The Return
Valeria
Reality catches up with us the second we land.
“This way,” Andrea says, coming to meet us.
He leads us through a side corridor, then out a service exit where an unmarked car is waiting.
Stephen is behind the wheel, engine running. We exchange a brief nod. Andrea climbs into the front seat while Dante and I slide into the back. The car quickly pulls out of the airport parking lot.
“How’s the collaboration going?” Dante asks.
Stephen flashes a faint smile.
“Mara and Andrea keep challenging each other to see who gets the last word, but so far, nobody’s died.”
Andrea grunts.
“Fuck, that woman’s a real harpy. She never lets anything go.”
Despite his words, I catch a hint of admiration in his voice.
Dante chuckles.
“Has the great Andrea finally met his match?”
“Laugh it up,” his brother shoots back. “That woman is completely rigid. Everything has to follow procedure and be legally airtight. Seriously, who has time for that bullshit?”
I smile.
“Her partner is a police inspector, in case you forgot.”
“Shit, that’s right.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“If it makes you feel any better, she knows how to look the other way when it suits her.”
“Hard to picture that,” he mutters with a grimace.
Stephen snickers while Dante watches the exchange with amusement.
Despite the light tone of the conversation, Stephen and Andrea keep glancing into the mirrors.
Little by little, their shoulders relax.
The road is clear.
“So, any problems?” Dante asks.
“Nothing unmanageable,” Andrea replies. “But you’re going to have to reconnect.”
We exchange a look.
The break is over.
I pull out my phone and turn it on.
Notifications flood the screen in waves: messages, missed calls, news alerts. I scroll through them quickly, searching for what matters.
I find it almost immediately.
A post from Bianca. Posted five days ago.
The father of my child abandons me at the altar and disappears without a word while I’m throwing up my guts and barely able to eat. Who knows if he isn’t off on vacation with some homewrecking bitch?
Dante must have read it at the same moment I did.
His hand finds mine.
He lifts it to his lips and presses a slow kiss against my skin.
A quiet gesture. Tender. As if he’s trying to remind me, over and over again, that there’s only me.
Under the post, the comments keep pouring in. Hundreds of reactions. Thousands of shares.
Strangers take sides with the blind certainty of people who know nothing and don’t care enough to learn the truth.
They defend Bianca, attack Dante, invent theories about his disappearance and the existence of another woman.
I slowly set my phone down on my lap.
I hate this.
This constant exposure. This public courtroom where our private lives become entertainment for people who don’t possess a single fragment of the truth.
But we’re not the ones who chose this battlefield.
I watch Paris drift past beyond the window and think about the child who’s going to be born. About what they’ll read one day when they’re old enough to type their mother’s name into a search engine.
These posts. These comments. These wars fought in their name without anyone ever asking what they want.
Does Bianca even think about that?
Does she realize she’s building a legacy of conflict and manipulation for her child? A story they’ll have to carry without ever choosing it?
Probably not.
Or maybe she does.
And simply doesn’t care.
That second possibility is the one that chills me. Because deep down… I think it’s the right one.
*
We’ve barely dropped our bags and settled around the kitchen island when Dante’s phone rings.
Bianca.
He answers and places the phone between us, speaker activated.
“Bianca.”
His voice is neutral. Impersonal. The voice of a CEO handling a problem.
“Where were you?”
The question explodes out of her, loaded with reproach.
“On vacation.”
“You abandon me while I’m carrying your child and go on vacation without me? How can you do this to me? This was supposed to be our honeymoon.”
Dante doesn’t respond. He rubs his forehead, already exhausted by the conversation.
“Who were you with?” she presses.
Has she always been this way? Constantly blaming people? Trying to make them feel guilty?
“You exhaust me with your questions,” Dante replies. “I don’t owe you anything beyond what concerns the baby. Tell me what you actually want. Stop wasting my time.”
She says nothing for several long seconds before finally blurting out:
“I’m tired of living in a hotel. I want a place with staff to help me. And money to prepare for the baby.”
Irritation flickers through me.
And I almost hate myself for it right away.
It’s Dante’s baby too, whether I like it or not.
He doesn’t even react.
“Noted. My lawyer will contact you this week to arrange the financial details. You’ll have an apartment and in-home assistance.”
“And why not our apartment?”
My eyelids lower slightly, but I can feel Dante’s attention on me.
“No.”
“Why? I saw you put it up for sale.”
He put it up for sale? Since when? Why?
“Is it because of her?” Bianca asks.
“Do you want an apartment, or would you rather stay at the hotel?”
Dante’s voice leaves no room for discussion.
“How can you treat me like this after everything we’ve been through?”
“Were you expecting something else?”
Another long silence.
Even from here, I can almost feel Bianca’s frustration.
“I have a gynecologist appointment in a week.”
The silence that follows lasts two full seconds.
Dante locks eyes with me. He knows exactly what that sentence means. For me. For us. For what we’re trying to rebuild. He holds my gaze as if trying to reassure me that this decision has nothing to do with Bianca.
Then he asks:
“Where?”
Bianca gives him the address. The clinic. The time. The floor.
“I’ll be there,” he says.
Then he ends the call.
We stay silent for a moment. Him on one side of the counter. Me on the other.
It’s the right decision. He has to go. That baby is his, and his place is beside the mother of his child at a moment like this.
But fuck, it hurts.
“Valeria.”
His voice is cautious.
“I know you have to go.”
My voice breaks. He closes the distance between us and cups my face in his hands.
“I’m doing this only for the baby. Nothing else.”
I nod. I believe him.
But the truth is no less cruel.
He’s going to become a father.
With another woman.