Later that day, I arrived at my parents’ house. My father was absent, but my stepmother greeted me with a sharp slap across the face.
I didn’t flinch.
She already knew. She had known all along that the kidney was never for Michele—but for her daughter, Clare.
Without a word, I went straight to my room, penned a short letter, and slipped it into my father’s office, ensuring he would find it immediately.
Then I packed every single thing I owned in that house.
For a fleeting moment, I considered going to my matrimonial home, but I knew better.
The memories would suffocate me.
Instead, I drove straight to Isla’s house.
Michele didn’t know what he had lost.
But he was going to find out soon enough.
★★★
It had been three days since I had left Michele’s life. Three days, and I had received twenty missed calls from him. Not a single one had been answered.
Why was he calling? Shouldn't he be happy that I had left at all?
Now, I stood before the law firm, staring up at the building. I knew what would happen once I stepped inside, but I did it anyway. It had to be done. I had to be free of Michele.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit. To part from the man I had loved so deeply. But I wasn’t stupid—I knew when to quit.
I handed the business card Isla had given me to the receptionist. The woman glanced at it, then nodded, leading me to the elevator. The ride up was silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
The receptionist knocked before opening the door to the lawyer’s office.
"Mr. James, someone is here for you."
"Let them in."
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The man gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, and I sat down.
"What brings you here?" he asked, his tone professional but kind.
"I want to divorce my husband." The words were simple and firm.
Mr. James wasted no time. The papers were prepared immediately. I signed my copy and ensured the other was sent to Michele.
He should be happy now. I was finally giving him up.
As I walked out of the law firm, my phone rang. My father’s name flashed on the screen.
I hesitated before answering.
"Father," I greeted softly.
He sounded tired. Stressed. But I didn't dare hope it was because of me.
My father had never been cruel, but he had never truly seen me either. To him, I had been a responsibility to fulfill, nothing more.
"Come back home, Ella."
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it.
"I can't, Father," I responded. "Michele should be happy with your stepdaughter. They will make a very happy couple. I can't come back to watch that."
I ended the call without waiting for a reply. Then, without hesitation, I switched my phone off and drove back to Isla’s place.
But as soon as I stepped onto the front porch, my stomach twisted.
"So this is where you've been staying?" Clare sneered, a smug smile curling her lips.
Three red claw marks marred the side of her face. Isla’s work.
"I tried to send the bitch away, but she wouldn't leave," Isla said, her glare sharp enough to cut.
My gaze remained locked on Clare. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to remind you how much of nothing you are to Michele," Clare taunted. "I mean, you've seen it firsthand, haven't you?" She chuckled, a cruel sound.
"Anyway, Michele and I are going on a vacation. Just so you know how little he cares about you."
I clenched my fists. The words repeated like a curse, burning my ears.
"If you have nothing else to say, I suggest you leave," I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
"Oh, I will. I don’t want to stay in this dump any longer." Clare sighed dramatically, stepping past me. But as she did, she leaned in, whispering, "He will never come back to you, Ella. Get that through your head."
With that, she walked away, slipping into her car and driving off without a second glance.
I stood there for a moment, the ache in my chest dull but ever-present.
Then, I made a decision.
With Isla’s help, I contacted a renowned hacking company. They were the best at digging up dirt.
"Clare Moretti," I told them when they asked for a name. "Her previous last name was Luca, if that helps. And, Michele Ricci."
They nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard.
I didn’t want the information sent to me. I only wanted them destroyed.
Some things had a way of coming to light on their own.
Next, I created a fake passport and visa.
I bought a ticket.
And I boarded a flight to Italy.
When I returned to Isla’s house, my best friend was waiting.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Isla asked, concern lacing her words. "Michele hasn’t signed the papers yet, and there’s no alimony."
I smiled, unbothered. I had been saving money for years.
"I don’t need alimony," I assured her. "I’m alright, Isla. But I need to do this. I want everyone to see my worth."
Isla didn’t argue.
She simply stood by my side, offering her unwavering support.
