The Last Thing I Gave Him

On my thirtieth birthday, the first thing I received was a photograph.

In it, Dante's hand rested on Serena's waist. They stood backstage at the private club, close together, the lighting angled in a way that made it look intentional. Someone had placed it among the gift boxes on the table at the entrance. The envelope had no name on it.

An hour earlier, he had knelt beside me in the bedroom, pressed his lips to my belly, and whispered to the child inside. He had told me he had business to handle that night and not to wait up. He kissed my forehead before he left.

The guests at the feast turned to look at me at the same time, their faces bright with anticipation. The family's steward came over and asked if I wanted him to handle it. I said no. I turned the photograph face down on the table and went to cut the cake.

I blew out the candles. Thirty flames, gone in one breath. Then I poured myself a glass of wine and stood by the window, watching the fireworks. From every direction, whispers drifted toward me. They thought I could not hear.

"What is wrong with Yvette? Why is she not crying?"

"She used to cry until dawn every time. Remember the night she called him forty times?"

"I remember. She was standing in the hallway in her nightgown."

"And he still did not come home."

"Remember what happened three months ago? She followed him to the club and waited outside all night."

"And what happened? He said it was all for the family business and went back to doing the same thing the next day."

"Maybe she finally understands."

"Or maybe she is pretending. She is probably counting down the days until she can leave him."

"She would never leave him. Where would she go?"

The fireworks burst one after another against the black December sky. I had ordered them weeks ago, back when I still believed the night might hold something worth celebrating. Their light reflected off the glass and caught in my eyes, bright and brief, like most things. I had cried too much before. I was tired of it.

After the last guest left, the estate fell quiet. I had just taken off my gown when Elena came in. She walked straight through the door, her cane striking the marble floor, each step sharp and quick. She tried to reach Dante. No one answered. She pulled up the security feed from the private club.

On the screen, Dante sat on a couch in the back. Serena stood close to him. He had his legs crossed, relaxed, like he was in his own living room. Elena glanced at it once and turned it off. She took my hands in hers, her grip firm. "Yvette, if you need to cry, cry. You do not have to hold it in."

"I am hungry," I said. "The cake is cut. Will you have a piece with me?" She hesitated, but she did not let go. I made her sit down, poured her tea, and told her what I had come to say.

Elena raised me. On her deathbed, my mother had called Elena to her side and placed my hand in hers, saying, "Watch over her." Elena was not my grandmother by blood, but she was the only family I had. She taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to hold my head up at a Don's table. She married me to her grandson because she believed I could steady him. I had believed it too.

But after five years of marriage, Dante had become someone else. He no longer needed me to pull him back. He started coming home late, started saying "Serena has a performance tonight" like it was the most natural thing in the world. Serena was the singer he had signed, the one he called gifted. He gave her an apartment, gave her access to his private club, put her name in all the places he frequented. I had met her once. She was young and pretty, and the way she looked at him was not the way you look at your boss.

"Six months ago, I was ready to leave," I said. "But I found out I was pregnant."

Elena's fingers tightened around mine.

"He started acting like my husband again. He knelt by the bed. He talked to my belly. I believed him. I stayed. But every time it came to Serena, he went back to the way he was before. Worse."

I lifted my eyes. "Nonna, I am thirty years old. I do not want my child to grow up in this. I want the marriage dissolved. But the child will still be your great-grandchild. Rossetti blood. Can you help me?"

Elena was quiet for a long time. The fireworks outside had ended. The room was still, the clock the only sound. I thought she would say no. I thought she would say, for the family, for the child, hold on a little longer. But she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her voice was quiet. "Yes. Nonna will take care of it."

The last thing she said was, "Though I am Dante's grandmother, in my heart, you are also my granddaughter."

When I held her, I smelled the old perfume she always wore. She murmured against my hair, so softly I almost missed it, "You two were so good together. How did it come to this?" I did not know how to answer.