The screen lit up with a name that made my chest tighten in a way nothing else had all night.
Mom.
I pressed my thumb against the bare metal of my wedding ring, turning it once, and answered.
"Olivia, I made some soup for you and brought it to the house." Rosa Ferraro's voice came through the speaker warm and certain, the voice of a woman who believed soup could fix most things and love could fix the rest. "Where are you and Dante? Why aren't you home?"
Before I could respond, she continued. "Oh, that Dante. You're this far along, and he's still taking you out? You really need to be careful right now."
Hearing my mom's voice felt like a blow. Like opening a floodgate I had been trying so hard to keep closed. All the pain I had been holding in grew into an overwhelming weight, pressing down on my chest. The calm cracked. Not all at once. In a single fissure, running from somewhere behind my sternum up through my throat, and behind the crack was everything I had not allowed myself to feel for the past two hours. The parking lot. The kiss. The smug look through the window. The seven years.