My phone buzzed against the table. A text from Mario.
Please let me explain. It’s not what you think.
I stared at the message for a long moment, then deleted it without responding.
Tomorrow I’d have to tell my daughter that the man she’d started calling family was leaving. Tonight, I just wanted to sit in my quiet kitchen, hold her glittery ring, and grieve for what we’d almost had.
Because despite everything—despite the lies and the fake dating and the Italian job offers—for a few perfect weeks, it had felt real.
And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.
CHAPTER16
Lily
The morningafter the gala dawned with the kind of October sunshine that mocked my misery—golden light streaming through my kitchen windows, highlighting every dust mote like confetti, though I definitely wasn’t celebrating.
My phone showed thirty-seven unread messages. I turned it face down and focused on the one person who mattered. My seven-year-old daughter, currently demolishing a bowl of Lucky Charms at my mother’s kitchen table.
“Mom!” Olivia launched herself at me when I walked in, syrup from her pancakes still sticky on her cheek. “Grandma said Mario had to leave the party early for an emergency. Is he okay?”
My mother caught my eye over Olivia’s head, her expression saying she’d bought me time but couldn’t hold back the truth much longer.
“Let’s go home and talk, baby,” I said, my voice carefully steady.
During the short drive home, Olivia chattered about her sleepover—how Grandpa let her stay up late to watch a movie about a talking dog, how Grandma made cinnamon rolls shaped like pumpkins. Normal, sweet seven-year-old things. I memorized every word, knowing these might be our last few minutes before her world shifted.
At home, I made hot chocolate—the real kind, with marshmallows and whipped cream—buying myself a few more moments. We settled on the couch, her small body warm against my side.
“Sweetheart, I need to tell you something about Mario.”
Her whole body went still. “Is he hurt?”
“No, nothing like that.” I took a breath. “Mario got offered a really important job. In Italy.”
“Italy?” Her face scrunched in confusion. “But that’s really far away.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But he’s helping with my heritage project! And he promised to teach me how to say ‘good morning’ in Italian! And the squeaky step on the stairs still sounds like a dying whale!” Her voice climbed higher with each protest. “He can’t go to Italy!”
“Sometimes grown-ups have to make really hard choices?—”
“Is he leaving because of me?” The question came out small and cracked. “Did I ask for too much help? I can do my project by myself. I’ll use the computer for translations.”
“Oh, honey, no.” I pulled her closer, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. “This isn’t about you at all. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why?” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why does everyone leave?”
Seven years old, and she was already learning that people you love disappear. The thought made my chest ache.
“Not everyone leaves,” I said. “I’m here. Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Ben?—”
“But Mario was supposed to be different.” She pulled back, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “He fixed things. He came to my Halloween parade. He let me paint his fingernail and didn’t even complain when Tommy Patterson laughed.”
“I think he did want to be here,” I said carefully. “Sometimes, wanting something isn’t enough.”
“That’s stupid.” She stood up, her little hands balled into fists. “If you want something, you keep it. If you love someone, you stay. It’s not complicated!”
