The Day My Son Chose Another Mother

That day, Lucia had been beside herself, pacing the length of the corridor outside the birthing room, wringing her hands like a woman waiting on a verdict.

The moment word came that I had delivered a son, she rushed in, snatching the baby into her arms and refusing to surrender him. Her eyes brimmed over, gone red with a joy too sharp to be an outsider's.

The nurse, biting back a smile, teased her. "And who are you to the child? You look happier than the mother herself."

Lucia flushed, then caught my silence and hurried to cover it. "Adriana, I couldn't help myself. Matteo is just too beautiful, I gave him a kiss before I thought. You're not angry, are you?"

I let a faint smile touch my mouth and answered evenly. "Of course not. The Family keeps me so occupied I neglect my own blood. I'm grateful you're willing to help look after Matteo."

At that, both Lucia and Salvatore let out a breath, the kind men release when a sit-down ends without bloodshed.

Then my son ran to me, his innocent eyes lifted straight to mine. "Mamma, are you going to the office today, or will you come with Papa and me?"

I smoothed my hand over his hair. "What does Matteo want Mamma to do?"

He answered without a pause. "I want Mamma to go to work, and Aunt Lucia can take Papa and me!"

As if afraid the boy might say a word too true, Salvatore drew him quickly into his arms and turned to me, his palm sliding flat down the length of his tie. "Tesoro, Matteo only doesn't want to pull you from your work. He told me himself last time, not to trouble you, because you carry so much."

Lucia nodded along. "Matteo is such a thoughtful child. Only a woman as remarkable as you, Adriana, could raise a son so obedient."

I smiled at my boy. "All right. We'll do as Matteo wishes."

He leapt up, delighted, and forgot me entirely, seizing Lucia's hand and Salvatore's and dragging them both toward the door.

Watching their happy little family of three, I allowed myself a faint smile, turned, and went back into the study to finish what was left of my work.

Perhaps they believed me easy to deceive, blind to anything out of place, because Lucia grew bolder by the day.

At first she only crept around with Salvatore while I was away. Now she found one excuse after another to come even when I was home.

"Adriana, I've been teaching myself to cook. I wanted to make something good, to thank you for all your kindness over the years."

"Adriana, I've just come back from the country and brought you some things from home."

"Adriana, I've left my work to start something of my own, but I'm short on the money to begin. Could you help me?"

…

Though I knew well enough that every visit was only a pretext to see my son and Salvatore, I never once turned her away.

Whenever she came, I received her with courtesy. I granted every request she made for help.

Salvatore seemed delighted with the arrangement. Each time Lucia arrived, his mouth curled into a smile he couldn't keep down. Sometimes he would flirt with her openly, there in front of me, trading knowing glances and quiet smiles across my own table.

Even my son grew more attached to her by the season, going so far as to buy her a pair of house slippers so she might come and go as she pleased.

This life went on until the year of my son's examinations, the test that would decide which doors opened to him.

On the morning the results came, Lucia arrived at the house early to wait with us.

When we saw how shockingly low my son had scored, Salvatore's brow drew down in anger.

"How could you do this badly?" he snapped.

My son, though, didn't trouble himself over it at all.