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i looked at a tree instead of having feelings
publish date:
2026-09-05 22:15:08
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Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi if this burns, at least i’ll be well dressed
After lunch, which legally should probably have been classified as a circus performance with a side salad, we went back to my house because I owned GALA, and one of the privileges of owning your own company was being able to leave the office right after your kids called your newly-old husband Daddy seventy-two times in a public restaurant.I texted Dianna from the car.Me: I’m going home.Her reply came fast.Dianna: Because of lunch or because of Daddy Lemon?I locked my screen.Not every employee deserved communication privileges.The drive home took twenty minutes, which was enough time for Gabby to empty the entire contents of her preschool bag looking for one glitter sticker she claimed was “legally missing,” while Al decided an old bread bag could become a dinosaur habitat if he poked enough holes in it with a pencil.Kendra tried to contain the chaos from the back seat, but eventually she just sat between the two car seats with the expression of someone reconsidering her colleg
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi the lemon has evolved
“Daddy, daddy, daddy—”I clapped my hand over Gabriella’s mouth before the entire GALA staff could witness me lose emotional custody of my own kids in my own lobby.“Daffy, daffy, daffy.” Gabby kept talking into my palm, her voice came out muffled and full of tiny triumph because that girl considered physical obstruction a vocal challenge.Alvaro looked at her like a little scientist who had just witnessed an embarrassing but useful experiment. “That’s not how mouth works.”I slowly lowered my hand. “We’re going to lunch.”Gabby immediately smiled. “With Daddy Lemon?”I closed my eyes.Twelve minutes later, we were at a small restaurant in Hayes Valley that was far too pretty for two four-year-olds, but close enough to the office, private enough in the back, and expensive enough that the waiter didn’t ask why an Italian billionaire was sitting there with a unicorn backpack under his chair.The twins immediately flanked Rafael like there had already been a royal seating chart.Gabby on
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi there goes the last shred of my authority
For the next two hours, I worked.Not the aesthetic version of working where a woman wears a nice blazer, moves two sticky notes around, and drinks a latte in front of a window. I actually worked.There was a call about a corporate anniversary in Napa whose tent layout had changed because of a permit issue. There was a bride from Pacific Heights who suddenly decided, six weeks before her wedding, that the color blue made her feel “emotionally cold,” a medical condition my company was apparently expected to cure.There was a lighting vendor who had miscalculated the rigging points, a New York client who wanted to move the rehearsal dinner from a hotel to a yacht, and one internal meeting where I made the entire room go back through the budget until someone found a catering error worth twenty-seven thousand dollars.By ten-thirty, I’d almost forgotten my family was holding an international summit in Bogotá.Then my phone buzzed.Xavier: They’re here.I read the message while signing off
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi this would be easier if i still hated everyone
I stared at her name for two seconds before answering. “If you’re calling to laugh at me, I’m blocking you.”A long breath came through the speaker. “Jesus Christ, Ara.” Then Iris’s voice followed, so relieved that I immediately sat a little straighter.“Good morning to you too.”“You’re alive.”“Bad for a lot of people.”“I called you eleven times.”“I was in the mountains.”“Mountains have cell service.”“Not the mountains I picked.”“Ara.”“Iris.”She went quiet for a second, then let out another breath. “I’m serious. We all thought something happened to you.”“What happened was a Ricciardi attempting to destroy the Sierra Nevada ecosystem, so technically, yes, there was a disaster.”“I hate you.”“Line’s getting long.”There was faint noise behind her, a door closing, someone speaking in Italian, then Iris pulled the phone away for a moment before coming back.“Okay,” she said. “Mamma wants to talk to you.”I paused. “Now?”“Yes.”“Why do you sound like a nurse about to get the do
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi i can fix your seating chart, not my life
By eight forty-seven, I’d already canceled one centerpiece, rescued a seating chart from a woman who wanted to put two ex-husbands at the same table, and explained to a florist that ivory and cream were, in fact, two different colors even if God Himself probably regretted creating both of them.So professionally, the morning was going pretty well.I sat in my oversized chair on the second floor of GALA, one leg crossed beneath the walnut desk, my hair twisted into a low bun with a few strands deliberately left loose around my face because I’d figured out years ago that people accepted brutal decisions more easily when the person delivering them looked pretty.My champagne satin blouse was neatly tucked into high-waisted black trousers, I’d already kicked off one heel because my right pinky toe had decided capitalism wasn’t worth fighting for today, and my laptop had sixteen tabs open, all of them apparently more important than my mental health.Outside my office, GALA was fully awake.
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi rafael : she’s still a problem. i’m apparently into problems.
The penthouse door closed behind me at ten past ten. I dropped my keys on the console by the foyer, took off my watch, then stopped.Silence.More than four thousand square feet in one of the most expensive buildings in downtown San Francisco, floor-to-ceiling glass, Italian marble, dark walnut, furniture chosen by someone in Milan whose fee could probably cover a normal family’s mortgage for several years.From up here, the entire city stretched below me, lights climbing the hills, the Bay Bridge glowing in the distance, fog moving between the buildings.I’d always liked it.Now, silence sounded too loud.I walked into the living room, dropped onto the sofa, and leaned my head back with a rough exhale. I should’ve been exhausted. I’d driven five hours, unpacked luggage, carried two four-year-olds who somehow had the combined weight of gym equipment, helped with dinner, read a princess book with a plot even Gabriella considered weak, then negotiated with Alvaro over the jurisdiction o
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi He Never Chose Me
“Wow,” I said at last, closing the door behind me with a soft click. “I thought you were still busy having a reunion with your ex.”His gaze dropped for a second, traveling down my body. From the thin heels, to my bare legs, to where the dress cinched at my waist, to the neckline that was bold enou
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Platinum Barbie
Seven p.m., and Lake Como looked like an expensive postcard that had been photographed to death. Deep blue, almost black. Villa lights scattered messily across the water. A thin veil of fog hovering low, like a cheap Instagram filter no one bothered to turn off.From the study window facing the lak
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi The Wife
The small pan hissed softly as the oil heated, the sharp scent of roughly crushed garlic already filling the kitchen before I realized I was humming. Fuck.A Shakira song.Wildly off-brand for this morning’s mood, which had gone to hell at five twelve a.m. sharp, when Arsen, the technological basta
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Glass Mansion, Soft Monsters
Five Years Later.“AL, STOP PULLING MY HAIR, I’M A PRINCESS!”“UGLY PRINCESS!”Something small, warm, and heavy slammed into my waist. Then something else landed on my stomach. I didn’t wake up because of an alarm, but because two tiny bodies decided I was their personal playground.“Oh God,” I ras
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