Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO STOLE HIS WEDDING RING
Dante left the hospital without the jewelry box.
It remained on the bedside table beside the orchids.
I didn't open it.
I didn't care what was inside.
A diamond necklace couldn't replace fourteen hours of labor.
A bracelet couldn't erase eight unanswered phone calls.
And no expensive gift could give Leo back the first twenty-six hours of his father's life.
Sofia sat beside me.
“Are you all right?”
I looked at my sleeping son.
“No.”
She squeezed my hand.
“But I will be.”
That afternoon, my attorney, Elizabeth Warren, arrived.
She was a tall woman in her early fifties with sharp eyes and a reputation for handling divorces involving powerful men.
She sat beside my bed.
“Isabella, your husband has already contacted his legal team.”
I nodded.
“I expected that.”
“He's asking to see Leo.”
I looked down.
“He can arrange that through the proper channels.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“That's reasonable. The court will consider both parents' rights and the baby's needs.”
I swallowed.
“I don't want to punish him.”
“Then don't. Protect your boundaries, but keep Leo's welfare at the center.”
I nodded.
She continued.
“There's something else.”
I looked up.
“Dante has asked whether you're willing to attend mediation.”
I almost laughed.
“He couldn't attend his son's birth, but he can attend mediation?”
Elizabeth didn't smile.
“He appears to understand the seriousness of the situation.”
I looked toward the window.
“Good.”
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Dante and Valentina.
This time, they were standing on a private balcony overlooking the Mediterranean.
Valentina's arms were wrapped around his neck.
Dante's face was turned away from the camera.
Beneath the photograph were five words.
HE WAS NEVER REALLY YOURS.
I stared at the screen.
Sofia leaned closer.
“What is it?”
I showed her.
Her face hardened.
“That woman is unbelievable.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Then noticed something.
Valentina's hand was raised toward the camera.
Between her fingers was a silver ring.
Dante's wedding ring.
My stomach turned.
The photograph had been taken the night I went into labor.
And Valentina had been holding my husband's ring like a trophy.
I forwarded the message to Elizabeth.
Then blocked the number.
Sofia watched me.
“You're not going to respond?”
“No.”
“Not even one message?”
I looked at Leo.
“No.”
Because Valentina Russo wanted a fight.
She wanted tears.
Jealousy.
Desperation.
She wanted proof that she had won.
But I was finished competing for a man who had already made his choice.
That evening, Dante called.
I didn't answer.
He called again.
Then sent a message.
Bella, please. I need to explain.
I stared at it.
Then typed:
You can explain to our attorneys.
May you like
I placed the phone facedown.
And for the first time in seven years, I slept without waiting for my husband to come home.
