Female II Papa Came Home

The front door swung open. My children were home from school.

Sensing the tension in the room, they didn't run to me, their mother. Instead, they squealed with delight and threw themselves at Sofia.

"Auntie Sofia! You're finally here!"

My son, Leo, clung to Sofia's arm, rubbing his cheek against it. My daughter, Mia, was even worse, nuzzling her face into Sofia's brand-new red couture gown.

"Auntie Sofia, you smell so expensive," Mia said, wrinkling her nose. "Unlike Mom. She always smells like cheap marinara sauce and bleach."

Mia shot me a look of pure disgust. The scent she was complaining about was from the lasagna I had spent the afternoon preparing—her favorite dish.

Sofia glanced at me, a victorious glint in her eyes, though her voice feigned modesty. "Mia, don't say that. Your mother works very hard taking care of you in this big, empty house."

"Hard work? Please," Leo scoffed, flipping a butterfly knife in his hand—a dangerous toy he shouldn't have had. "Look at her. That red dress makes her look like a circus clown. Now you, Auntie Sofia... when Dad takes you to negotiations, that brings the family real prestige."

"Exactly," Mia added. "I wish Sofia was our mom."

In that moment, it felt as if my heart had been dropped into the icy waters of the Atlantic.

For fifteen years, I had clipped my own wings. I had hidden the razor-sharp edge of being the sole heir to the Corleone legacy, just to give these children a normal, loving home.

And this was my reward. Disdain from my own flesh and blood.

"Watch your mouth!" Lorenzo scolded them, but there was no bite in his tone. He was smiling, clearly amused by their adoration of Sofia. "Don't be so blunt. You'll hurt your mother's feelings."

So blunt.

In the eyes of this "family," humiliating the Matriarch was perfectly acceptable—as long as you weren't too direct about it.

I looked at this happy family of four. It was a perfect portrait. And I was the smudge on the canvas.

There was no need for me here.

I stared at them coldly. I didn't weep. I didn't scream.

I just walked back to the sofa and sat down, watching them like an audience member at a twisted puppet show.