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the father instinct, allegedly
publish date:
2026-08-26 22:29:49
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Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi delete denied
Saturday morning started with three people carrying hydrangeas past my bedroom window and Gabby knocking on the door like a cop with a warrant.“MAMI.”I opened one eye.“Mami.”I pulled the blanket higher.“Mami, this is emergency.”“That sentence is not allowed before there’s blood.”“There’s no blood.”“Then appeal denied.”The door opened anyway.Gabby walked in wearing the same lavender pajamas from last night, her crown already back on her head, and one of my fuzzy slippers dangling from her hand like evidence. Al appeared behind her with his whale shark tucked under one arm and hair that had rejected every known principle of gravity.“Kiki said you have party,” Gabby announced.“Charity luncheon.”“That’s party.”“No.”Al climbed onto the edge of the bed. “Can I come?”“No.”“Why?”“Because there’ll be media.”“I can hide.”“You once hid behind a curtain with your feet still sticking out.”“That was ambush.”“There will be no ambushes in front of donors.”Gabby moved closer to
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi how wonderful, biological irony
Night fell over Napa in a way that was far too beautiful for a life currently suffering from a severe lack of manners.Outside the private wing, the vineyard had turned into a dark stretch of land traced with tiny lights in the distance, like someone had scattered jewelry across the ground and forgotten to pick it back up.From the terrace, the breeze carried the smell of wet grass, grapes, and lavender planted far too strategically so rich people could say, so peaceful, while hiding three family crises beneath linen table settings.I stood in the master suite bathroom for a few seconds after my shower, staring at my reflection in a mirror that was too large and far too honest.My hair was half wet, heavy like black fabric that had been washed wrong. My skin was still warm from the water, and my cheeks were still holding onto a little color I couldn’t entirely blame on the steam.I tried tying my hair up with one scrunchie.The scrunchie gave up after nine seconds.“This bitch,” I mut
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi one bedroom, two terrible liars
It took twenty minutes to get their things settled.Gabby insisted her crown be placed on the nightstand at a “diplomatic” angle. Al hid a dinosaur under his pillow and said it wasn’t hiding, it was an ambush. Kendra started unpacking pajamas, snacks, toothbrushes, and the little bag of children’s medicine I’d forced her to bring even though we were only staying for the weekend, because I had once seen Al cough a single time and immediately entered my medical-attorney era.Rafael stayed.He just helped in the most annoying possible way because everything he did was right.When Gabby nearly knocked the hair clip box off the table, his hand caught it first. When Al tried to climb onto a chair to reach the top shelf, Rafael pulled the chair back slightly and said, “Use the stool.” When Kendra dropped a pack of wipes from the tote bag, Rafael picked it up and set it on the bathroom counter without making her feel like careless staff.Little things.The kind of little things that made stup
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi the father instinct, allegedly
We stepped into the private wing’s sitting area.And of course, because God apparently enjoyed watching me get tested, Rafael was standing there.Near the bookshelf. He had his phone in one hand, his jacket already off, his white shirt still crisp with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked over when we walked in.I stopped. “Of course,” I said. “Why not? Please. Come right into the Ricciardi-free zone.”One eyebrow moved. “This is a Ricciardi estate.”“And this room is a demilitarized zone. Read the contract in that expensive voice of yours.”“Rafa Lemon!” Gabby spotted Rafael, and her whole face lit up.Al looked at him with more suspicion, though not exactly unhappily. “You have grape jail.”Rafael slipped his phone into his pocket. “Vineyard.”“Grape jail,” Al repeated, more certain this time.Rafael looked at him for two seconds. “Fair.”I turned toward him quickly.No.Do not get along with them. Do not stand in the private wing with your sleeves rolled up, answering child
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi everything is right, which is worse
Valentina pressed her lips together, holding back a laugh. “This way, Ms. Garcia.”I followed Valentina through the foyer and down a long corridor on the left side of the main house. Behind me, Rafael spoke briefly with Claudia. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t care. I very clearly cared about nothing except making sure the private wing actually matched the contract and that no Ricciardi aunt suddenly emerged from behind a curtain carrying biscotti and genetic questions.The private wing sat on the west side of the estate, separated from the main house by a glass corridor overlooking a small courtyard. An olive tree stood in the middle, along with a low fountain and stone benches that had clearly been photographed more often than anyone had actually sat on them. Two security guards stood well back from the entrance to the wing, exactly as I’d requested: visible enough to establish the perimeter, far enough away that the kids wouldn’t feel like they were entering witness protection.I st
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi golden light, old muscle memory
Friday afternoon, Napa greeted us with an offensively golden sky.There was a certain kind of light in wine country that made everything look like an expensive perfume ad: rolling vineyards, old olive trees, pale stone roads, cream-colored buildings with terracotta roofs, and air that smelled like warm earth, grapes, eucalyptus, and old money that had learned to speak quietly.The Ricciardi private vineyard estate stood at the end of a long driveway, behind black iron gates that opened automatically as our car approached. Rows of grapevines lined both sides of the road like tiny soldiers who all had trust funds. The main house sat on a low hill, large, elegant, and far too aware of its own beauty. Cream stone, tall black-framed windows, iron balconies, a wide terrace, a long pool off to the right, and a rose garden that looked like the kind of place rich people apologized without ever technically admitting they were wrong.I sat in the passenger seat of Rafael’s car wearing a champagn
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
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Sunlight and Divorce Papers
I woke up because the sun slapped me in the face. White-gold light speared through the thin curtains, landing directly on my eyelids that had never volunteered to become solar panels. I blinked slowly, trying to gather the pieces of my soul scattered across the sheets.The clock on the nightstand r
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
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