The Last Thing I Gave Him
On my thirtieth birthday, someone placed a photograph of my husband and another woman among my gifts.
Dante Rossetti had his arm around Serena Caruso, the young singer he claimed was only a business investment. Every guest at the Don’s feast watched me, waiting for me to cry, break down, or chase after him like I always had.
But this time, I only turned the photograph face down and cut the cake.
For three months, Dante had been coming home late for Serena’s performances, Serena’s troubles, and Serena’s future. He said he was protecting the family’s investment. He said she was the next big thing.
I believed him until the night I needed him most.
When my pregnancy took a dangerous turn, I call