"I... don't have a husband..."
Then everything went black.
My baby was gone.
Four months along. Just barely formed.
The doctor said it was a girl.
I stayed in the hospital for three days. A private room on the fourth floor. The blinds drawn. The machines beeping in a rhythm that meant nothing except that I was still alive, which felt like the cruelest possible outcome.
In those three days, Tomasso didn't call me once. Not a message. Not a soldier sent to check. Not even Nino Basile with his careful glasses-cleaning and his rehearsed condolences. Nothing. As if I had already ceased to exist inside the Rossetti world.
But I saw his social media post.
Blessed with a baby boy.
Four words. Accompanied by a photo of a woman and child sleeping, shot from behind. Catarina's dark hair fanned across a pillow. The infant tucked against her chest. The angle chosen with the same deliberate care she used when she tucked her hair behind her left ear before a lie. Even in sleep, she was performing.