His Secret Wife and Son
My son asked me for something I couldn’t give.
“Just three chances, Mom,” he whispered. “If he really doesn’t love us after that… we’ll leave forever.”
He was talking about his father — Giovanni Romano.
The heir to a Mafia empire.
My husband in name only.
He never called our son his own. He never once said he loved me.
Chance one, Giovanni forgot.
Chance two, he lied.
Chance three… he broke something no apology could fix.
So I packed our bags, held my son’s hand, and walked away.
No tears. No goodbyes. Just quiet.
The night our plane took off, my phone buzzed.
“Wait,” his message read. “I’m coming home.”
But home isn’t where he is anymore.
It’s wherever my son finally sleeps without crying.
Because some promises don’t break — they shatter.
And some mothers never wait again.