Early the next morning, my husband, Don Romano Caliendo, returned home.Carrying a paper bag, he pushed open the bedroom door with a sheepish, placating smile on his face."Amore, I made you some cream of mushroom soup myself. Give it a try."The scent of his childhood friend Teresa Fiorino's perfume clung to him. A single whiff was enough to make my throat tighten."Just leave it there."Romano didn't notice anything was wrong. He leaned in, bringing the bowl to my face. "Drink it while it's hot. I've been simmering it for two hours."The aroma alone told me it was indeed his cooking.Three months ago, I would have accepted it with a smile and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him.Now, my husband stood before me looking for credit while reeking of another woman."I'm not hungry," I said, turning my head away.Romano's hand froze in midair. His tone was filled with displeasure as he said, "Enough, Selene Grado. You weren't like this before. I've already humbled myself to appease y
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