I started packing early, sorting through years of belongings and memories with a level of clarity that felt almost clinical.
Although Dante and I slept in separate rooms, we shared the same walk-in closet. For years, it had been part of my daily routine to prepare everything for him. I knew exactly how he liked his shirts pressed, where he preferred his cufflinks placed, and which tray he expected to find his signet ring on when he left in the morning.
It had become second nature.
A quiet ritual I performed to maintain the fragile peace of our distant marriage.
Now it was time to let it all go.
As I folded my clothes into suitcases, my attention drifted to a collection of gifts I had given Dante over the years. Birthday presents. Anniversary gifts. Holiday surprises.
Every single one remained untouched.
Most were still wrapped exactly as I had given them.
They sat forgotten in the back of the closet like meaningless objects he had never cared enough to open.
A dull ache spread through my chest.
I remembered how carefully I had chosen each gift, how much thought and effort I had poured into them, foolishly hoping they might show him how deeply I wanted to be a good wife.
In the end, none of it had mattered.
Without another thought, I gathered them together and placed them into a donation box.
Perhaps someone else would appreciate them.
Someone who actually wanted them.
At the same time, I left behind everything Dante had ever bought for me.
The jewelry.
The designer handbags.
The expensive clothes.
Every gift he had used to smooth over another disappointment or silence another argument remained exactly where it was.
I packed only the things I had purchased myself with money earned from selling my artwork.
Those were the only things that truly belonged to me.
Once the donation boxes were packed, I loaded them into my car and headed toward the orphanage where I had grown up.
The old Catholic building still stood on the same street in Federal Hill.
Its stone steps had been worn smooth by decades of children running up and down them.
Every Family in Providence respected the orphanage as neutral ground under the old code.
Even the Valentes left it untouched.
On the way there, I stopped at a supermarket and bought snacks for the children.
I would be leaving soon.
But they would always remain close to my heart.
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by the woman who had raised me with endless patience and kindness.
The woman I simply called Sister.
She welcomed me with open arms.
We settled into a quiet corner of the common room, talking comfortably while children's laughter drifted through the hallway in the distance.
For a while, we chatted about ordinary things.
Then I finally gathered the courage to tell her the truth.
"I'm going to Italy for further studies."
The words left my mouth accompanied by a small smile.
Her entire face brightened.
"Oh, Seraphina!" she exclaimed warmly, squeezing my hands. "I always knew you were meant for great things. You deserve every happiness waiting for you."
Emotion tightened my throat.
Her encouragement felt like a soothing balm over wounds I hadn't realized were still bleeding.
Then I forced myself to continue.
"I'm also... divorcing Dante."
For a brief moment, concern crossed her face.
She folded her hands together in her lap and became very still.
Not judgmental.
Not surprised.
Just waiting.
Listening.
She knew how close I had always been to Dante's mother, and perhaps she had once hoped that marriage would finally give me the family I had spent my entire life searching for.
But as I explained everything, her expression gradually softened.
Finally, she nodded.
"Sometimes letting go is the bravest thing a person can do."
Her voice was gentle as she patted my hand.
"You have to follow your own path, Seraphina."
I felt tears threaten to rise.
Instead, I smiled and hugged her tightly.
"Thank you."
By the time I left the orphanage, evening had begun settling over the city.
I drove back toward the Valente estate slowly, enjoying the quiet roads.
Normally, I would have been watching the clock anxiously.
Dinner was important to Dante.
For years, I had rushed home whenever possible because I knew how irritated he became if I was late.
Yet as I drove that evening, I felt none of that urgency.
No pressure.
No anxiety.
Only distance.
Thinking back, his obsession with shared meals had always confused me.
Breakfast and dinner.
Every day.
No excuses.
Why had it mattered so much to him?
There had never been a real marriage between us.
We slept separately.
Lived separately.
Loved separately.
Sometimes I wondered whether those meals had merely been part of a performance.
A way to convince the household staff that the arrangement worked.
That the blood-bound marriage his mother had orchestrated resembled something real.
Even then, I still assumed it was simply one of Dante's strange habits.
That assumption vanished the moment I walked into the manor.
An unexpected scene greeted me in the living room.
Dante's younger sister, Ginevra, and Camille sat surrounded by luxury shopping bags, designer boxes, and discarded tissue paper scattered across the furniture like confetti after a celebration.
Ginevra glanced up immediately.
"Oh, you're finally home, Seraphina."
Her tone was as arrogant as ever.
"We're starving. The chef couldn't come today, so go make dinner."
The words landed exactly where they always did.
A reminder of the role I had played in this family.
Useful.
Convenient.
Replaceable.
I pressed my thumb against the familiar callus on my middle finger and glanced toward Camille.
She deliberately avoided my eyes, choosing instead to fuss over a brand-new handbag.
At that moment, Dante emerged from the hallway.
"Forget cooking tonight," he said casually. "Let's just eat out."
Then his attention shifted instantly to Camille.
His voice softened.
"What do you feel like eating?"
Camille's eyes lit up.
"I want steak," she said eagerly, wrapping both hands around his arm. "Can we go to our favorite place? The one we used to go to in college?"
Without hesitation, Dante nodded and reached for his car keys.
Watching how naturally they fit together, how comfortable they seemed in each other's presence, I quietly tried to slip away.
Unfortunately, Dante noticed.
"Come with us."
I paused.
"No thanks. I'm not hungry."
His expression darkened immediately.
"That wasn't a question, Seraphina."
I released a slow breath.
The familiar weight of his authority settled over the room.
"Fine."
The ride there was exactly as uncomfortable as I expected.
Dante and Camille occupied the front seats, laughing together and reminiscing about old memories.
Meanwhile, Ginevra sat beside me in the back, carefully positioning herself as far away from me as possible.
She treated me like a stranger.
Or perhaps something worse.
The two women chatted effortlessly while I remained silent, staring out the window as Providence blurred past.
Neon signs.
Streetlights.
Historic streets giving way to the waterfront district that Family money had transformed over the years.
When we finally arrived at the restaurant, a bitter realization settled over me.
I recognized the place immediately.
It was the steakhouse Dante had brought me to countless times throughout our marriage.
The restaurant I had foolishly assumed belonged to us.
The hostess recognized him the moment he entered and guided us toward his usual table without needing to ask.
And suddenly, everything became painfully clear.
This had never been our place.
It had always been theirs.
Just like so many things I once believed belonged to us.
In the end, almost every cherished memory I thought we had built together had started with Camille long before I ever arrived.
