He Left Me to Burn, So I Let the Truth Survive

For a long time after everything went black, I floated in and out of a feverish darkness.

During the days when my fever refused to break, I kept reliving the first time I met Enzo. It was a family gathering, Enzo and I locked eyes for the first time, and there was an instant connection. It felt as if everything had been set in motion at that moment.

Our wedding was flawless. The ceremony was dignified, the vows heartfelt, and every smile reflected the happiness and trust we had built together. At the time, no one could have imagined that our peace would be shattered.

Then Chiara Bellini returned. She had been Enzo’s childhood companion, someone he had always cared for and protected. From the moment she came back, everything changed. Gradually, everyone in the family, including Enzo himself, began to see me differently.

I became the woman who was selfish, jealous, and desperate for his attention. Overnight, my reputation shifted from devoted wife to someone seen as reckless and grasping, and every gesture I made was twisted into proof of my supposed faults.

In the previous life, when Chiara died in that fire, he had remained unnervingly calm. I had believed I had won. I thought I had taken control of my life. He had brought home almost everything he could buy to care for my unborn child. His attentions had blinded me. I saw nothing clearly.

It wasn’t until he personally ended my child’s life that I understood the truth. From the beginning to the end, the only woman who mattered to him had been Chiara.

When I opened my eyes this time, I was staring at the bright white ceiling of the clinic. The face above me was not Enzo’s. It belonged to a man I had never met, a liaison responsible for this district on behalf of the family. He had found me lying outside the warehouse and brought me here.

“Can you hear me? You’re awake. I saw you collapsed outside alone and brought you here. How are you feeling?”

I tried to move, but the moment my hand touched my stomach, my body froze.

He looked at me with evident concern. “I’m sorry. When I arrived, you had already lost a lot of blood. The doctors said the baby didn’t survive.”

My lips cracked, dry and raw. I forced a smile that looked worse than crying.

“It’s not your fault. I know.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

Even a complete stranger could see I had been close to death. The man I had followed for five years hadn’t even looked at me once.

The liaison’s eyes burned with anger at Enzo’s men. “What were they doing? A pregnant woman bleeding out on the floor, and they ignored her?”

“If I hadn’t been passing by, you would already be gone. Where is your family? Where is the father?”

“Give me his number. I’ll call him immediately. You need someone here with you.”

“I’ve already reported this to the family council. That behavior is disgraceful.”

I nodded slowly, my voice hoarse and barely audible.

“The father of your child is dead.”

He froze for a moment, his expression softening with deeper pity. He offered to stay until I was discharged. I declined, transferring the medical fees to his phone and letting him go.

The liaison left, but the matter was far from over. Photos of me sprawled in blood reached several elders of the Carmine family. The accompanying note read: “Saletta’s woman left to die outside the warehouse.”

The message spread quickly through the family. In hidden taverns and private dinners, whispers spread that Enzo had left his wife to bleed on the floor, showing neither care nor judgment for her life. Some muttered that if he could ignore her in such danger, who could trust him to protect anyone else? The rumors hinted that even Chiara might be dragged into the fallout, caught between the family’s judgment and Enzo’s recklessness.

“Maybe they should just be called the property protection squad,” someone muttered during a private dinner.

I heard every word that trickled into my ears. Truthfully, none of it seemed to affect Enzo. I had someone deliver a message for him. I intended to sever ties. Before I could type the word, Chiara sent a photo.

She was in the same clinic, one floor below me. In the photo, Enzo fed her a bowl of soup, blowing on the spoon to make sure she wouldn’t burn herself. I had seen too many photos like this before. They no longer hurt me.

I pinned the photo to the table and sent a message through the channels. I wanted to speak with Enzo. After five attempts, he finally picked up, his voice heavy with irritation.