She Was the Stain He Couldn't Erase

My husband, Don Augusto Marchetti, was obsessed with cleanliness to the point of madness.

One night, because I had come home exhausted and collapsed onto the bed without washing away the dirt from the streets, he grabbed me and shoved me into a tub filled with disinfectant.

That single act destroyed everything.

I lost our child.

Lying in a pool of blood, barely conscious and trembling from the pain, I called him again and again. I begged him to send a doctor from the Family’s private clinic. I begged him to come save me.

But he was not with me.

He was sitting in a filthy roadside diner, carefully treating a tiny cut on his first love’s hand.

For her, he lowered his head with endless patience, gently wrapping gauze around a wound that barely mattered.

For me, the woman carrying his child, he only said coldly through the phone, “Endure it. It’s just a sterilization process.”

Those words became the last trace of warmth I ever expected from him.

With the last of my strength, I dragged my broken body away and saved myself.

At the Family’s private clinic, I lay alone in the operating room, crying for the child I had lost. No one came. No one told him. Or perhaps he simply did not care enough to know.

After that, I had nothing left.

Yet Augusto still took away the position I had fought for inside the Family’s operation and handed it to the woman he had always protected.

Later, when I was trapped beneath a mountain of blood-debt and had nowhere else to turn, I went to him for help one final time.

He refused me without hesitation.

A single careless accusation from the woman he loved was enough to make him abandon me completely.

They forced me into the sea, and the world believed I had died.

But I was still alive.

Hidden beneath a new name, I watched everything from behind the dark glass of a car.

I watched Augusto Marchetti kneel before my grave.

I watched him shatter a bottle of disinfectant against the stone, press the broken glass into his own chest, and pour the same liquid that once destroyed me over his body.

The man who once treated me like something unclean was now consumed by his own madness.

And I watched silently, buried beneath a name he would never recognize.

……

“Miss Colombo, my condolences. You’re still young. You can have another child.”

The nurse’s gentle voice struck Serafina Colombo like a blade.

For a moment, she couldn’t move.

The child had arrived so suddenly, and left even faster.

She still couldn’t accept that a tiny life had once existed inside her, that she had carried a four-month-old heartbeat, only for it to vanish without ever seeing the world.

Serafina lay on the clinic bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Her body was numb, but the tears kept falling.

They slipped silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her.

On her phone screen was a photo sent by Ceciliana Montanari two hours earlier.

In the picture, Augusto was kneeling beside Ceciliana.

The expensive fabric of his trousers was stained with dust and grime from the roadside, yet he didn’t seem to care. His attention was entirely focused on the small wound on Ceciliana’s leg as he carefully applied iodine to it.

The place was a run-down roadside diner hidden away from the city.

The wooden chairs were cracked, the concrete floor was covered in dirt, and flies circled lazily around the open windows.

A place where no member of the Family would ever willingly step into.

Yet Augusto’s spotless white shirt stood there, completely out of place.

Serafina stared at the photo for a long time.

Then, slowly, she began to remember everything that had happened that day.

Her stomach pain had returned.

At first, she thought it would pass.

She had endured it many times before.

But this time, even the medicine did nothing.

She knew how much Augusto hated dirt and disorder. She knew his obsession with cleanliness had reached an extreme.

But the pain was unbearable.

That was when Augusto happened to return home to retrieve documents needed for a Family meeting.

The moment he entered the room and saw her lying on the bed, his expression darkened.

“You’re still wearing the clothes you wore outside?”

His voice held no concern.

Only anger.

“You went into the city, walked through all that dirt, and came home without washing?”

“You know the rule. Don’t lie down before you clean yourself.”

Serafina wanted to explain.

She wanted to tell him she was in pain.

But she didn’t even have the strength to speak.

Cold sweat covered her forehead, sliding down her pale face.

Augusto didn’t notice.

Or perhaps he simply chose not to.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bathroom.

The sharp smell of disinfectant immediately filled the air.

It burned her nose and eyes.

Serafina’s fingers brushed over the seashell pendant around her neck, the only thing she had always considered truly hers.

Then her hand slowly fell.

“Get inside and disinfect.”

Augusto’s voice was cold and unquestionable.

She opened her mouth to protest.

But another wave of pain tore through her body.

Her vision blurred.

Before she could steady herself, Augusto lifted her and pushed her into the tub.

The cold liquid surrounded her.

The sting spread through her skin.

She struggled weakly, trying to sit up.

But Augusto only looked at her with impatience.

“If you still want to stand beside me in the future, endure this.”

His voice lowered.

“If you can’t even handle something this simple, don’t forget what happened before.”

Serafina’s face instantly changed.

She shook her head desperately.

“Don’t…”

She couldn’t let him say it.

That memory was the wound she had never healed from.

And Augusto knew exactly where it hurt most.

He always knew how to use it against her.

She didn’t know how long she remained in that tub.

The pain grew stronger.

The burning sensation spread through her body.

Then she saw the water slowly turn red.

Blood.

Her blood.

Panic finally overwhelmed her.

Her trembling fingers wrapped tightly around the seashell pendant at her throat.

The only thing she could still hold onto.

“Augusto…”

Her voice was weak.

“Help me…”

But the only response she received was his voice from the phone.

“You’re injured? Is it serious?”

A moment later, his tone softened.

“I’m coming now.”

Then came the sound of the door closing.

Hard.

Final.

“Don’t go…”

Serafina reached out.

But her hand fell before she could touch anything.

With the last bit of strength left in her body, she dragged herself out of the bathroom.

She had to save herself.

She had to save her child.

But she was too late.

Now, back in the clinic, Serafina’s trembling fingers enlarged the photo again and again.

She searched desperately for a mistake.

A detail that could prove she was wrong.

That the man in the picture wasn’t Augusto.

But then she saw it.

The faint scar on his wrist.

A scar she knew better than anyone.

Her heart stopped.

Since Ceciliana returned to their territory, Serafina had endured countless provocations.

She had ignored the whispers.

She had tolerated the comparisons.

She had believed Augusto would never truly abandon her.

But this photo destroyed the last piece of hope she had left.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

Her chest felt as if someone had torn it open.

The pain spread through every bone in her body.

She called Augusto.

Again.

And again.

But every call ended with the same cold mechanical message.

“The number you dialed is temporarily unavailable…”

Serafina closed her eyes.

She couldn’t forgive him.

Not this time.

Not for their child.

Because once, Augusto had been the only person who saved her from darkness.

When her father’s blood-debt nearly destroyed their family and the creditors were preparing to sell her as repayment, Augusto stood between them and her.

For protecting her, the tendons in his hands were cut.

When she was forced to abandon her studies and locked away to wait for a marriage arrangement she never wanted, Augusto broke through the window and took her away.

He worked day and night, struggling to support her, just so she could return to her books.

When he first built his own power within the Family, the first thing he did was clear her family’s debt.

Not for profit.

Not for reputation.

Only because he wanted her to live freely.

For seven years, he had been her shelter.

Her salvation.

Her entire world.

But everything changed after Ceciliana returned.

The man who once loved her enough to fight against the world now became the person who hurt her the most.

Serafina could forgive neglect.

She could forgive coldness.

She could even forgive him choosing someone else.

But she could never forgive him for abandoning their child.

She raised her hand to wipe away her tears.

Only then did she realize there were no tears left.

Her heart had already gone numb.

Ignoring the doctor’s orders, Serafina left the clinic.

In their world, severing a bond was never simple.

Sometimes leaving meant choosing death.

Sometimes cutting away the person you loved most meant cutting away a piece of yourself.

But some ties were never meant to remain.

Not after they had cost her everything.