Ignoring Salvatore's horrified gaze, Serafina barged inside, placing the cake and gifts before Liliana as though it were an offering to a queen, arranging each box with the meticulous care of someone curating a display of devotion.
"Liliana, my darling, today is all about you and your godmother won't let anything ruin your special day!"
As Liliana reached for the gifts, a small cut on her hand became visible. A thin line across her palm, still pink with healing, the kind of wound that comes from broken glass.
Serafina's smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed in irritation, and something territorial hardened behind them. She spun toward me, her tone sharp with annoyance. "Bianca, what's going on here? How could you let Liliana get hurt?"
With an emotionless expression, I responded, "Kids are bound to get a few bumps and scrapes. Isn't your daughter covered in bruises every day, too?"
The napkin was still in my hands. I had not stopped folding it. I set it down now, a perfect square, and met Serafina's gaze with the flatness that eighteen years of silence had taught me to wear like armor.
Serafina's face contorted with rage. "How dare you compare that worthless brat to Liliana? Liliana is…"
She faltered, realizing her words had crossed a line. The pause sat between us like a held breath. Even the air in the room seemed to tighten, as though the compound itself understood what she had nearly said, what truth she had nearly let slip in a house where blood and belonging were the only currencies that mattered.
Taking a deep breath, she softened her tone, continuing, "What I meant to say is that Liliana has been cherished since she was little, much more precious than my useless daughter. You need to take better care of her."
Salvatore let out a scornful laugh and shot back, "You really have some nerve. If you hadn't beaten your daughter to a pulp yesterday, leaving blood all over the house, Liliana wouldn't have felt the need to clean it up and hurt herself!"
At his words, Serafina's gaze flickered to Liliana. The right corner of her mouth twitched, but she held it. "Is that true, Liliana?"
Liliana nodded solemnly, her fingers resting against the medal at her throat. "Yes, I just wanted to help Mom and Dad a little."
Serafina's face softened with mock sympathy, the kind that looked almost genuine if you didn't know where to look. "Sometimes, you shouldn't try so hard to be helpful. Leave the hard work to your parents."
"Your only job here is to enjoy life. Understand?"
Without missing a beat, Serafina sprang into action, setting up for Liliana's birthday celebration and managing everything from the cooking to the decorations. She moved through the compound's kitchen as though it were her own, directing the household staff with a familiarity that bordered on ownership. She knew where the silver was kept. She knew which platters Salvatore preferred. She arranged candles on the dining table with the ease of a woman who had memorized this house from the inside out, and I watched her do it from the doorway, the linen napkin folded in my pocket like a small, useless weapon.
Once the food was gone and the laughter had faded, the dining room settling into the particular quiet that follows forced celebration, Serafina eagerly leaned in across the table, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "So, tell me, sweetheart, do you have any wishes? Your godmother will make them come true."
Liliana didn't hesitate for a moment, her gaze steady and determined. "I want to get into a top university."
The words hung in the candlelit room, clean and simple and entirely beyond the reach of what any godmother's indulgence could guarantee. Serafina's smile widened, but something behind it recalculated, the way it always did when a situation required more than money and violence to control. Salvatore turned his ring once, slowly, and said nothing. And I stood at the edge of the table with my hands perfectly still, thinking of my real daughter lying unconscious somewhere with a broken leg, and how tomorrow the world would continue to call Liliana mine.
