Chapter 1 - THE PROMISE HE BROKE
"My husband, a mafia boss, promised me he'd come pick me up when our private jet had a catastrophic emergency. But Vincent took his first love to a safe place before I even gave birth. Seconds later, the jet burst into the air. My stomach clenched. Another column of smoke shot up into the safety harness. Then the alarms started screaming. One of the flight attendants shouted, "We need to evacuate, everyone!" My hands covered my belly instantly. "Vincent?" He turned. For a second, I thought he was coming to pick me up. Sophia grabbed his arm. "Vincent, I'm scared." He went to her. I watched him. "Vincent, I'm with you." He took her hand. "I'll get Sophia first." I thought I'd misheard. "I'm your wife." "I know." "Then why are you leaving me here?" Vincent came closer and took my hand. "Because I can get Sophia out quickly and go back to get you." The plane shook again. I clenched my fists. "And what if there's no time?" "There will be." "Vincent..."
— I promise.
He looked me in the eyes.
— I'll come back for you.
Then Sophia shouted his name.
Vincent let go of my hand.
And walked away.
I was left behind, holding our baby.
Before the emergency exit, Vincent turned around.
— Anna! Stay there!
Those were the last words I heard from my husband.
Outside, Vincent had taken Sophia to safety.
Then, immediately, he turned around and headed for the plane.
— Anna!
He started to run.
But he never made it to me.
The jet exploded.
The explosion threw him back.
The flames engulfed the plane.
— Anna!
Men grabbed him as he tried to reach the wreckage.
He struggled.
He shouted my name.
But there was no way to confuse him.
Sophia caught up to him.
— Vincent, this can't be...
He pulled my hand, letting go of hers.
Then he came towards me.
— Anna?
I took a step back.
His face contorted.
— It's you.
He reached out to me.
But before he could touch me, a small figure ran past the guests.
A little boy.
— Mommy!
He threw himself into my arms.
I held him instinctively.
— There you go.
Vincent stopped breathing.
The boy looked to be about three years old.
Dark hair.
Scrawny eyebrows.
And when he turned to face the strange man who was looking at his mother, Vincent saw a disturbingly familiar face.
His own.
Vincent's gaze went from the child to me.
Then it returned to her.
A whisper escaped.
— Anna...
I held my son tighter.
Vincent seemed to have been stabbed.
Because, suddenly, the impossible truth was right in front of him.
His wife hadn't died in that explosion.
Neither had his son.
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And for three years, I had chosen to let Vincent Moretti believe that.
The story is too long to fit in the caption. If you want to find out what Anna will say to Vincent, leave a "YES" below, and I'll post the continuation in the comments.
