifted to my left ring finger, pressing the band against the bone as if the pressure could hold something together. But Dante only glanced at me with disgust.

"Seriously?" he said coldly. "I barely pushed you, Adriana. Stop being so dramatic." Then he grabbed a fresh jacket from the wardrobe. Not only did he not stay, he even stood in front of the mirror and carefully fixed his hair, smoothing it into place as if he were going on a date. His thumb tapped twice against the face of his watch before he adjusted his collar. The gesture was small, automatic, the same one his soldiers had learned to read as the end of a conversation. The sight made something inside me burn. All the pain, humiliation, and disappointment I had swallowed finally surged up at once. I stared at his back and said, word by word, "Dante, if you walk out that door tonight, we're getting a divorce." "Divorce?" Dante let out a short, dismissive laugh, as if I had just said something childish and absurd. "Don't be ridiculous, Adriana. Do you really want our child to grow up without a father?" He paused, finally turning to look at me. Maybe it was the look on my face. Maybe it was the fact that, for once, I wasn't crying, begging, or backing down. His expression stiffened for a second before disbelief twisted across his features. "Unbelievable." He strode back toward me, bent down, and scooped me up from the floor. But there was no tenderness in the gesture. He held me like I was a problem he was tired of dealing with, then dropped me onto the bed as if he were doing me some grand favor. "There. Happy now?" he said coldly. "Just stay in bed and rest. You'll be fine by morning." Then he turned and left. I didn't call after him. I didn't beg him to stay. I just lay there in silence, watching his back disappear through the doorway. The moment the door closed behind him, the last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped. The room became unbearably quiet. The only sound was the low ticking of the clock on the mantel and, somewhere beyond the reinforced windows, the engine of his car pulling away from the guarded townhouse. I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and booked an appointment with the off-ledger physician for the next day. A quiet termination. No questions. No records the Family would ever see. I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep pretending that this marriage still had a future, that Dante still cared, that the child inside me would be born into a home filled with love. If Dante refused to choose me, then I would choose myself. My ankle throbbed so badly that every small movement sent pain shooting up my leg. Still, I forced myself out of bed and hobbled to the kitchen. I took a washcloth from the drawer, stuffed it into the freezer, and waited until it was cold enough to use as an ice pack. When I pressed it against my swollen ankle, the sharp chill bit into my skin. Tears rolled down my face before I could stop them. Not because of the pain. Because I finally understood that from now on, I could no longer expect Dante to take care of me. If he wouldn't love me, I would learn to love myself. If he wouldn't protect me, I would protect myself. My thumb drifted to my left ring finger, pressing against the band of the Valente marriage signet. The metal was warm from my skin. It meant nothing anymore. That night, I didn't sleep at all. Not because I was waiting for him. I already knew he wouldn't come back. And just as I expected, Dante stayed out all night. At dawn, when the sky outside was only beginning to pale over the rooftops beyond the compound gate, my phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown burner number. I opened it. Several photos appeared on the screen.

In the pictures, Dante was shirtless. There were obvious love bites scattered along his neck. He was holding a little boy, around five years old, in his arms. The boy had a picture book clutched in his hands, while Dante lowered his head and read to him with a gentle, patient smile. He looked relaxed. Warm. Like a devoted father. I stared at those photos for a long time. I didn't need to ask who had sent them. A second later, another message came through. [Serafina: He really is a great dad, isn't he?] My vision blurred. Rage churned in my stomach, mixing with disgust and a pain so deep it almost made me numb. But I didn't reply. I simply blocked the number. At noon, I went to the bribed Catholic hospital alone and had the procedure done. The physician asked no questions. The nurses looked away. That was what Valente cash bought you: silence in a room full of saints on the walls. No one accompanied me. No one held my hand. No one asked if I was scared. After the procedure, my body was so weak that I had to rest for the entire afternoon before I could even stand without feeling like I might collapse. I lay there in the sterile hospital room, surrounded by the sharp smell of disinfectant, and had more than enough time to think. I thought about everything I had gained and everything I had lost in this alliance marriage. I didn't want my child to be born into a family poisoned by resentment, lies, and betrayal. I didn't want a baby to open their eyes to parents who shouted, deceived, and hurt each other until there was nothing left but bitterness. If all I could offer that child was a broken home and a father whose heart belonged somewhere else, then perhaps not bringing them into this world was the only responsible choice I had left. I refused to bury my head in the sand. I refused to keep pretending I was happy with a husband who had betrayed me again and again. I refused to smile through the lies while slowly drowning in them. So I made my decision. I would let Dante go. Completely. And for the rest of my life, I would learn how to love myself. When I finally left the hospital, my body was still weak. I had to grip the railing as I slowly made my way down the steps, each movement draining what little strength I had left. Then I saw him. Dante stood not far away. He was holding a little boy in one arm and gripping a woman's hand with the other. Serafina. Of course it was Serafina. The woman who had taken everything I once believed was mine. The three of them stood together in the afternoon sunlight, looking warm and complete. A man, a woman, and a child. A perfect little family. The sight was so painfully ironic that I laughed. A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my throat and echoed against the hospital walls. How pathetic. How cliché. I slowly raised my hands and clapped. Once. Twice. "What a lovely family," I said, my voice filled with cold amusement. "Really. You three look perfect together." Dante's head snapped up. The moment he saw me, panic flashed across his face. Almost immediately, he let go of Serafina's hand. Then he frowned, as if trying to cover up the guilt that had already betrayed him. "Adriana? What are you doing here?" I looked at him and gave him a thin, humorless smile. "Getting an abortion." My voice was flat. Calm. Almost empty. Then I looked at the boy in his arms. Matteo was sticking his tongue out at me, smug and childish, completely unaware of what had just happened. "Congratulations," I said softly. "He's officially your father now. All yours." Dante froze.

