Matteo Bellandi Buried the Wrong Woman

For five years, I let my husband’s mistress take whatever she wanted.

My birthday. His time. His attention. The tenderness that used to belong to me. I even told myself I could survive watching my own son choose her over me, because a damaged family still had to be better than none at all.

It wasn’t.

This year, my husband took his mistress away for their birthday trip, and my son ran straight into her arms and called her Mom.

That was the moment I finally understood something I should have learned five years ago: no matter how much of myself I gave to that family, I would never be the one they chose.

So I filed for divorce.

None of them believed I could really walk away.

My husband thought I was bluffing.

His mistress thought she had won.

My son did not even look back.

None of them believed I could really walk away.

Then a call came from overseas: Matteo Bellandi’s wife was dead.

This time, I left them with nothing but my ashes.

At dinner, my son swung his legs under the table and asked, “Mom, are you celebrating early again this year?”

Matteo Bellandi did not even look up from his plate. “Not this year. Sofia’s turning twenty-five, and I promised to take her to Malta for diving lessons. I’ve got to go with her these next few days.”

For five years in a row, I had stepped aside and let that woman have the day.

Leo lit up at once. “I want to go too! Dad, can you take me with you?”

Matteo nodded, then looked at me. “Elena, text me your birthday wish. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

I looked at him and suddenly felt too tired to keep pretending this was still a family dinner.

While I cleared the table, Matteo leaned against the kitchen island and called Sofia.

“Leo wants to come too. That gonna be a problem?”

Her laugh came through the speaker, sweet and sticky. “What, if I say yes, you’re not coming? Or were you planning to get up to something bad?”

Matteo chuckled and flicked the silver mug rack I had put up that morning. “Something bad, huh? Keep talking. See what happens when I get there.”

While they flirted back and forth, I lowered my eyes to Leo, who was sitting on the rug with his tablet.

“So you really want to go? You’re not staying to celebrate my birthday?”

He did not even glance up. “Going with Dad and Aunt Sofia is way more fun.”

I did not ask again. I went back to the bedroom and started packing their clothes one piece at a time.

When I folded the third shirt, I remembered the first time Matteo took me out of the city at eighteen. Back then, he was still running errands for the family, still broke, still trying to act bigger than he was. He had borrowed a beat-up car from one of his cousins and driven me three hours out to the coast with barely enough cash for gas, cheap motel sheets, and greasy diner food.

I had complained the whole drive back, half because I was tired and half because he had spent too much on a silver ring from a roadside pawn shop. Matteo had only laughed, pulled me against his side, and said, “One day I’ll have enough to buy you anything you want.”

Back then, I had really believed he would stay by my side for life.

Later, I found the messages between him and Sofia. Flirty and dirty enough that I threw his phone and demanded a divorce. The man everybody in the city called ruthless had gone down on one knee in our bedroom and apologized until his voice turned hoarse.

“Elena, I’ll deal with her.”

Not long after that, Matteo stopped bothering with secrecy. He brought Sofia to a family dinner at the estate, kept her on his arm in front of his mother and the men loyal to him, and let everyone there see exactly where he meant to place her. By the time he turned to me, she was no longer being treated like a passing affair, but like a woman he had every intention of keeping.

Then he looked me dead in the eye and said, calm as ever, “I know how to keep my marriage separate from everything else. Nothing outside this house will touch your life.”

That night, I smashed the custom mugs we had ordered when we got married.

But the next morning, I looked at Leo asleep in his crib and swallowed the humiliation whole. I told myself that as long as I stayed, I would still be Mrs. Bellandi, and Leo would still grow up in a complete family.

Now I knew better. The only person left standing still was me.

My thoughts were cut off by a shriek. Leo stormed into the bedroom and threw the jackets I had packed onto the bed.

“I’m not bringing these. They’re ugly.”

I crouched down and smoothed one sleeve flat. “It gets windy by the water. Your allergies will act up. You need something warmer.”

“I don’t want them!” he wailed. “Aunt Sofia will buy me new stuff!”

Matteo came in at the sound of it, lazy as ever. “Forget it. Malta’s hot this week. He won’t wear any of that. Tomorrow I’ll take him and Sofia shopping.”

Just like that, everything I had spent half the evening doing meant nothing.

I looked at the two boxes of allergy medicine I had packed ahead of time and decided I was done reminding him of anything.

When I took Leo to class the next day, he spent the whole walk bragging about how he was going to Malta to dive.

One of the other boys asked, “Is your mom going too?”

Leo let go of my hand and corrected him with all the seriousness in the world.

“Not this mom. The other one. She’s prettier. And younger.”