A Deadly Divorce

What reduced me to disgrace did not stop there.

My mother’s condition could not wait. I had no choice but to compromise.

Facing my phone camera, I uploaded a clarification video to YouTube. I personally admitted that the marriage certificate was photoshopped.

I claimed that I had maliciously fabricated the so-called evidence of academic fraud and that everything I had done stemmed from jealousy of Olivia’s talent and achievements.

I said that I did that because I had foolishly loved Dante, yet could never have his heart, so I committed those insane acts.

Even now, the comment section under that video was still flooded with filth, most of it from bots hired by the family and from people who never knew the truth.

"Girl, have you gone crazy over a man?! You even faked a marriage certificate!"

"What a lunatic. And you dared to slander a good woman like Dr. Ricci as a mistress. Pathetic."

"Women like this shouldn't be allowed online! Smearing doctors is unforgivable!"

"Dr. Ricci saved so many people. Who do you think you are to ruin her?"

"Let’s crowdfund it. I’ll put up a hundred. Who’s going to slap her awake?"

"I’ll do two hundred."

"Count me in! A vicious bitch like this deserves to be taught a lesson!"

…

During that time, I drifted through each day like a walking corpse. I lived under overwhelming humiliation and pain.

All I could do was hide in my apartment in the Cambridge district, staying by my mother’s hospital bed.

Perhaps my condition was too obvious. Even though I never let her near the internet, my mother sensed that something was wrong.

Lying in her hospital bed, she reached out with her frail hand and held mine.

"Sofia, I'm sorry. If it weren’t for my illness, you wouldn’t have had to suffer so much."

I shook my head, tears spilling uncontrollably. "Mom, don’t say that. This is because I’m useless."

She sighed and began talking about the past, about Dante and me.

Young love is always the purest.

Ten years ago, Dante was three years ahead of me. Though he was Italian-American, he had not yet been formally acknowledged by the Falcone family. At the time, he was still an illegitimate son, a graduate student at a top technical institute in Boston.

He first saw me at a medical symposium.

Back then, I had just started my freshman year at a prestigious Ivy League university, yet I had already presented a paper on cancer treatment at the conference.

Dante was drawn to my talent and began approaching me on his own. He helped me organize experimental data and saved seats for me at the main campus library.

When I stayed up late doing research, he brought me coffee and donuts.

Until that day in a public park near Cambridge, when a group of street punks started following me. They were small-time thugs from a nearby Irish gang, known for harassing female students.

Dante tried to protect me. He was beaten so badly that he was hospitalized at St. Catherine’s Medical Center.

He had three broken ribs, and a scar was left on his face.

After that, we naturally ended up together.

Back then, Dante's family had not reclaimed him yet. He was still that poor graduate student working late shifts at a cafe just to pay his tuition fees.

It was my mother who helped him all along. She even funded him so he could finish his education. She borrowed money for him, allowing him to continue his studies at that institute.

Alas, now, the kindness my mother once gave had become the blade stabbing straight back at her.

She had no idea what her daughter was facing. She also had no idea that the child she once treated as her own was now using the most ruthless methods against us.

I watched my mother’s face grow thinner by the day.

My heart felt like it was being cut apart.

I thought, 'Maybe this is enough. At least, I still have my mother. At least, I’m not completely alone. As long as she’s alive, I still have a reason to keep living.'

Unfortunately, God seemed to enjoy tormenting the miserable. He was unwilling to leave me even this last sliver of hope.