Chapter 5

I telephoned the railway office and moved our reservation to the three o'clock train that afternoon. There was no reason to pretend we still had another day.

I made breakfast in the Moretti kitchen for the last time while Luca took the untouched strawberry tart from the icebox and dropped it into the bin.

At ten, I unlocked my legal dispatch case and removed the marital settlement, custody terms, and consent papers Matteo had signed without reading.

Under the agreement, Luca would live with me, and Matteo could request visits only if they did not disrupt our son's ordinary life. My signature line remained blank.

Before I could sign, another messenger from Bianca delivered a formal photograph developed overnight in the estate darkroom.

Matteo sat at the head of the Moretti table, Bianca stood beside him with one hand on his shoulder, and Tommy occupied the chair prepared for Luca. On the back, Bianca had written:

The portrait is ready. Tommy and his father both love it. Don Moretti said it should hang somewhere everyone can see.

Luca was sitting beside me, folding paper birds from old stationery. He saw the photograph. He said nothing. After a moment, he only pushed the separation papers closer to me.

"Mom," he said, "sign it."

So I did. The agreement became binding between us the moment my pen left the page, though a court would still have to grant the final decree.

At one in the afternoon, Luca and I finished lunch. The trunks were already downstairs. I gave the servants their final instructions, paid the coachman, and took Luca by the hand.

For the first time since marrying Matteo, I walked out of that house without looking back. There were still two hours before the appointment at the stables.

Two hours before Matteo had promised to meet us there. Luca sat beside me in the carriage with a small leather satchel on his knees.

Inside were the few things he had chosen to take: a toy soldier, a school notebook, the little silver crest he had once wanted to wear to the Moretti family dinner, and a stack of photographs tied together with ribbon.

He untied the ribbon with careful fingers. The first photograph was from his christening.

Matteo held him in his arms before the Moretti elders, his expression proud enough to soften even the hardest faces in the room.

The second was from Luca's third birthday. Don Moretti had lifted him onto his shoulders, both of them laughing as though the whole world belonged to them.

The third was from earlier that year, before Bianca returned.

It showed Don Moretti standing behind Luca in the garden, one hand steadying the bicycle seat while Luca tried to ride without training wheels.

Luca looked at the photographs one by one. He did not cry. But grief filled the carriage until even the wheels against the street seemed quieter than usual.

I sat beside him and said nothing. At two o'clock, we arrived at Grand Central Terminal. I held Luca's hand and walked toward the Boston platform.

Just as we reached the gate, a station clerk hurried over.

"Mrs. Moretti?"

I stopped. "There is a call for you at the station office." I already knew who it was.

I left Luca with the porter and stepped into the office. Don Moretti's voice came through the receiver, rushed and breathless.

"Serena, tell Luca I am sorry." Noise crackled behind him: a woman crying, a child sobbing.

"Tommy fell. Bianca is terrified. I have to take him to the hospital." His words rushed out, as though he feared I would interrupt.

"I may not make it to the stables by three. If you and Luca cannot wait, go home first." Then, as always, he added: "Tell Luca I am sorry."

Before I could answer, the line went dead. He had hung up. Just like every time before. He handed me the explanation. He left Luca with the disappointment.

When I returned to the platform, Luca looked up at me. I did not need to say anything. Maybe he had already guessed.

He lowered his eyes to the photographs in his lap. Luca rested his fingers on the photograph of Don Moretti teaching him to ride a bicycle.

Then he untied the ribbon and tore each picture in half. He did it carefully, without crying, and gave the pieces to a porter before taking my hand.

"Let's go, Mom."

At three, the train pulled away from New York. Luca slept against my shoulder while streets and rooftops gave way to smoke and open sky.

I watched the city disappear and finally took a full breath. Matteo was still at the hospital, offering us another apology we were no longer there to receive.