The Surgeon Who Saved Everyone But His Own Son

That night, I dreamed of the past.

In the dream, Salvatore held me tightly in his arms beside my father's grave.

The rain fell heavily around us, soaking through our clothes, but he didn't let go.

He swore on the blood of both Families that he would protect me for the rest of his life.

That no matter what happened, I would never have to face anything alone again.

Back then, I believed him.

I believed those promises were real.

When I woke the next morning, my pillow was soaked.

Tears had dried across my face without me realizing it.

For a long time, I stared at the empty ceiling.

Then I finally understood.

The man from my dream had never existed.

Only the memories did.

The house was silent.

I was the only person left inside.

The living room was still exactly as it had been the night before.

Wine glasses remained scattered across the table.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air.

Cigar ashes sat cold inside the crystal trays.

The laughter, the voices, the warmth that had filled this place hours ago were all gone.

Only the traces of people who had never truly belonged here remained.

I walked upstairs quietly.

Into the nursery.

Everything inside was prepared for my baby.

The tiny clothes I had chosen one by one.

The blankets I had washed countless times.

The little toys I had imagined my child playing with.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I began packing.

Not a single item remained.

I gave everything away.

Because my child would never need them.

And I no longer wanted to keep reminders of a future that would never come.

That evening, Salvatore called.

His voice was as calm as ever.

"The Family is having a dinner tonight. Everyone's attending."

A pause.

"Wives are expected to be there. I'll send you the address."

I wanted to refuse.

I truly did.

But after thinking for a long time, I agreed.

Perhaps this would be the last time.

The last time I sat beside him as his wife.

The last time I appeared in front of the Family under the name Adriana Moretti.

When I arrived at the private room of the restaurant, everyone was already there.

It was one of the Family's usual locations, a quiet establishment hidden away from the public eye near the water.

The moment I pushed open the door, I stopped.

Gemma was sitting beside Salvatore.

And Salvatore was personally placing food onto her plate.

His movements were natural.

Gentle.

Familiar.

The kind of tenderness I had once waited years to receive.

"Adriana..."

The conversation stopped instantly.

Every person in the room turned toward me.

The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat.

It was the kind of silence that fell when everyone realized something private had been exposed.

For a moment, no one knew what to say.

Finally, Enzo stood and pulled out the chair beside Salvatore.

"Adriana, come sit here. The food just arrived."

I walked over and sat down.

Only then did Salvatore seem to remember my existence.

His expression changed slightly.

He immediately picked up the bowl and served me soup himself.

"Adriana, don't misunderstand."

His voice carried a trace of nervousness.

"Gemma had an examination today. Since she was nearby, I brought her here for dinner."

He reached over and gently patted the back of my hand.

A gesture meant to comfort me.

A gesture meant to convince everyone that everything was fine.

Once upon a time, I would have questioned him.

I would have asked why it was always Gemma.

Why he could remember her appointments but forget mine.

Why he could worry about her child but abandon his own.

But now...

I was tired.

Too tired to fight for something that had never truly belonged to me.

So I only nodded.

Then lowered my eyes and quietly drank the soup in front of me.

At the nearby table, a few young women from the Family whispered among themselves.

"What's going on? Why did the Surgeon bring another woman here and let his own wife arrive alone?"

"I don't know. But everyone knows how much he cares about Gemma."

"Every time she has a check-up, he's there personally. He worries about her like she's made of glass."

"Have you ever seen him look at his own wife like that?"

Their voices were low.

But every word reached my ears.

I pretended I heard nothing.

Because I no longer cared.

Not about Gemma.

Not about Salvatore.

Not about the love they shared.

It was no longer my concern.

A few doctors who worked closely with Salvatore quickly stepped in to change the subject.

Slowly, the tension in the room faded.

The conversation resumed.

Everyone acted as if nothing had happened.

Only I knew that something inside me had already ended.

Halfway through dinner, Enzo had clearly drunk too much.

His face was flushed, and his words became less controlled.

He stood up with a glass of wine in his hand and walked toward me.

"Adriana..."

He looked at me with genuine sympathy.

"Don't be too sad about the child."

"You and Salvatore are still young. There will be another chance."

The room instantly fell silent.

Salvatore frowned.

His expression changed from confusion to concern.

"What child?"

He looked at Enzo.

"What are you talking about?"

Enzo froze.

The drunkenness vanished from his face almost immediately.

His hand, which had been resting on Salvatore's shoulder, slowly stiffened.

For a moment, he looked between the two of us.

Then his expression changed.

"Brother..."

His voice became uncertain.

"You still don't know?"

The air in the room turned heavy.

Salvatore stared at him.

"What don't I know?"

Enzo swallowed.

"That day..."

His voice dropped.

"When Adriana's water broke, she was rushed into surgery."

"No one could save the baby."

"The child..."

He struggled to finish the sentence.

"The baby suffocated."

"It didn't survive."