He spun, eyes sharp, accusatory. “You’re hiding it. I can tell. That’s what you do—hide. From duty, from respect, from life itself. Useless, jealous little nobody.”
I shook my head, silent.
He didn’t wait. His hand struck my face. Hard. Pain and humiliation collided as blood filled my mouth.
I collapsed, the floor cold beneath me, steady, unyielding. My vision blurred, and Vivienne gasped, syrupy sweet, feigning innocence:
“Oh! Sorry, brother-in-law. Must have grabbed your wallet by mistake while digging through my earrings. You know how clumsy I am.”
She revealed it with a smirk that only I noticed, a trap designed to diminish me in front of everyone.
The family packed their bags with laughter, joy, and false cheer.
“Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll bring a fridge magnet,” Antonio said, feigning generosity.
“And a keychain,” Chiara added.
“Dirty laundry, Grandma!” the twins yelled, tongues sticking out.
Their words cut, soft but piercing.
The door slammed. Silence fell.
I didn’t linger. I didn’t cry. I went straight to my room, knees aching, and pulled the old suitcase from beneath the bed. Zipped it. Left the rest behind.
A cab carried me straight to the airport.
Then my phone buzzed. Marcello.