On the day of the prison visitation, my parents left before dawn.
They wanted to arrive as early as possible.
Enzo was supposed to travel with them, but halfway there, he suddenly changed direction.
"There is something urgent I need to handle," he said.
The truth was far more complicated.
Through his own network of contacts, Enzo had learned that Adrian Falcone had regained consciousness.
The moment he heard the news, he acted.
Before Salvatore could discover that Adrian was awake, Enzo went straight to the family's private clinic to meet him.
The Ortega family was standing at a critical turning point.
Their businesses were slowly moving toward legitimacy. The front operations they had built were gaining momentum, and everything they had worked for was finally beginning to take shape.
But one accident could destroy everything.
A body.
A witness.
A survivor who could speak.
Any one of those things could drag the entire family back into the darkness.
If Salvatore learned Adrian was alive, Enzo knew exactly what would happen.
Men like them did not leave dangerous loose ends behind.
A living witness meant the possibility of the truth coming out.
A dead witness meant the case could never be overturned.
Only silence could keep me buried behind prison walls forever.
Enzo understood that better than anyone.
So before the halls of the clinic had even filled with people, he was already there.
As always, he had investigated everything carefully.
On the surface, Adrian Falcone was simply the underboss of the Falcone family.
But the truth was far more complicated.
He was Don Falcone's illegitimate son.
A man connected to the family's bloodline, even if his official position had not yet been recognized.
Adriana and Adrian had known each other since childhood.
They grew up in the same world.
But when they became adults, Adrian's people sent him overseas, and the connection between them slowly faded until nothing remained.
Enzo's visit was a gamble.
A single question decided everything.
Would Adrian remember who had truly been driving that car?
When Adrian saw a stranger sitting across from him, his guard immediately went up.
No matter what Enzo said, Adrian remained silent.
Suspicious.
Cold.
Unwilling to trust anyone.
But Enzo had come prepared.
He removed his glasses, cleaned them slowly, then placed them back on his face.
Only after that did he take out the official documents.
He explained everything.
The accident.
The investigation.
My confession.
The trial.
The sentence.
And the fact that I had taken his place.
"She confessed?"
Those were the first words Adrian spoke.
His voice was low.
Almost emotionless.
But something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Even after Enzo explained their history, even after he told Adrian that he and I had studied law together and that my parents had asked him to handle my case, Adrian still kept his distance.
He did not give Enzo an answer.
Not a promise.
Not even a clear reaction.
Enzo left the clinic empty-handed.
But he knew something had changed.
Something had awakened.
Not long after, Adrian arranged a quiet transfer out of the private clinic.
No one knew where he went.
Inside the prison visitation room, a thick glass wall separated me from my parents.
Only one day had passed since I was sentenced.
But to them, it felt like years.
The moment my mother saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
I had lost weight.
My face looked tired.
The prison uniform made me appear even more distant from the daughter she remembered.
But I forced myself to smile.
I pretended I had accepted everything.
Instead of letting them comfort me, I comforted them.
Then my mother's phone rang.
Her expression immediately darkened.
She looked annoyed before answering, as if she already knew who it was.
And she was right.
When she saw my confused expression, she slowly turned the screen toward me.
Salvatore's posts filled the page.
One after another.
Every single one showed his new life with Gia.
The first post read:
"Gia's first day home. She is sleeping so peacefully."
The photo showed Gia lying in the master bedroom.
The same room that once belonged to me.
She wore my favorite nightgown.
Her expression looked soft and satisfied.
There were faint marks along her neck and collarbone.
I looked away.
The next post appeared.
"Made breakfast for Gia with my own hands. I hope she likes it."
The picture showed a table filled with carefully prepared food.
I stared at it.
The same man who had always claimed he couldn't cook.
The same man who said even boiling water was too much trouble.
For seven years, I believed him.
Even when I was sick with a high fever, barely able to stand, I had begged him for help.
The only thing he made was a bowl of plain porridge.
And even then, he placed it in front of me with impatience, as if caring for me was a burden.
So it was never that he couldn't do it.
It was only that I was never worth the effort.
Then I saw the post he had pinned at the top.
"Some reunions are written by fate. The right person will always be waiting for you."
The picture showed Salvatore and Gia holding hands.
Behind them was a flower wall.
A flower wall I had built for his birthday.
With my own hands.
I had spent months searching for the perfect flowers.
I had cut my fingers countless times while arranging them into a giant heart.
I thought it was a symbol of our love.
But now that same heart had become the background of his public confession to another woman.
The comments were filled with blessings.
And mixed among them were whispers attacking me.
People called me cruel.
Called me a burden.
Called me someone who had trapped him.
How ironic.
I was the last person to know the truth about my own marriage.
I clenched my fists tightly.
My nails pressed into my palms.
My mother noticed the pain in my eyes and quickly put away the phone.
She changed the subject.
"Enzo said the victim woke up."
Her voice lowered as she leaned closer to the glass.
"Adriana, don't give up."
"Your father and I will find a way."
"We will do everything we can to bring you home."
Everything had already been decided.
The truth had already been buried.
But even now, my parents were still fighting for me.
That love hurt more than anything.
My eyes burned.
But I said nothing.
At that moment, my closest friend Bianca called.
My parents stood up and left, giving me a little time alone with her.
Before walking away, my mother turned back one last time.
"The victim is awake now."
"We will go see him."
"We will beg him to help you."
"Maybe... maybe your sentence can still be reduced."
