CHAPTER 2.

Galata had taken a tray to her husband's study, laden with coffee and cookies for Leandro and her husband, but when she heard them talking, she couldn't help but try to listen to their words. There, she understood the meaning of the proverb "curiosity killed the cat," because that's what happened, figuratively speaking. She felt sharp piercings and shatter her heart; she had to breathe through her mouth to regain her breath.

She was never an impulsive woman; quite the opposite, she learned to keep quiet about things she didn't like to maintain harmony in her home. She never argued with Matteo, seeking to please him with everything, because she thought that in that way he would always be there for her.

Thinking about that caused her deep sorrow. If she looked back, she realized that she had ceased to be the extroverted, determined, fun young woman. Now, she was merely a poor specter of the past, not moving a foot without Matteo's authorization. Her life centered and revolved around him.

Despite her attempts to pretend she wasn't affected, she couldn't deny it; hearing the conversation was a harsh blow, as if suddenly the truth had been shockingly revealed before her eyes. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that she needed to channel.

She quietly retreated to the kitchen and left the tray there, steadying herself against the counter for a couple of minutes, trying to control her body, her emotions, her feelings; she was on the verge of collapsing.

She couldn't help but glance at her small belly, feeling concern for her future—not because she wouldn't be able to support her child, as her family had money; she was the daughter of one of the richest and most powerful men in the world and knew they would never leave her alone. Rather, it was because she had acted so hastily in her life, recklessly deciding to marry Matteo when she was barely eighteen, never dedicating herself to studying or preparing. Her entire life had been built and revolved around her husband, and now that the walls of her perfect world were crumbling, she didn't know what to do; she felt fear, as she had never felt it before.

During those more than seven years, she had given her entire youth, her innocence, dedicating herself completely to being a homemaker. She didn't even have domestic staff, because she had decided not to; she did everything: cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning, mopping the floor, tending the garden, caring for her son.

Although it would be dishonest of her to say that Matteo forced her to act that way, he certainly didn't prevent it. He felt comfortable seeing her behave in that manner, and she wanted to do it that way because she wished to know what it was like to have a normal life; she had always lived in opulence, where someone resolved every one of her whims, so she decided to do it differently. Now she was there, in a situation where she felt undervalued, insignificant. At that moment, it was inevitable to mock herself.

"Oh, Galata! Behold a normal marriage, even with horns and all included," she expressed aloud, wanting to slap herself to see if that would teach her a lesson.

She wiped the tears that rolled down her face begrudgingly, with a gesture of anger towards herself. She hated herself; if she could travel back in time, she would slap her past self for being so idiotic. Deep sobs escaped her lips, and meanwhile, she picked up the teapot and threw it down the sink drain of the comfortable kitchen in a fit of rage.

Then she grabbed the cookies she had baked with deep love just minutes ago to please her husband and his friend and threw them into the trash bin. She wiped the counter, and feeling her legs trembling, she went to check if her little son had woken from his nap. She climbed the stairs, holding onto the handrail, feeling so unhappy, but it wasn't time to break down. She had her children; for their sake, she had to be brave and not stay on the ground but rise firmly and continue.

Upon entering the room, her little one was still asleep. She watched him for a few moments with great sorrow, thinking about how he would be affected by her decisions. Then she turned her gaze to the dressing table, took a few steps, stood in front of the mirror, and observed herself closely while various questions arose in her mind.

“When did I stop being that optimistic girl? When did I abandon myself in this way? Her hair didn't shine; a pair of dark shadows stood out beneath her eyelids.”

“When was the last time I visited a hair salon, got a haircut, had my nails done, went out with my friends?” she wondered, looking at her hands, somewhat roughened from housework. It was inevitable to angrily question herself, "How did you do this to yourself? How did you lose yourself to live in the shadow of a man? One who now doesn't realize the sacrifice you've made and will run to another woman's side without any remorse."

Her conscience immediately made its presence known, acting as her harshest judge. That's why the saying "everyone takes firewood from a fallen tree" is well-employed, because even though it was right, her conscience was there, pointing at her as if it were her sworn enemy.

"He has never valued you, nor does he even act warmly towards you. When was the last time he showed you affection that wasn't for an anniversary, a birthday, or a special celebratory day?"

At these thoughts, she held onto the dressing table and began to cry as she never had before. Her heart felt oppressed, and a terrible truth broke through within her. Nothing was ever perfect; she had deceived herself, clinging to a lie, to an ideal of a perfect marriage and family, solely to avoid giving the impression of having failed. And that was the most painful part: having become an accomplice to her own misfortunes, just to show others that she hadn't made a mistake.

She stepped away from the mirror and looked at her son; he was still asleep. She longed to enjoy his tranquility, his innocence. She lay down beside him in the crib-bed, inhaling his sweet baby scent. Only then did she feel she could calm the suffering in her heart and the anguish in her soul.

She hugged him while pondering her next step. No one had prepared her for this moment. When she married, she thought their love was reciprocal and enduring, until one of them left this world.

She closed her eyes, and memories immediately flooded her mind.

"It was her eighteenth birthday; she felt excited because she hoped to see Matteo. He had been her platonic love for as long as she could remember. She put on a green dress, high-waisted and sleeveless, with a V-neckline, transparent with embroidered patterns, but with another fitted dress underneath, featuring a slit on the right leg, and shoes of the same color.

She went to a hair salon and had golden highlights put on the tips of her hair, which she curled. Her makeup was soft, with greater attention paid to her eyes, which stood out with the exquisite makeup. She had never dressed that way before, as she preferred more modest clothing. Nevertheless, that day she was determined to enhance her beauty and finally conquer the elusive Matteo.

To her good fortune, just as she began descending the stairs leading to the opulent and elegant ballroom, her gaze met Matteo's as he was entering. He immediately looked towards her, then smiled pleasantly.

Seeing him smile that way, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She felt her legs would give out at any moment; they were like jelly, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. To her relief, before making a fool of herself by fainting, her father appeared at the foot of the stairs, but she was so focused on the man of her life that she didn't notice him until she felt him take her arm.

"Earth to Galata! Princess, I'm very jealous. Which of all these gentlemen has managed to capture your attention and make you forget your king and the man of your life?"

Sebastián grimaced, feigning displeasure, and added:

"Please, don't say it yet; I don't think I'm ready to process that information."

"You should be expecting this. I remember once when I was about nine, I said that when I grew up, I would marry you, and Mom replied that wasn't possible because you were her husband. I asked her to divorce you, and back then you told me that when I grew up, I would fall in love with a handsome gentleman for whom I would be the light of his eyes, well..." she hesitated for a moment, "I'm already in love with that gentleman; I just need to make him fall in love with me," she expressed with a sigh.

A barely perceptible expression crossed her father's face; he even felt a slight pang inside, as he thought it would be a long time before he saw his little girl in love.

"And can you tell me who this gentleman is, who won my little girl's heart?" he asked with a trembling voice, the effort made by the man to keep his voice from betraying how affected he was by such news clearly evident.

"Do I know him?" he asked again, anxiously.

"Yes, it's Matteo Sebastini," the girl declared proudly, as her father's face flushed a soft crimson.

"No, Galata! Not Matteo Sebastini! He is not the man for you!" he pronounced with fierce determination, leaving Galata surprised, because she had never seen that reaction from her father towards her.