I Was His Workhorse, Not His Wife

Marco Botti was still standing outside as my driver closed the car door for me. He held up his phone against the window, showing me a message from Claudia Durante.

"She already apologized, Erina. She'd had too much to drink that night and couldn't stand straight. I was just holding her up so she wouldn't fall."

I told the driver to start driving, but Marco still chased me all the way back home.

I had just pulled my suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe when he reached out to catch it, his gaze dropping to my abdomen.

"The doctor said you shouldn't exert yourself. Have you already forgotten what he told you?"

He then set the suitcase down gently and moved a chair out of my way.

"You should focus on recovering first. Right now, you're assuming the worst about everything. We can discuss the divorce again once you've calmed down."

I unzipped the suitcase.

Just then, his mother, Lucia Palmieri, appeared at the doorway and said, "Dinner should be lighter tonight. Last night's was too salty. It upset my stomach."

I stopped folding my clothes.

"I just got out of the hospital."

Lucia just placed a grocery shopping list on my dressing table and said, "You know what's best for my diet. I can't get used to other people's cooking."

Marco picked up the grocery list. "I'll just order delivery. You don't have to trouble yourself."

Lucia frowned and walked away. Then, Marco turned back to me and slid the grocery list under my phone.

"Help me find a restaurant that suits her tastes and dietary preferences. I need to take a call from a client."

I then heard my daughter, Sofia Botti, making her way up the stairs. She entered the room in her ballerina outfit and handed me her tablet.

"Mommy, my dress is ruined. Claudia said only a new, handmade, custom dress from Frecalia is good enough for me. You must buy it for me now! I want to wear it tomorrow!"

I flipped the old dress over and saw that there were just a few loose stitches on the bow on the dress. "This dress can be mended," I said. "You also have plenty of other dresses in your wardrobe."

"No! I want the dress Claudia picked out for me!"

She shoved the tablet toward me again. "You dress like a boring office worker every day and smell like cheap perfume! You're nothing like Claudia! She dresses really prettily and always smells like flowers! You know nothing about fashion!"

My hands froze while clutching the dress.

Sofia then mimicked Marco's tone and said, "Daddy said that Claudia was a real, classy woman who knew how to appreciate and understand real art!"

I looked at Marco, who quickly avoided my gaze. He reached out to pat her on the head and said, "Don't say that to Mommy, Sofia. She works very hard every day."

"Is Claudia also better and gentler than me?" I asked.

Marco hesitated. "Go play in your room, Sofia. Let me talk to Mommy about the dress instead."

Sofia tossed the tablet into my lap and ran off.

I gripped Sofia's old dress. In the past, she used to be afraid of the dark, and she always had to cling to the hem of my shirt before she would go to sleep at night.

Marco picked up the tablet and said, "Sofia just wants a dress. Don't read too much into it."

I sat on the edge of the bed. The bow on the dress was all rumpled up in my hold.

Soon, there was the sound of soft scratching at the door. Bruno poked his head into the room and sniffed my hand, but he didn't leap onto me the way he used to. Instead, he just lay at my feet and looked up at me, his tail wagging gently behind him.

I petted him and felt the white fur around his muzzle.

Bruno was a golden retriever, and his ancestors had kept the Vitale Famiglia company for generations.

Back then, I had left my Famiglia and even given up my last name just to marry Marco, but Papa still sent someone to bring Bruno to me with a card tied to his back.

"Let him watch over you on behalf of the Famiglia."

I had kept that card tucked inside my passport ever since. After Papa passed, I held Bruno close, unable to bear the thought of parting with him.

Bruno rested his chin on my knee, careful to avoid my wounds. I lowered my head and let my tears fall onto his soft fur.

"We'll leave together once I've gotten everything sorted out."

After taking my medication and locking the door, I dialed a number that I hadn't called on my own initiative in years.

When the call connected, the first thing I blurted was, "Dan…"

My elder brother, Danilo Vitale, went quiet for a few seconds. Then, he replied, "Erina. What's the matter?"

"I'm getting a divorce." I gripped my phone. My voice came out much hoarser than I'd thought. "I want to come home."