The color drained from his face. He quickly set the boy down and stormed toward me, grabbing my arm so tightly that pain shot through my bones. The soldier standing six paces behind him shifted his weight but didn't move. No one intervened when the Underboss put his hands on his own wife. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "You got rid of our baby? Are you out of your mind, Adriana?" His grip was brutal, but I didn't flinch. I only looked at him coldly. "What do you think I'm talking about?" Then I yanked my arm free and slapped him across the face with all the strength I had left. The sound cracked through the hospital corridor. Dante's face turned to the side from the force of it. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned, his expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. No one slapped the Underboss of the Valente Family. Not soldiers, not rivals, not even the Don himself. But I did. I stared at him and said, word by word, "We're done, Dante. I want a divorce." Dante remained frozen, as if he couldn't believe I had actually hit him. Serafina was the first to react. She rushed to his side, cradling his face with both hands as if he were the one who had been wronged. Then she turned to glare at me, her eyes red and full of righteous anger. "Adriana Bellandi! Look at what you've done to him! You've gone too far!" "Too far?" I let out a cold laugh. Without a second of hesitation, I raised my hand and slapped her too. The sound rang sharply through the sterile hallway. Serafina screamed, stumbling back as she clutched her cheek in disbelief. I looked at her, my voice icy. "If that's too far, then what do you call tearing apart someone else's marriage? What do you call letting your son call another woman's husband Dad?" Serafina's face went pale. Before she could answer, Matteo rushed in front of her, spreading his arms wide as if to protect her. His small fist knotted in the cuff of his sleeve, knuckles white, eyes locked on the floor even as he shouted. "Don't hurt my mommy!" he yelled, his little face twisted with fury. "You ugly witch!" I looked at him and laughed bitterly. "A witch?" My gaze shifted back to Serafina. "If I'm the ugly witch, then your mother is the mistress who lured away someone else's husband." "Enough!" Dante's furious roar cut through the hallway. He stepped forward, his eyes burning with anger. "Why didn't I realize before how crazy you are?" By then, our argument had already drawn a crowd. Nurses, orderlies, visiting families. People gathered around us, whispering to one another. "Is that the mistress?" "She even brought the child?" "Shameless." "Disgusting." The words spread through the crowd like sparks catching dry grass. Even here, even inside a hospital the Valente Family kept on retainer, the whispers moved faster than any enforcer could silence them. Dante's face flushed red with embarrassment. Loss of face. In front of civilians. The one thing a man in his position could not afford. Unable to contain his anger, he kicked a potted plant near his feet. The pot crashed to the floor, soil spilling everywhere. "Adriana, nothing ever happened between me and Serafina!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She's right. You're completely out of control! I've been too soft on you, and this is what you've become!" I looked at him, almost amazed by how shameless he could be. Even now, he was still lying. I took out my phone and opened the photos Serafina had sent me. Then I turned the screen toward the crowd and zoomed in so everyone could see. "Everyone, take a good look," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the tense silence. "This is my husband, half-naked at this woman's place in the middle of the night." I enlarged the image again, focusing on the red marks on his neck. "And these marks on his neck?" I lifted my eyes to Dante, my smile cold and mocking. "Don't tell me they're mosquito bites." The hallway erupted.