Blood on My Wedding Dress

Raffaella's lashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.

Her eyes, still bright with tears, went to Matteo first, then to me. She looked startled.

"Elena..." She tried to sit up in Matteo's arms, but her hand fell against his chest as if she had no strength left.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just so scared. That man from the projects, he... he..."

She choked back a sob as fresh tears filled her eyes. She looked so fragile, so determined to hold herself together, that anyone would have felt sorry for her.

"What are you apologizing for?"

Matteo kept a hand on her shoulder to stop her from sitting up. His voice had a cold edge I'd never heard before.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

He looked up at me. His eyes, usually full of laughter, were as cold as ice.

"That man from the projects only got his hands on you because Elena didn't protect you."

His voice stayed calm. "She was right there with you that day, and she let them take you. If it weren't for her, none of this would have happened."

I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat.

When they took Raffaella, I fought the whole gang to get her back and ended up unconscious in the hospital for two days.

When I woke up, Matteo was sitting by my bed holding my hand, his eyes red like he'd been crying.

He said, "I'll never let you get hurt again, Elena. I swear."

But the scar on my left shoulder still hadn't healed, and he'd already forgotten his promise.

Matteo bent down and lifted Raffaella into his arms.

She curled up against him, her fingers clutching his collar.

"I'll take you to a room so you can rest." His voice softened. "You've been through too much. You need some sleep."

They walked right past me, leaving the scent of Raffaella's shampoo in their wake.

My feet moved before I could stop them. I followed.

It was a ridiculous kind of muscle memory, three years in the making.

The hallway lights passed overhead, one by one. I clenched the report in my pocket until the page was crumpled beyond recognition.

Matteo laid Raffaella on the hospital bed as gently as if she were made of glass.

He tucked the blanket around her and let his fingers linger on her cheek.

"Get some rest," he said softly.

I was still clutching the test results.

Two years earlier, I'd taken a bullet for Matteo during a gang shootout. The bullet damaged my uterus, and I'd thought I could never get pregnant.

"This baby is a gift from God," the doctor had said.

"Matteo," I said. "Do you remember how you used to say you wanted to have a baby with me?"

He paused.

When we first got together, I had trouble opening up. Whenever Matteo told me he loved me, I'd fall silent.

He never gave up. He'd take me to the roof to look at the stars. Once, he told me, "Elena, let's have a baby someday. A girl, hopefully. If she looks like you, she'll be beautiful."

He said he'd teach her the names of the stars. He'd be a good father, he promised, and bring her flowers every day when he came home.

His eyes were so bright when he said it.

Watching him, I'd started to look forward to that future too.

But now he turned to me with a frown, as if I'd done something wrong.

"Why bring that up now?" He lowered his voice, impatience creeping in. "Raffaella's just been through something awful, and you're talking about babies in front of her? Did you even think about how she'd feel?"

"I..."

"I know you want a baby too, but the doctor said you can't get pregnant anymore." He cut me off with a sigh. "Elena, don't bring it up around Raffaella again, okay?"

He turned to Raffaella, his voice gentle again. "Don't worry. I know this baby isn't mine, but I'll raise it as my own. You won't have to face this alone."

Then he turned back to me. "Right, Elena? You'll help too, won't you?"

I looked into his eyes, cold and still as a winter lake. Once, I'd seen myself reflected in them.

Now there was nothing in them.

And there was nothing left in my heart either.

"Fine."

Matteo smiled, satisfied, and turned back to Raffaella. They leaned close and whispered. Her fingers rested on his wrist, and he covered them with his hand.

I let go of the test results and backed out of the room.

My wedding to Matteo was supposed to be in three days.

But I was done lying to myself.

I found the number buried in my contacts and called. It rang three times.

Then a deep, familiar voice came over the line.

"Hello?"

"Father, I lost.

"I'm ready to do what the family wants."