Love That Froze and Thawed

They stripped me bare and tossed me in the cold room.

It was the day after Genny's birthday. Cute little one-year-old, right? Until someone dumped ice water on her. Fever hit fast. And guess who they all blamed?

Me.

Helga came swinging, screaming, yanking my hair.

Sandro Vaitti? Didn't even look at me. Just, "Why'd you hurt my kid?"

I hadn't.

He hung up on me.

Next thing I knew, I was locked in a cold room for twelve hours. So cold I couldn't even blink. Thought I was gonna die in there.

Then the speaker crackled.

"Twelve hours, Emilia Estavini. Do you understand what you did wrong?"

Sandro. Of course.

In the background, Helga Cicili's fake-sweet voice oozed through. "Sandro, it was just a fever. I'll take care of Genny. Maybe the Family should forgive Emilia..."

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My eyelids barely moved.

Then Sandro snapped. "You're not even reflecting, huh? Keep it up—we'll make it another twelve."

That's when it hit—pain like a knife in my gut. Warmth trickled down my legs.

His voice flipped. "Blood! She's bleeding! Open the door!"

Slam. He ran in, scooped me up.

Blood soaked his hands.

His eyes went wide. Face cracked open. "You're... pregnant?"

I couldn't even nod.

Helga stormed in, eyes all red and dramatic. "Sandro! Genny's fever's back! You have to come!"

He looked at me. Then her.

She glanced at the blood, nose wrinkling. "Seriously? You couldn't handle your period like a normal person?"

And then, like it was a bargain: "Or was this all for pity? You've done your twelve hours. Just say sorry, I'll forgive you."

Sandro frowned, then handed me off like I was nothing. "Take her home. When she's ready to apologize, call me. Call Helga."

He walked away with her. Didn't even look back.

Something inside me froze harder than the room itself. The pain swallowed everything. I passed out in my own blood.

***

I woke up in my bed.

The doctor said I was lucky. Any later, the baby wouldn't have made it.

She looked at me, hesitating. "They told me it was just your period. They stripped a pregnant woman and threw her in a freezer. You never told Sandro?"

A gust of wind flipped open my diary. Each page had a number—how many times I waited over the last three years. How many times he let me down.

I shook my head, meeting her soft, worried eyes. "Please... don't tell anyone. I'm leaving."

My eyes landed on the last page.

Page 99.

Three years.

Ninety-nine chances.

That was it. I was done waiting.