The Day He Left Me in the Snow, My Love Died

In the pictures, Dante was shirtless. There were obvious love bites scattered along his neck. He was holding a little boy, around five years old, in his arms. The boy had a picture book clutched in his hands, while Dante lowered his head and read to him with a gentle, patient smile.

He looked relaxed.

Warm.

Like a devoted father.

I stared at those photos for a long time.

I didn't need to ask who had sent them.

A second later, another message came through.

[Serafina: He really is a great dad, isn't he?]

My vision blurred.

Rage churned in my stomach, mixing with disgust and a pain so deep it almost made me numb.

But I didn't reply.

I simply blocked the number.

At noon, I went to the bribed Catholic hospital alone and had the procedure done. The physician asked no questions. The nurses looked away. That was what Valente cash bought you: silence in a room full of saints on the walls.

No one accompanied me.

No one held my hand.

No one asked if I was scared.

After the procedure, my body was so weak that I had to rest for the entire afternoon before I could even stand without feeling like I might collapse.

I lay there in the sterile hospital room, surrounded by the sharp smell of disinfectant, and had more than enough time to think.

I thought about everything I had gained and everything I had lost in this alliance marriage.

I didn't want my child to be born into a family poisoned by resentment, lies, and betrayal.

I didn't want a baby to open their eyes to parents who shouted, deceived, and hurt each other until there was nothing left but bitterness.

If all I could offer that child was a broken home and a father whose heart belonged somewhere else, then perhaps not bringing them into this world was the only responsible choice I had left.

I refused to bury my head in the sand.

I refused to keep pretending I was happy with a husband who had betrayed me again and again.

I refused to smile through the lies while slowly drowning in them.

So I made my decision.

I would let Dante go.

Completely.

And for the rest of my life, I would learn how to love myself.

When I finally left the hospital, my body was still weak. I had to grip the railing as I slowly made my way down the steps, each movement draining what little strength I had left.

Then I saw him.

Dante stood not far away.

He was holding a little boy in one arm and gripping a woman's hand with the other.

Serafina.

Of course it was Serafina.

The woman who had taken everything I once believed was mine.

The three of them stood together in the afternoon sunlight, looking warm and complete. A man, a woman, and a child.

A perfect little family.

The sight was so painfully ironic that I laughed.

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my throat and echoed against the hospital walls.

How pathetic.

How cliché.

I slowly raised my hands and clapped.

Once.

Twice.

"What a lovely family," I said, my voice filled with cold amusement. "Really. You three look perfect together."

Dante's head snapped up.

The moment he saw me, panic flashed across his face.

Almost immediately, he let go of Serafina's hand.

Then he frowned, as if trying to cover up the guilt that had already betrayed him.

"Adriana? What are you doing here?"

I looked at him and gave him a thin, humorless smile.

"Getting an abortion."

My voice was flat.

Calm.

Almost empty.

Then I looked at the boy in his arms. Matteo was sticking his tongue out at me, smug and childish, completely unaware of what had just happened.

"Congratulations," I said softly. "He's officially your father now. All yours."

Dante froze.