Chapter 4

On the third day, Federico finally turned on my phone.

One corner of the screen was cracked. I'd damaged it when the pain made me lose my balance and sent me tumbling down the basement stairs. To save money, I'd never gotten it fixed.

Federico typed in my birthday. The phone remained locked.

He tried his own. It was still locked.

After a moment's thought, he entered the date we'd registered our marriage, and the screen lit up.

He stared at it for a long time without moving.

Our chat thread was still pinned at the top. The last message was from the night I died.

"Federico, I really don't feel well. It hurts so much. Could you come home early?"

There was no reply.

He scrolled further up.

"Luca came asking about the rent today. I covered it for now."

"Your shoes are falling apart. I got you another pair at the flea market. Remember to wear them."

"My test results might not be good. Do you have time to talk?"

"Never mind. You're too tired today. We can talk another time."

Federico's fingers trembled against the screen. He opened my notes app, which was filled with a running list of my expenses.

"Rent: 480 aureos.

"Utilities: 50 aureos.

"Federico's birthday cake: 8 aureos.

"Federico's stomach medicine: 2.9 aureos.

"Medical test fees: unpaid.

"Hospitalization: to be confirmed."

The final line was a note I'd written to myself.

"I'm seriously ill. Treatment costs too much. Don't bother with treatment. Don't be a burden to him."

Federico buried his face in his hands and curled up in the chair, his shoulders caving in like a house stripped of its supports.

"Sera, it's all my fault. Blame me. Why won't you blame me? Just blame me…"

My phone buzzed again as an email notification appeared on the screen.

The recipient list was long. It included the Moretti Family Council, the Palarmo Department of Social Welfare, and three major news outlets.

The subject line was as cold and sharp as a blade—"A Public Statement on the Truth of Serafina Conti's Death."

Federico's finger froze against the screen.

He opened the email, his eyes widening as if a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head.

It was the goodbye email I'd sent to Lucia Bellini, the director of the orphanage, before taking the pills.

I'd grown up in a church-run orphanage, and Lucia was the only person who had ever shown me any real warmth.

I'd only meant to say a proper goodbye. It had never occurred to me that she would speak up on my behalf after I was gone.

The attachments contained scans of my medical records, photos of the basement, my rent transfer history, and a single audio file.

Federico hit play.

Claudia's voice came through the speaker, as distant and polite as ever.

"Sera, the Morettis don't keep invalids. If you truly want what's best for Federico, show some sense and stop burdening him."

Then came my own voice, faint as a passing breeze.

"But the doctor said… if I get treatment now, there's still a chance."

Claudia laughed coldly. "A chance? You're just a woman from an orphanage. How are you going to pay for treatment? Did you actually think a marriage certificate entitled you to spend Moretti money? My son has a soft heart. I don't."

The recording cut off abruptly.

Federico sat frozen, looking as if he'd been completely hollowed out.

A moment later, another attachment popped up on the screen—a scan of a signed document.

The heading read, "Voluntary Waiver of All Inheritance Rights to Moretti Family Property and Spousal Rights."

In the signature field was my name, Serafina Conti. Beside it was a fingerprint pressed in dark red ink.

It was dated 10:47 pm on the night I died.

By then, I was in so much pain I couldn't even hold a glass of water.

Federico shot to his feet so fast that his chair toppled over behind him with a crash. "Impossible! There's no way she signed this!"

He stared at the fingerprint, his eyes burning red like molten iron.

At that exact moment, a message from Julia came through, its tone sickeningly gentle.

"Mr. Moretti, the agreement has been taken care of. Sera won't get in the way of anything you do ever again. Don't blame me. Everything I did, I did for you."

Federico stared at the words on the screen as the crimson in his eyes deepened. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.

Only then did he finally understand. What he'd thought was a clever test of my love was actually a carefully orchestrated trap that led straight to my death.

And the woman he loved… was never coming back.