When he first decided to take Malissa in, Enid had just been born. I was still in postpartum recovery when I heard the news—so angry and heartbroken that my milk stopped flowing. My chest swelled until it felt like it was filled with stones, the pain so unbearable I couldn’t sleep.
I’d begged him to hire a nurse, someone to help.
But he’d just stared me down and said, “Lori, you’re the daughter of a mob boss. You were raised to be tough. What’s a little pain to someone like you?”
“I don’t trust strangers coming into this house. What if they’re spies sent by our enemies? I won’t gamble with Lisa’s safety.”
“So no, I won’t bring in a nurse. You’ll feed the baby yourself. You’ve always been the sensible one. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”
Milford was willing to do anything so long as Malissa was comfortable. So, when had that started?
When had he gone from calling her “my sister-in-law,” to “Lisa,” and now—“my wife”?
Then what about me? What did that make me?
“Mama, don’t cry.”
I hadn’t even noticed when Enid woke up. She slid off the bed and padded over to me, her tiny hand brushing against my cheek.
Only then did I realize—my face was soaked with tears.