REINA
After the way Calestino had stord out of the building earlier, I never would have thought Paolo’s calls were just a coincidence. Not for a second.
When I noticed he’d left a ssage—over two hours ago—I was sure it was about that incident. I thought Calestino had told his best friend what he’d walked in on. I thought Paolo was calling with rage, ready to tell to go die before he got back ho. Or sothing close to that.
Nothing could have prepared for what I saw. It was the complete opposite of what I’d been expecting.
Not only did he not know what had happened... he was being sweet. So heartbreakingly sweet that I almost choked on my breath with guilt.
Husband: Tomorrow is your first day back at school after being away for nearly three years. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you on such an important day—especially after promising to drive you myself. Please don’t take my absence as neglect. I’ve asked Calestino to deliver a small gift to you. I hope you’ll like it, and that it helps you forgive for breaking my promise. I don’t say it nearly as often as I should, but I do love you, Reina. I truly do.
I read the ssage out loud for the fourth ti, tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring my vision until the words looked like they were drowning on the screen.
My hands trembled so hard I could barely hold the phone. I dropped it on the table and grabbed my head in both hands. A broken whimper escaped , and more tears poured out faster, harder.
It hit like a brick to the skull—every ounce of guilt, every sick twist of reality. If it were possible to cry harder than I already was, I would have.
"He hasn’t been calling because he knows what happened," I whispered, choking on a sob. "Paolo’s been calling because of the gift he got for ."
My voice broke as I dropped my face onto the table. I could barely breathe. I’d read the ssage more than three tis, but I still couldn’t believe it.
It was a good thing the bar was starting to fill up. Aunt Agnes wouldn’t have a chance to check on , and no one else would care about a cheating wife crying into her hands.
"If I tell Paolo what happened..." I trailed off, my heart pounding so violently I thought it would burst out of my chest. Just imagining it—letting that filthy secret spill from my mouth—made want to vomit my intestines. "If I co clean and apologize... will he forgive ?"
I already knew the answer. I didn’t even need to hear it out loud. Paolo would never forgive . And honestly, if I were him, I wouldn’t forgive either.
"No, he won’t," I breathed, shutting my eyes for a mont, letting the truth sink in before opening them again to the wreck of a woman I’d beco. "He’d hate . More than anything."
I wished I could stop thinking for just one minute. One damn minute without guilt clawing at my chest. But peace felt impossible now—not even death could give it back to .
"I shouldn’t have done it," I whispered. I lifted my head, staring down at my phone. Its blank, black screen stared right back at , mocking . I pressed my palms against my face, breathing hard into them. "I shouldn’t have fooled around with your father, Paolo. I’m so sorry."
I wanted another drink. God, I needed another drink. But I knew Aunt Agnes wouldn’t serve more, no matter how much I begged. So I sat there, forcing my hands down from my face, trying not to think—but my thoughts kept circling back.
Why hadn’t Calestino told Paolo? He said he worked directly for him. That his loyalty lay with him. So why protect ? Why keep my secret?
I huffed out a shaky breath and picked up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I stopped at Calestino’s na. My thumb hovered over it. I didn’t even know why I wanted to call him. Was it to ask why he was protecting —or to ask if he was one of Donico’s n pretending to serve Paolo? I wasn’t sure.
Before I could tap his na, I stopped myself. Even if Calestino was working for Donico, I couldn’t bring myself to face him again. Not after he’d seen like that.
"Why, Calestino?" I muttered, slamming my phone face down on the table. "Why haven’t you told him yet? Why protect soone like ? Why?"
I tried to stand up, but my knees buckled and I fell right back into my seat. I didn’t even realize I was that drunk.
"Shit," I mumbled.
"Paolo’s done so much for ," I whispered to myself, staring at my trembling hands. "He’s been there when everything else failed. Should I have been more patient with him? Should I have endured the silence, the distance... a sexless marriage, in return for everything he’s done for ?"
I tried to count on both hands all the things he’d done for , but I couldn’t. There were too many.
Was it when my aunt almost lost her job because so rich idiots decided to gamble with her life? Or when she nearly sold her only house to fight a court case she didn’t even understand? When my cousins and I were drowning, with no one to help us? Or when I had to drop out of university mid-program to help her keep us all afloat?
And when I thought I’d lost everything, Paolo was the one who offered his hand. He helped my aunt. He got back into school after I’d been rejected for dropping out. He did all of that with one goal—to make his wife.
And what did I do in return?
I fooled around with his father.
I cheated on him with his own blood.
"God," I sobbed, shaking my head. "Fuck, I’m sorry."
I threw my head back, staring up at the ceiling as my world crumbled around . "I won’t do it again," I whispered, voice cracking. "I swear."
Footsteps approached behind , and a soft voice asked, "You won’t do what again?"
I jolted upright so fast I almost knocked the table over. When I turned, I saw my aunt standing there, smiling warmly. That smile—God, that motherly smile—felt like ho.
"Aunty!" I burst out laughing through my tears the mont our eyes t. I should have gone ho to her instead of coming here. I was so stupid to think alcohol could drown my guilt when the only comfort I ever needed was standing right here in front of .
"Baby," Aunt Marilyn said softly, her arms open wide. Her voice was so gentle it made my chest ache. My eyes flooded again.
I stumbled into her arms, and the second my cheek pressed against her warm chest, I broke. I sobbed uncontrollably, letting go of every last shred of composure. In her arms, I felt like that twelve-year-old girl she’d taken in eleven years ago, the girl no one else had wanted. Safe. Small. Loved.
"Shh," she whispered into my hair, pressing a kiss to my head as she rubbed slow circles on my back. "Stop crying, darling. I’m here. I’ll take you ho."
"I’m a disgrace, Aunty. Aren’t I?" I mumbled into her chest. Even if I hadn’t thought about myself, how could I not think about her—this woman, this angel my mother had left behind for —when I was throwing myself at Donico?
"You’re never a disgrace," Aunt Marilyn said, smiling softly as she pulled back, wiping away my tears with her thumbs. Her smile was pure warmth. "You’re one of the best things that ever happened to . You’re a blessing. Don’t ever speak ill of yourself again."
"But—" I started, pouting, but she pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking her head.
"You’re drunk," she said, sighing as she looked past to the table, probably checking for any bottles. Aunt Agnes had already cleared them away—like she always did for and my cousins.
My aunt’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk as she looked back at . "How much did you drink?"
"Just one bottle," I said, grinning weakly. I tried to take a step forward, but I stumbled. She caught before I could hit the floor and helped steady myself.
She grabbed my phone and my bag, slipping an arm around my waist to support . I draped my arm around her shoulders as she guided toward the door.
Then she said, "Your father-in-law called. He asked if you were here with . He seed worried about you. Is everything okay at ho?"
The mont I heard her ntion Donico, every drop of alcohol in my system vanished.
I sobered instantly.
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