She’s gone
Dante
After Valeria leaves, I stand motionless in the entryway.
I mechanically empty her half-full coffee cup into the sink. Then I rinse both cups and place them side by side.
She’s gone.
I stay there, not knowing what to do with myself, before finally forcing myself to move.
I dial Andrea’s number.
“I need you.”
“Good morning, brother. Merry Christmas to you too,” he says, mocking.
“Sorry. I’m really not in the mood.”
A brief silence. He must hear the strain in my voice, because his tone shifts immediately.
“What’s going on?”
“Bianca says she’s pregnant.”
“She’s bluffing,” he replies.
“That’s what we thought too. But she has a blood test to prove it.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “Send me the document. I’ll have it analyzed.”
I forward it immediately.
“Got it. I’ll call you back as soon as we know something.”
I hang up and sit on the couch, elbows on my knees, hands clasped. I stare at the wall across from me as if it might eventually give me an answer.
My thoughts drift to Valeria. The devastation in her eyes haunts me—that exact moment when I saw her understand, when I saw something shut down inside her.
The guilt is suffocating.
Not for moving on when I believed she was dead, but for letting myself be manipulated—and for not being able to shield her from the consequences of my mistakes.
The wait is unbearable.
When Andrea calls back, I answer on the first ring.
“The document is authentic. Bianca is pregnant.”
The news hits me like a sledgehammer. Brutal. Final.
I’m going to be a father.
“How is that possible? I always used protection.”
Part of me is still searching for the flaw, the escape route, the trap.
But the test results are right there.
My shoulders slump.
I refuse to be the kind of bastard who walks away from his responsibilities.
I’m going to be a father, and I feel no joy at all.
Not like this. Not with the woman I love. But it’s real. Irreversible. And no amount of anger or regret will change that.
I would have given anything for it to be with Valeria. For it to be ours. For that moment I imagined so many times—her telling me, me failing to hide my joy.
But it’s too late.
“Dante,” Andrea says softly. “You holding up?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Valeria left,” I say.
Silence.
“Can you blame her?”
“No.”
I can’t blame her for putting distance between herself and the man who got her worst enemy pregnant. I can’t blame her for running from something I can barely face myself.
“My child’s mother is a woman who tried to kill the woman I love,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how to protect my child from that reality. When Bianca is held accountable, what she did will be public.”
“You could drop the case against her.”
“And betray Valeria again? Never. I’ll protect my child—but not at that cost. Valeria deserves justice.”
“The decision is yours.”
“It’s already made.”
When I hang up, snow has started falling over Paris. It’s beautiful and silent and completely indifferent to what I’m going through—which, in a way, is almost comforting.
I’m going to be a father.
I’m going to have a child.
Will I be able to love my child, even if I despise their mother? Even if its existence risks costing me the woman I love?
I don’t know yet.
But I know this: it isn’t responsible for what Bianca did. And that, at least, is clear.
I dial Bianca’s number.
“Dante,” she says the moment she answers. “That took you long enough.”
“I just read your messages.”
Short. Cold. Deliberate.
“You turned off your phone… Why? You’ve never done that before.”
Jealousy and suspicion drip from her voice. This time, I hear them clearly. No filter. No illusion. And for the hundredth time, I wonder how I could have been so blind.
“What I do with my private life is none of your business anymore, Bianca.”
Silence. Then her voice rises, faster now, almost pained.
“Are you with her?”
“Seriously, Bianca? Do you honestly think I’d be with her right now?”
I can almost hear her sigh of relief.
Before, I would’ve felt guilty. Not anymore.
“No, of course not. You wouldn’t be that easy to manipulate.”
Her comment hits a little too close to the truth. I was easy to manipulate.
Not anymore.
I get straight to the point.
“How long have you known?”
“Since yesterday,” she replies.
Too quickly.
As if she’d already expected me to doubt her.
“I started suspecting it a few days ago. But I only had time to take a test the day before yesterday.”
“And you already had time for blood work and the results?”
The suspicion slips through despite myself.
“I happen to know the director of a private clinic who did me a small favor.”
“Of course you do.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m carrying your child. We’re going to have a family whether you want it or not.”
My fist presses against the wall to keep myself from exploding.
“No. This child will have two parents. But you and I are over. Don’t confuse co-parenting with being a couple. We are not a family.”
I know I’m losing control. I know I’m no longer playing the part. And if I’m not careful, she’s going to realize it. My voice softens.
“Listen, Bianca. I don’t want us to fight. I’ll take responsibility. I’ll be a present father. Don’t ask me for more than that.”
“Yes… that’s all I’m asking for.”
My jaw tightens.
She’s trying to regain control of the conversation too.
“What happens next?”
“I don’t know. Could we meet at the apartment and talk about it?”
“No. I’m not in Paris.”
Her breathing catches. And then her voice changes. This kind of coldness doesn’t even try to hide anymore.
“You’re with her.”
“Stop obsessing over this. You’re becoming ridiculous.”
“I’m warning you: if you go back to her, I’ll file for full custody of the baby,” she threatens. “You’ll never see your child.”
“You can try. A judge isn’t going to take my child away because you’re jealous.”
“You’re such an asshole. You’re not even denying it.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
I hang up.
I will love this child. I will protect them. Because anything else is unacceptable—not for me, not for the man I want to become.
But the less contact we have with Bianca, the better.
I just hope Valeria hasn’t already given up on us.
The front door opens.
I look up.
Valeria.
She stands in the doorway, eyes shining, cheeks flushed from the cold. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
I stand. Cross the room. Pull her into my arms with the force of desperation.
She stays stiff for a second, then her arms close around me.
We remain there, standing in the entryway, without a word, while the snow keeps falling over the city.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
This child. Bianca. The cases. Everything still ahead of us.
But she’s here.
For now, that’s enough.