Vincenzo’s distance. The way his affection faded without warning. Lena’s return, and how quickly he turned colder than I had ever seen him before.
He started comparing.
“Noel’s a strong kid,” he once said over whiskey. “Confident. Healthy. Disciplined.”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
We both knew what he meant.
Weeks before Gabriel got sick, he had already said something worse.
“Sometimes I wonder if that boy is really mine,” Vincenzo said once, staring at me like I was the problem. “And if he is… he won’t survive anything I built. Too weak. Too fragile. That kind of blood ruins empires.”
I couldn’t even respond.
I had spent years trying to become someone he wouldn’t discard. Softer when needed. Stronger when demanded. Quiet when convenient. Loyal at all times.
But I never thought he would start discarding our child too.
Gabriel loved him. Worshipped him, really. He would show Vincenzo everything—drawings, little handmade medals, anything he thought might earn a glance. But Vincenzo never looked.
Not once.
My son died without ever having his father sit beside him. Without hearing his voice when it mattered most. Without the man he adored even lifting a hand to stay.