Matteo Bellandi Buried the Wrong Woman

Mrs. Bellandi was smiling at the screen as if she were looking at something perfectly ordinary.

"Sofia is still young," she said. "Girls her age are not built for a life like ours. Be patient with her."

Matteo ruffled Sofia's hair with open fondness. "She's got a temper. One wrong look and she starts a war."

"Then don't cross her," his mother said, amused. "Sofia, sweetheart, eat a little more. You're far too thin."

I was still standing by the foyer, damp from the rain, bag in hand. I had not even taken off my shoes.

So that was the truth of it. Matteo had not run out of tenderness. He had simply given it to someone else, and his mother had made room for her.

Mrs. Bellandi finally noticed me. "Elena. You're here."

"Just passing through," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'm leaving."

It was raining again when I stepped outside.

I walked to the old park by the university because some wounds insist on being opened where they began. Once, beneath those trees, Matteo had kissed me and promised he would never leave unless I asked him to.

At midnight, I sent the divorce agreement to his phone.

I added one line beneath it: This is my birthday wish.

His call came almost immediately.

"Have you lost your mind?" he snarled. "Sofia nearly drowned off the yacht. I looked at your damn message for one second and that's when I missed her going under. She's at the marina clinic now."

My fingers went cold around the phone.

"Get here," he said. "Until she's out of danger, you don't get to disappear on me."

I booked the first flight I could and landed in Malta after dawn.

The clinic was private, discreet, and expensive, the kind of place men like Matteo used when they wanted the best care and the fewest questions. The first person to reach me was Leo.

"Bad Mom!" he cried, hitting my arm with both fists. "This is your fault! You hurt Mommy Sofia!"

I let him hit me and looked past him into the room.

Matteo had clearly not slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes hollow, and when Sofia shifted in the bed, he leaned in at once and held a glass to her lips.

"Slowly," he murmured. "Don't make yourself sick."

Sofia gave me a weak little smile. "Elena. You really came. We were diving off the yacht, and I panicked when I couldn't feel the bottom. I guess I still don't know how to let go of him."

Matteo closed his hand around hers. "Then don't."

Right then, the doctor walked in with her chart.

"Miss Sofia, your bloodwork is back. You're about six weeks pregnant."

The room went silent.

Sofia stared, then broke into breathless laughter. Matteo's whole face changed with relief and wonder.

"No," I said before I realized I had spoken. "You promised me there would never be another child tied to your name."