Mrs. Bellandi was smiling at the screen as if she were looking at something perfectly ordinary.

"Sofia is still young," she said. "Girls her age are not built for a life like ours. Be patient with her."

Matteo ruffled Sofia's hair with open fondness. "She's got a temper. One wrong look and she starts a war."

"Then don't cross her," his mother said, amused. "Sofia, sweetheart, eat a little more. You're far too thin."

I was still standing by the foyer, damp from the rain, bag in hand. I had not even taken off my shoes.

So that was the truth of it. Matteo had not run out of tenderness. He had simply given it to someone else, and his mother had made room for her.

Mrs. Bellandi finally noticed me. "Elena. You're here."

"Just passing through," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'm leaving."

It was raining again when I stepped outside.

I walked to the old park by the university because some wounds insist on being opened where they began. Once, beneath those trees, Matteo had kissed me and promised he would never leave unless I asked him to.

At midnight, I sent the divorce agreement to his phone.

I added one line beneath it: This is my birthday wish.

His call came almost immediately.

"Have you lost your mind?" he snarled. "Sofia nearly drowned off the yacht. I looked at your damn message for one second and that's when I missed her going under. She's at the marina clinic now."

My fingers went cold around the phone.

"Get here," he said. "Until she's out of danger, you don't get to disappear on me."

I booked the first flight I could and landed in Malta after dawn.

The clinic was private, discreet, and expensive, the kind of place men like Matteo used when they wanted the best care and the fewest questions. The first person to reach me was Leo.

"Bad Mom!" he cried, hitting my arm with both fists. "This is your fault! You hurt Mommy Sofia!"

I let him hit me and looked past him into the room.

Matteo had clearly not slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes hollow, and when Sofia shifted in the bed, he leaned in at once and held a glass to her lips.

"Slowly," he murmured. "Don't make yourself sick."

Sofia gave me a weak little smile. "Elena. You really came. We were diving off the yacht, and I panicked when I couldn't feel the bottom. I guess I still don't know how to let go of him."

Matteo closed his hand around hers. "Then don't."

Right then, the doctor walked in with her chart.

"Miss Sofia, your bloodwork is back. You're about six weeks pregnant."

The room went silent.

Sofia stared, then broke into breathless laughter. Matteo's whole face changed with relief and wonder.

"No," I said before I realized I had spoken. "You promised me there would never be another child tied to your name."

Matteo's expression turned to stone. He caught my arm and dragged me into the corridor before I could say another word.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he asked. "Coming in here and talking about my child?"

"Your child?" I yanked my arm free. "You promised Leo would be your only heir. The Bellandi name, your seat, the business - all of it was supposed to go to him."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Leo is my son. So is the baby Sofia is carrying, if it's a boy. If it's a girl, she's still mine. What exactly are you trying to argue?"

"You really think that ends well?" I asked. "Today it's me you're pushing aside for Sofia. Tomorrow it will be Leo paying the price for that baby. Tell her to end it now."

The slap landed so hard my head snapped to the side.

When I looked back at him, Matteo's face was cold and unfamiliar. "No one speaks about her that way," he said. "No one speaks about my child that way."

I pressed my hand to my cheek and stared at him.

This was the man who had once stayed awake through thirty hours of labor with me and looked more terrified than I was. Now he had hit me for another woman.

"Matteo," I said quietly. "It's my birthday too. You said you'd give me anything I wanted."

His eyes flashed with disgust. "All I know is that today is Sofia's birthday. I don't have time for your drama, Elena. Get out. You're the last person I want to see."

The door behind him opened.

Leo stood there with his father's expression on his face. "Go away!" he shouted. "Nobody wants you here!"

I looked at the two of them - the man I had loved half my life and the child I had nearly died bringing into it - and found that something inside me had finally gone still.

"Fine," I said. Then I smiled at Matteo, and there was nothing soft left in it. "Remember you said that."

I had meant to go straight to the airport after I left the clinic, but I had come to Malta in such a rush that all I had brought was my passport, my phone, and an overnight bag. My wallet and cards were still locked in the villa safe. By the time I reached the terminal, fever was crawling through me so hard I could barely stay upright.

I collapsed before I made it through security.

When I came to, I was on a narrow bed outside an emergency room. A nurse was holding my phone.

"The only emergency contact listed is your husband," she said. "He isn't answering."

The doctor beside her looked grim. "You have signs of severe myocarditis. You need to be admitted now. We need a deposit before we can move you upstairs."

That was when a young man on crutches stopped beside the bed and reached for his wallet.

"Use my card," he said. "Start treatment first."

His name was Ethan. He was studying abroad, recovering from a scooter accident, and had no reason to help me except that he could.

I spent the next several days in intensive care, alive by degrees.

When the worst of it passed, one of the nurses brought me my charged phone. There was only one message from Matteo.

Unless you're dying, don't contact me again.

I stared at it for a long time, then laughed. The cruel joke was that I really had almost died, and he still had not answered.

When Ethan came by to check on me, he caught that laugh and raised a brow. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I said, turning the phone face down. "I just realized some men deserve to regret a woman for the rest of their lives."

Before Ethan flew home, he left the hospital receipts on my bedside table and told me not to worry about the difference.

After he left, I found the nurse who had taken the best care of me.

"I need a favor," I said. "Call this number and tell him his wife died in Malta."

It was a foreign country. The paperwork was messy, the clinic had already transferred me once, and the airport records were chaos after the storm. A lie like that only had to hold long enough.

By the time Matteo came looking, all he would find was a death notice, a name, and ashes.