What I wanted—freedom, a little joy. Yet, to the Family, my wish was nothing more than selfish indulgence.
I squinted, the pain in my chest twisting tighter with every breath.
“She’s got it stuck in her head,” Salvatore said, shaking his head as he settled back into the armchair he ran the house from. “She’s been jealous of her sister for years. But people need to learn to accept their lot in life. What’s not meant for you, you can’t force. Better to let it go than keep yourself trapped forever.”
The talk drifted on, low and easy, but I knew those words weren’t said to no one. He made sure every syllable reached the back of the house, where I stood.
I shut my eyes in despair, trying to understand what it meant to “accept your fate.”
The doorbell rang.
A second later, Salvatore’s voice lit up with delight. “Adriana! Why didn’t you send word first?”
Then Adriana’s cheery voice floated in like sunshine through the window. “Thought I’d surprise you! Life needs a little unexpected joy, right?”
Matteo’s shriek of excitement nearly pierced my ears. “Aunt Adriana! You’re finally here!”
The seat of the name came alive. Salvatore was practically dancing, uncorking a vintage he’d been saving, calling for glasses, his face flushed from smiling too hard.
Then Adriana asked, with that familiar warmth in her voice, “Where’s my sister? Isn’t she going to come say hello?”
Salvatore’s expression froze. Just for a second. Then he let out a cold laugh. “She’s sulking. Says she wants to run off and travel the world, past the territory, past all of it. Honestly, the older she gets, the more childish she becomes.”
Adriana chuckled softly, her tone laced with helpless amusement.
“You’ve got such a beautiful family, a name people still respect. Honestly, I’m a little jealous. And she doesn’t even appreciate it? Wants to run off and do who-knows-what?”
Then she turned to Salvatore, almost sweetly. “But don’t be too hard on Rosaria. She’s always been a little self-centered, even when we were girls. I understand it. I’m just… sorry you all have to carry it.”
The moment my name came up, the air in the room shifted. Every voice cooled at once, the way a room goes quiet when the wrong subject is raised.
Sensing the tension, my son rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to Salvatore before he spoke, quick to smooth it over. “Let’s not talk about that. It’s a good day. Aunt Adriana’s here. Why don’t we all go out tonight? Sit down together, celebrate a little.”
Salvatore nodded eagerly. “Of course. We’ve got a real artist under our roof. We treat her like she’s owed the whole city.”
Matteo clapped his hands, nearly bouncing. “Yes! Big dinner! Aunt Adriana’s the best. I love it when she comes around!” He said it in her exact cadence, the way a boy repeats a voice that raised him.
The house filled with noise again. Laughter, chatter, the shuffle of people readying themselves.
Then the front door shut. And silence took over.
I slowly stood, walked out of the bedroom, and stared at the empty front room. They’d all gone out to eat together. Not a single one of them thought to call my name.
I sat on the couch, the dark television glass casting back my reflection. Overweight, frumpy, hair a tangled mess.
They weren’t wrong. Compared to my sister Adriana, I was... nothing.
She had never married, never bound herself to anyone. She came and went as she pleased, a made socialite of this life, welcome at every table and answerable at none. She chased the horizon while I stayed inside these walls. Married Salvatore. Gave up everything for the name. Raised a son, minded a grandson. And now? I played the part of a glorified maid, keeping the books, moving the tribute, expected to smile through all of it.
I looked at the Family photograph hanging in the front room. Five faces beaming, the record of who belonged to the Valente name.
But I wasn’t in it.
I remembered why. I’d broken my leg that week, laid up and useless. Salvatore had taken Adriana and the rest to sit for the photograph without me.
When I questioned it, he didn’t even flinch.
“Rosaria, Adriana’s all alone in this life. She’s been feeling low. I only wanted to give her a place to belong. And besides, she’s your sister. I look after her because of you.”
He’d hung the photograph dead center in the front room, where every man who came to pay respects would see it. Couldn’t stop smiling at it. When he saw my expression darken, his tone shifted at once.
“She’s your own blood. Are you really that jealous? You’ve always been like this, envious of her since you were girls. Grow up, Rosaria. We’re Family. Family carries Family.”
I stared at that photograph, at the smiling faces I used to believe included me.
I wondered when exactly I had disappeared from my own life.
