The Don I Housebroke After Divorce

The phone rang sharply in the empty hospital room, slicing through the silence. It was my father, calling all the way from the family territory. He wasted no time unloading a storm of scolding.

"You're being reckless, Isabella!" his authoritative voice boomed through the receiver. "Damiano is the Don! A little attitude is normal. You're weakening our hand!"

In his eyes, my dignity and life were nothing more than dust in the face of family interests. I leaned against the pale hospital pillow, staring at the gray, smothered sky outside the window.

"Dad…" I interrupted him calmly. "The child you were counting on—the one meant to seal a century-old alliance between our families—has now turned into ashes."

Silence fell on the other end of the line, with just the faint buzz of electricity, as if it were mourning this quiet tragedy.

Not long after, a few of my uncles barged into the room. Their faces wore fake sympathy, but their eyes were glued to my stomach.

"What a shame… It was a boy."

"How could you be so careless, Isabella?"

"Damiano may be at fault, but how could you fail to protect your child as a mother?"

Every word was an accusation, every sentence a judgment. To them, I hadn't lost a child but the family's bargaining chip.

"Don't worry," said the eldest uncle, patting my shoulder in a forced show of comfort. "We'll make him answer for this. Besides, you're still young. There will be more babies in the future."

I looked coldly at these old men, soaked in greed. "No answering needed."

I straightened slowly, scanning every face in the room. "I'm ending this marriage."

The words hit them like a bullet. My mother-in-law, Elena Gallo, stood in the corner and muttered under her breath, "What a disgrace! She can't even give birth to a child, and now she wants to talk about divorce?"

Giuseppe Vito, my father-in-law, wasn't that happy either. He dialed Damiano's satellite phone, which connected this time. The background was noisy and chaotic.

"What now?" Damiano snapped angrily, like someone had ruined his mood.

Giuseppe switched the call to speaker mode and shoved the phone toward me. "Talk to him yourself."

I stared at the glowing screen. "The baby is gone."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, but Damiano's roar soon cut through. "Enough already, Isabella! To make me bow, you're going as far as to make up a lie like this? I already dealt with Bianca!

"To prove my loyalty to you, my hands are bloody. So, why are you still holding onto the past? Do you have any idea how frustrating it is, dealing with all this crap outside? Can't you just be more understanding?"

Not once did he ask about my condition or—if it was true—where the baby had been buried.

I remembered every day and night of the past five months—how I struggled through depression yet was unable to take sleeping pills because of the pregnancy and had to stare at the ceiling until dawn.

Meanwhile, he slept soundly in the next room, sometimes I could hear other women's laughter.

Tears welled up in my eyes. By then, Dad and Mom had arrived at the hospital. Not only did they not offer me a simple hug, but they also sided with the uncles.

"You want a divorce? Don't even dream about it!" Mom scolded me. "If you dare to leave him, I'll cast you out of the Cappa family!"

This was my family, the clan I had fought so hard to protect.

Rage ignited in my chest. I grabbed the water pitcher and hurled it at the wall, creating a loud bang. Shards exploded everywhere, water splashing across the floor.

A few of my uncles stumbled back, startled, staring at me in shock.

Standing in the wreckage, eyes blazing, I roared, "Then cast me out! From today on, my life will finally belong to me! No one gets to pull my strings anymore—no one!"