2. Nana

Alina

“What!?”

My breath hitched, my entire body freezing as Ethan’s words echoed in my ears.

Dennis was Jade’s son. The child she had in her final year of college. The little boy I had helped raise, loved like family.

She had told me it was a one-night stand, a mistake. That some random guy at a club had gotten her pregnant and disappeared. She had cried in my arms, sworn she didn’t know who the father was.

And I, God, I had believed her.

I had stood by her, paid for her pregnancy and after-birth expenses, held her hand through every doctor’s visit, every sleepless night.

At one point, I even stole from my parents to make sure she and Dennis never lacked anything.

I had sacrificed for them.

And the whole time… Ethan was Dennis’s father.

A sharp, ugly sob tore from my throat as I stumbled back.

“You,” my voice broke, “you lied to me. Both of you.”

Jade smirked, completely unbothered.

“You should have caught on sooner. But you’re so damn stupid.”

Something inside me snapped.

I tore the engagement ring from my finger and hurled it at them.

“Get out! Get out of my house! Both of you!”

Ethan scoffed, catching the ring before it hit him.

“Your house?” He laughed dryly.

“Have you forgotten? I made the purchase of this house.”

I shook my head furiously. “Yes, but it’s mine. I sent you the money to purchase it because you said you had a good agency. My name will be on the agreement.”

The moment the words left my mouth, they burst into laughter.

Loud, cruel, mocking.

Jade clutched her stomach, tears of amusement in her eyes.

“Oh my God. You’re dumber than I thought.”

Ethan sneered. “You think I’m as stupid as you? I bought this penthouse in my name, Jade’s name, Dennis’s name. Not yours, dummy.”

He sat up, his voice dripping with amusement.

“So if anyone should get out of this house, Alina, it’s you.”

The air left my lungs.

I stared at him, numb, shaking, my vision blurring with tears.

I had used my last savings to purchase this penthouse, my dream home, the place I wanted to build my future with Ethan.

I had envisioned us waking up here, drinking coffee on the balcony, raising kids in a house full of love.

But Ethan had his own plans.

I had built my whole life around him. Trusted Jade like a sister. Spent years believing they cared about me.

And now I was nothing more than a joke to them.

My throat tightened as the last bit of pride in me shattered. Silently, my body trembling, I turned and walked out of the house.

Behind me, Jade’s voice rang through the night.

“Go hang yourself, girl!”

A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest.

Maybe I should.

Maybe that would make it all stop. The pain, the humiliation, the aching hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

I reached my car, threw the door open, and collapsed into the driver’s seat.

My breath came in sharp, gasping sobs as I clutched the steering wheel, squeezing it so tight my knuckles turned white.

Then, without warning, a scream ripped from my throat.

A raw, agonized sound as I slammed my fists against the wheel over and over until the car horn blared through the silent street.

An old couple in the next house turned on their porch light, startled, peeking outside.

I didn’t care.

I let myself break.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless.

My sharp green eyes, now puffy and swollen, stared back at me in the rearview mirror. My cheeks, rounder than I wished they were, were blotchy from crying.

A fat pig.Useless.Pathetic.

I remembered their words, their laughter, the way they had mocked me, humiliated me, made me feel like nothing.

And the worst part?

They were right.

I was stupid. I was desperate. I had let them use me, let them make me believe I was loved when I never was.

I buried my face in my hands. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

My life revolved around Ethan. I had given him everything. Now I had nothing.

No home. No family. No one.

A sharp chime broke through the silence.

I ignored it at first, too lost in my misery.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the name flash across my phone screen.

Nana.

A fresh wave of pain hit me.

Nana, my grandmother. My father’s mother.

She lived in Italy, my father’s homeland before he moved to Toronto, Canada, to start a new life. I was half-Italian, half-American, though I had never spent much time in Italy.

Since my father’s death, Nana had barely spoken to anyone. She had been devastated, shattered beyond repair.

She hardly ever called or texted, so hearing from her out of the blue meant something was wrong.

I wiped my eyes, sniffing, and reached for my phone with trembling fingers.

One message.

I clicked it open.

“Mia dolce melanzana. [My sweet garden egg.]”

For the first time in the last few minutes, I smiled.

Nana was the only person who still called me that. My father had given me the nickname when I was little, and she had never stopped using it.

I blinked through the blur of tears and read the rest of the message.

“Come to Italy, my darling. Nana doesn’t have much time.”

My breath caught in my throat.

She was sick?

My fingers hovered over the screen, my chest tightening. She had barely spoken to me in months, drowning in her own grief after my father’s passing.

I had lost so much, and now, was I about to lose her too?

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to keep reading.

“Voglio vederti, e voglio conoscere il tuo fidanzato. [I want to see you, and I want to meet your fiancé.]”