“Forget it, you’re probably like your mom, unwilling to let your dad know the truth. But I can’t bear it any longer. Rocco is a model father, the rarest kind of good husband. I must tell him the truth; I can’t let him be deceived forever.”
Then, without hesitation, Veda produced a clearly fake paternity test, spitting out venomous lies. She painted me as an adulteress, accused me of conceiving another man’s child, of deceiving Rocco with shameless betrayal.
The joyous birthday banquet instantly dissolved into murmurs and ridicule.
Rocco broke down before my eyes. His hand rose, but when he looked at me, his strength faltered; he could not strike me.
Instead, he turned, climbed out of the window, and jumped. In my frantic panic, unable to explain or defend myself, I too lost my footing and fell.
Only after death did I finally learn that it had all been nothing more than one of my mother’s so-called jokes to lighten the mood.
…
Thinking of the despair and agony before death, and hearing Rocco’s gentle lullaby coaxing our daughter behind the door, I made up my mind in that instant.
I would not only protect this family, but also let my mother taste the bitter fruit of her own making.