A Sickness of Roses and Lies

Three days ago, Enzo lost control at the top of the stairs and pushed me.

I was three months pregnant. The child didn’t make it.

The fall caused permanent damage to my body. The doctor said I might never be able to get pregnant again.

That day, Enzo knelt by my hospital bed for a long time, weeping. He swore he would control himself from now on, swore he would never hurt me again.

But I had heard that promise too many times in the last three years. It meant nothing to me anymore.

I thought about it for three days and finally decided to convince him to go to Switzerland for specialized treatment.

And today, I'd discovered the biggest lie of all.

“Darling? Why aren’t you talking? Can’t you hear me?”

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and answered as if nothing had happened. “I can hear you. It felt stuffy in the room. I just stepped out for a bit.”

Enzo sighed in relief. His voice softened, coaxing me as if I were a child. “It’s my fault.”

“I’ve been so busy with family affairs—I’ve been neglecting you.”

“Isabella, if the room is too stuffy, how about I check you out of the hospital? Haven’t you always said you wanted to travel to Italy? Let me take you.”

His gentle tone was a knife in my heart. My chest ached with every breath.

Enzo and I were childhood sweethearts. As children, he was always my protector.

Whenever the elders teased him about finding a wife, he’d puff out his little chest and declare to anyone who would listen that I was the only one for him.

We dated. We married. Everything was perfect.

Our families gave their blessings. Our friends were envious.

But over these three years, he had clawed back every ounce of love he had ever given me, leaving only hatred and lies in its place.

I took a slow breath, about to respond, when his voice on the other end suddenly grew urgent.

“Darling, something’s come up with the family. You go ahead and get discharged. We’ll talk when I get home.”

He hung up in a hurry.

I lowered my hand, watching the children in the park running and laughing under the sun. After a long while, I made a secure call.

“Luca, I want a divorce.”

My brother, Luca Romano, was silent for a few seconds. He didn’t try to talk me out of it. He just said, “If you need help, the family will back you with everything we have. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I gave a soft “Mm,” a faint warmth flickering in my chest.

As soon as we hung up, Luca sent a family lawyer my way.

I contacted the lawyer, explained my situation, and asked him to draft a divorce agreement. Then I headed to the hospital to begin the discharge process.

What I didn’t expect… was to see someone who had been “dead” for three years—Sofia—in the hospital’s VIP wing.

She was in a hospital gown, her face pale, her frail body leaning into Enzo’s embrace.

She whispered something. Enzo’s face darkened.

His eyes turned cold.

My heart began to pound, as if something from the depths had reached up, grabbed my ankles, and was pulling me down.

That look on Enzo’s face—it was the same one he had when he lost control. The next second, his fist could fly.

My heart was in my throat as I watched him slowly reach for Sofia.

But then, his hand moved, gently brushing a tear from the corner of her eye.

I let out a breath, my body relaxing against the wall for support. A bitter laugh escaped me.

Of course. That was Sofia—the woman he had longed for, mourned, and obsessed over for three years. And to think I actually believed he might hurt her the way he hurt me.

How could I have been so foolish?

I returned home in a daze. The frame of our wedding photo on the wall was shattered, the glass webbed with cracks. My chest tightened, as if something sharp had pierced it.

That was the photo I had picked from thousands. Enzo had hung it there with his own hands.

But as his episodes grew more severe, the frame had been replaced again and again.

This time, it hadn’t been replaced.

That evening, I heard the front door open.

I was staring at the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me when Enzo walked in.

Unlike other times, he didn't ignore me.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he walked straight toward me.

I calmly closed the browser, pretending everything was fine.

The next second, I was pulled into a warm embrace.

His chin rested on my shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.

“What were you looking at? You were so focused you didn’t even notice me come home.”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just browsing.”