Chapter Five

Ginevra's POV

I stared at Leandro's response until the words on my screen began to blur. I blinked several times, but it did nothing to stop the tears gathering in my eyes. One slipped down my cheek, then another, and soon I was wiping them away with the back of my hand just so I could read his message again.

"Stop this, Ginevra. Why can't you be more understanding? Beatrice is injured and needs time to recover. Stop being so selfish."

A bitter laugh escaped me. It was sharp and painful, almost as if it had been dragged out of my throat against my will. More tears followed, and no matter how many times I wiped them away, they kept coming until I was sobbing.

Selfish.

He thought I was being selfish.

I was dying, yet my husband thought I was selfish for wanting to see my own son. I wanted to spend time with Nico because I did not know how many more memories I would have with him. I wanted to tell my little boy that I had cancer, that I was sick, and that I might not be around for much longer.

Yet somehow, I was the selfish one.

The thought was so cruel and ridiculous that I almost laughed again. I pressed my hand over my mouth because I was afraid that if I started laughing, I would not be able to stop. And worse, I was afraid the laughter would turn into screaming.

Beatrice was injured. She had suffered a tennis injury, something that would probably heal in a few weeks or months. It was painful, yes, but she had a future ahead of her. She had time.

I did not.

I had been told that I might have only three or four months without treatment. Even with treatment, there was no guarantee that I would live for long. The doctor had given me an estimate, but I had already learned that life did not always follow the numbers written on a medical report. People could be told they had months left and still die a week later.

But Beatrice's injury was what mattered to Leandro.

Her injured ankle, or whatever other problem had brought her back to Milan, had somehow become more important than his dying wife. She needed Leandro beside her. She needed my husband and my son with her. She needed their attention every hour of every day.

And I was the selfish one for wanting my family back.

I stared at the screen for a long time before finally typing the only thing I could think of.

"Then take good care of your Beatrice."

I pressed send and watched the message change from delivered to read.

Then I waited.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then five.

Ten minutes later, I checked my phone again, wondering if there was something wrong with the network, but there was still no reply.

Of course there wasn't.

Leandro had probably turned off his phone because he did not want to deal with me. He was too busy enjoying his perfect little family with Beatrice and Nico to be bothered by his dying wife's "drama."

I placed my phone on the bed and slowly looked around the room.

My room.

No.

It was not my room anymore.

For years, I had called this place home, but as I looked around now, I finally understood what it had really been.

My prison.

Everything in the room showed the kind of wealth most people could only dream about. The silk curtains, the expensive furniture, the paintings created by famous artists, and every little decoration had probably cost more than some families earned in years.

Leandro had given me all of it.

At least, that was what I had once believed.

Now, I wondered if he had simply thought expensive gifts could take the place of love. Perhaps, in his mind, this was enough. He could give me a beautiful house, expensive clothes, jewelry, and anything else I wanted while his heart belonged to someone else.

It was almost as if he had been saying, Here is my money, Ginevra. Enjoy it. My heart, however, belongs to Beatrice.

Maybe he really believed money could replace love.

After all, what had I been to him?

Another acquisition.

A convenient replacement.

Someone who happened to look like the woman he really loved.

And perhaps that was not all. I had been the easier version of Beatrice, the woman who could satisfy his family's demands for a wife and an heir without asking too many questions.

I had been useful.

That was all.

I looked at the room again, and for the first time, I felt no attachment to anything inside it.

Mission accomplished, Leandro.

You got your heir.

Now you can have the original woman back and throw away the replacement.

My eyes fell on the nightstand beside the bed. My phone was lying there next to my wedding ring. Both were symbols of promises that had never truly meant anything.

Beside them was another piece of paper, one I had avoided looking at for three years.

I reached for it with trembling hands.

The paper was old and worn from being folded and unfolded countless times during the first few months after I had run away. Eventually, I had forced myself to stop looking at it because seeing it always reminded me of the family I had left behind.

It was a business card.

On the back, my brother Corrado's phone number was written in his handwriting.

He had given it to me at a family dinner two weeks before my wedding to Enea.

I could still remember the way he had quietly handed it to me while our parents argued over the wedding arrangements. They had been busy discussing the seating plan and flowers, while Enea stood between them, trying to calm them down and keep the peace.

Corrado had leaned closer to me and spoken softly.

"If you ever need anything, Ginevra, call me."

I had looked at him, surprised.

"Anything?"

"Anything," he had repeated. "Even if you do something crazy. Even if you decide to run away. Call me. I'll listen, I won't judge you, and I'll be on your side no matter what."

I had run away.

And I had never called.

For years, I had convinced myself that I did not need my family. I told myself I was happy because I had found real love with someone I had never expected to meet. I convinced myself that I did not need their wealth, their connections, or the life they had planned for me.

I had been proud of myself for choosing my own path. I had believed that leaving everything behind and choosing Leandro had been the best decision I had ever made.

But now I understood that pride was a luxury I could no longer afford.

I had no reason to keep pretending that I was fine.

I was sick.

I was alone.

And I was running out of time.

My hands trembled as I picked up my phone and entered the number I had memorized years ago but had never once used.

I stared at it for several seconds before pressing the call button.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

My heart began to pound.

What if he did not answer? What if he had changed his number? What if he was still angry with me for disappearing without a word? What if he had decided that I was no longer his sister?

The call connected.

"Hello?"

Corrado's voice hit me harder than I expected.

My breath caught as relief and fear fought inside me. His voice sounded exactly the same as I remembered, and hearing it suddenly made everything I had been trying so hard to hold inside come rushing back.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Corrado?"

My voice broke the moment I said his name.

The tears came instantly. I covered my mouth, but it did nothing to stop the deep sobs that escaped me.

"Corrado, it's me."

There was silence on the other end.

Then I heard him inhale sharply.

"Ginevra? Ginevra, is that you?"

"I'm so sorry," I whispered between sobs. I could barely speak because I was crying too hard. Everything hurt at once. The loneliness, the betrayal, the years I had spent pretending I was happy, and the terrible truth that I was running out of time. "I'm so sorry, Corrado. I should have called. I should have..."