After Prison, I Stopped Being His Wife

The day I was released from prison, rain poured from the sky. I followed my husband to the cemetery to visit our daughter. Rain hammered against the tombstone. Vincent Moretti, Don of the Moretti family, suddenly spoke in a calm voice. "The day our daughter drowned, I was the one who had the surveillance footage from the lake by the docks destroyed." I froze. The next second, I turned and met my son's eyes. There was not a trace of guilt in them. Aiden's tone was light, almost careless. "I testified that you abused my sister. I helped clear Celeste of suspicion." The torment of more than a thousand days and nights in prison could not compare to one fraction of the pain of that truth tearing me open. Something bitter and metallic surged up my throat. I grabbed Vincent by the collar and broke down. "What did I do wrong? Why would you do this to me..." My son gave a soft laugh. "My sister is already dead. What, were we supposed to let Celeste go to jail?" "You are a wife with no real skills and no power. So what if you had to spend a few years behind bars?" Vincent pried my fingers loose one by one, his voice cold. "You enjoyed all the prestige of being Mrs. Moretti, while Celeste gave birth to my child and still could not even call herself my wife. I already owe them too much." "So, Evelyn, as long as you stop causing trouble for Celeste and Pearl, I won't send you back a second time." ... I collapsed in front of my daughter's grave, chilled to the bone. Vincent bent down and brushed the wet hair from my face. "Evelyn, you're the one who insisted on hiring someone to investigate Celeste." "So I arranged for a few people to teach you a lesson. I wanted you to behave." "I just didn't expect them to go that far and leave you crippled." The dull crack of metal striking bone exploded again beside my ears. That day, I had just found a lead proving Celeste had drowned my daughter. I was about to confront Celeste when a group of family bodyguards pinned me to the floor and brought iron rods down on my legs again and again. Lying in a pool of blood, I used the last of my strength to crawl, inch by inch, toward the door. "Help me..." But all that remained in the hallway was the sound of Vincent's footsteps fading farther and farther away. The pain and despair of that day were still vivid. I took a deep breath and looked at the son in front of me. He felt like a stranger. Cold. Unreachable. My son glanced down at me in the mud and rain. "Stop acting like you're the victim." "Celeste was about to be honored by the family elders. You were the one who insisted on causing trouble for her." "Father didn't even want to hurt you. You pushed him into it." My own flesh and blood was taking my enemy's side. The last string in my mind snapped. I forced myself to stand and slapped my son hard across the face. "Smack!" The sharp sound cut through the rain. My son held his cheek, stunned. Vincent lunged forward and shoved me away. "Evelyn, why are you hitting a child?" I crashed into the tombstone. Fresh blood mixed with rainwater and ran into my eyes, dyeing the whole world red. Two family bodyguards dragged me into a car and took me back to the Moretti estate. Vincent pushed an adoption agreement in front of me. "Pearl will be adopted under your name." Pearl Moretti. His daughter with Celeste. I swept everything off the coffee table, my eyes bloodshot. "Vincent, you want me to claim my enemy's daughter? Dream on." "She killed my daughter. I will never raise that bastard child." Shards of porcelain cut the back of my hand. Blood dripped onto the carpet. Vincent frowned and pressed a handkerchief against the wound. "Evelyn, stop making a scene." "If you could be a little more gracious and accept Celeste and Pearl, you will still be the wife I love most. Your place as Mrs. Moretti will always be yours." Nausea rolled through me. I yanked my hand back. Vincent's expression darkened. "Evelyn, you need to calm down." "When you've thought this through, you can come out and talk to me." He turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Silence returned. Blood kept seeping from my hand, carrying away the last trace of warmth in my heart. I immediately booked a ticket to the West Coast. I would never return to a home like this.