Growing up as an orphan, I spent countless afternoons painting in the yard of the Catholic orphanage on Federal Hill, staring beyond the iron gates and dreaming of a life bigger than the one I had been given.
I dreamed that someone might notice me one day. Someone who would see potential where others saw an orphan, offer me an opportunity, and help me pursue the only thing I had ever truly loved—art.
More than anything, I wanted to become a renowned painter and one day open a studio of my own, a place where my work could live and breathe freely.
Then, shortly after I graduated from high school, that opportunity arrived.
A woman came to the orphanage with an offer that felt almost too extraordinary to be real. She would pay for my education at the Rhode Island School of Design, one of the most prestigious art schools in the country.
I still remembered the day she arrived.
A black sedan with tinted windows pulled up outside the orphanage. A soldier stepped out first and opened the door for her. The moment she entered, the nuns fell noticeably quieter.
Everyone on Federal Hill knew the Valente name.
There was only one condition attached to her generosity.
I had to marry her son.
Dante Valente.
He was five years older than me and had been slowly unraveling since the woman he loved left him for Paris.
"A blood-bound union," Vittoria called it.
"An alliance marriage."
The kind of arrangement that kept powerful families connected in the world she belonged to.
At eighteen years old, I hesitated.
"But does Dante know about this?" I asked carefully.
"Yes," Vittoria replied. "And he agreed."
As she spoke, her fingers drifted to the pearl necklace around her throat, adjusting it absently, as though reminding herself of the many roles she carried. Mother. Matriarch. The woman who quietly held the Valente family together behind the scenes.
In the end, I accepted.
Partly because I was grateful.
Partly because I felt indebted to her kindness.
Vittoria had shown me more warmth than I had ever known, and I wanted to repay that kindness in whatever way I could.
Dante and I entered our marriage as little more than strangers, but I held onto the hope that time might change things.
Perhaps one day we would learn to care for each other.
Perhaps one day we could become a real family.
Throughout college, I worked hard to carry my own weight. I earned scholarships, sold paintings online, and did everything possible to avoid becoming a financial burden.
The Valente name opened doors I never asked to walk through, but I kept my head down and worked as though none of those advantages existed.
None of it mattered to Dante.
To him, I was little more than an inconvenience.
No matter how hard I tried, he remained cold and distant, looking at me as though I were an unwelcome guest who had overstayed her welcome.
In a family where status determined everything, I had none.
No protection.
No influence.
No place at anyone's table.
I was a wife on paper and a ghost inside the compound.
Even on our wedding day, he refused to kiss me.
The ceremony ended, and he turned away without a second glance.
The few times Dante entered my room were always after he had been drinking. Those encounters never felt like affection. They felt like obligation.
Or worse.
A reminder that I was merely tolerated, never cherished.
One night, he stumbled into my room reeking of alcohol, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
The moment I saw him, I already knew what was coming.
"Seraphina," he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Why don't you ever come to my room?"
"You've never asked me to," I replied quietly. "And it's not like you wanted this marriage any more than I did."
He laughed bitterly and crossed the room unsteadily before grabbing my arm.
"You're only here because of my mother. Without her, you're nothing."
The words stung.
Not because they were new.
Because I had heard them countless times before.
"Yes, Dante," I whispered as his grip tightened.
"I know."
The years passed like that.
And I endured all of it because of Vittoria.
She was the only person who had ever shown me genuine kindness.
When an opportunity to study abroad came along, I even turned it down because I feared leaving would disappoint her.
Yet no matter how much I sacrificed, no matter how hard I tried, I could never replace the woman who already occupied Dante's heart.
Camille.
His first love.
His only love.
I was merely a substitute.
A shadow standing where someone else was supposed to be.
That was why, after our argument that night, something inside me finally settled.
Not anger.
Not heartbreak.
Resolve.
My professor's words echoed through my mind.
"The scholarship is yours if you want it."
"Italy is waiting for you, Seraphina."
It wasn't simply an opportunity.
It was a lifeline.
A door opening after years of feeling trapped behind walls I had never chosen.
And for the first time, I decided to walk through it.
To leave behind everything that had been holding me back.
---
The following morning, I joined Dante for breakfast in the dining room of the Valente estate.
He barely acknowledged my presence.
His attention remained fixed entirely on his phone.
Two soldiers stood against the far wall, expressionless and silent, hearing everything while pretending to hear nothing.
Apparently, he had already forgotten everything that happened the night before.
I cleared my throat.
"Dante."
He didn't look up.
"What would you think if I went to Italy for a master's degree?"
Without lifting his eyes from the screen, he waved one hand dismissively.
"It's your decision."
His tone was absentminded.
Careless.
As though I had asked what to order for lunch.
The signet ring on his finger caught the morning sunlight.
He wasn't even fidgeting with it.
I wasn't important enough to make him uncomfortable.
I took a slow breath.
"And since I'll be there for a while..."
I carefully steadied my voice.
"What do you think about getting a divorce?"
For a brief moment, I expected him to finally look up.
To ask why.
To show some reaction.
Anything.
Instead, he simply continued scrolling.
"No problem."
That was all.
No surprise.
No questions.
No hesitation.
Just indifference.
A strange mixture of relief and sadness washed through me.
There it was.
All the proof I needed.
In a world where dissolving a marriage required the Don's direct authorization, Dante agreed to divorce me with the same level of concern he might show when changing a dinner reservation.
He hadn't even noticed that I had stopped preparing his clothes.
Stopped drawing his baths.
Stopped making his bed.
Little by little, I had handed those responsibilities back to the household staff.
And he never noticed.
Not once.
"Okay."
I pushed back my chair and stood.
My breakfast remained untouched.
I had lost my appetite completely.
As I rose, my gaze briefly landed on his phone screen.
A message thread was open.
The contact name was impossible to miss.
My Camille.
The words struck harder than they should have.
Because they confirmed what I had always known.
His heart belonged to her.
His devotion belonged to her.
His world belonged to her.
And it never belonged to me.
Just then, his phone rang.
Camille.
He answered immediately.
After listening for a moment, he said without hesitation,
"I'll be there in a minute."
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
So this is what certainty feels like.
Not relief.
Not peace.
Just clarity.
I pressed my thumb against the callus on my middle finger, worn smooth from years of holding a paintbrush.
The familiar touch grounded me.
Not because the pain had faded.
But because the decision had already been made.
And this time, I wasn't looking back.
