Chapter 7 Back to the Ground I Knew
YSABEL
I don't sleep much. The bed feels too large with Leon's side empty, and every time I close my eyes I see the television footage playing again, the reporter's casual assumption, Vera's satisfied positioning.
Around three in the morning I give up trying and sit in the dark with my knees pulled up, watching the shapes of furniture slowly emerge as my eyes adjust.
By the time the first gray light comes through the windows, I've made my decision.
I get up and shower, letting the hot water run until it starts to cool, then dress in something simple and practical. Jeans, a loose blouse, flat shoes good for walking. Not the clothes of a Donna expecting visitors. The clothes of a woman with somewhere to go.
My phone is still face-down on the dresser where I left it. I turn it over and see two more messages from Leon, sent hours apart during the night.
Found a possible connection through Milan. Trying to confirm.
And then, later: No luck. Starting over in the morning. I'm so sorry, Ysabel. I'll get there.
I read them both and feel something twist in my chest that might be love or might be grief or might be both at once. He's trying. I believe he's trying. But trying isn't the same as being here, and being here isn't the same as claiming me in front of the world.
I type a response, keeping it brief: I need some time. I'm going to stay with my parents for a few days. Please don't follow me right away. I'll be in touch when I'm ready.
I send it before I can change my mind, then set the phone down and finish packing.
The suitcase is still on the bed with my recipe notebook inside it.
I add clothes quickly, not thinking too hard about what I'm choosing.
Enough for a week, maybe more. Underwear and nightclothes and a cardigan for cool evenings.
The blue dress Leon likes, then I take it out again and put it back in the wardrobe.
I don't want to think about what Leon likes right now.
My laptop goes into its case, the "Someday" folder still waiting inside. I take my toothbrush and face cream from the bathroom, the small necessities of daily life that don't care whether your marriage is falling apart.
The suitcase is heavy when I zip it closed. Heavy enough that I have to use both hands to lift it off the bed.
I carry it downstairs and set it by the front door, then go to the dining room one last time.
The table is still set. The cream napkins, the good plates, the wine glasses catching the early morning light. The candles I never lit. On the sideboard, the food is still covered, though it will need to be put away soon or it will spoil.
I find Tommaso in the kitchen, the older staff member who's been at the estate longer than I've been alive. He's preparing something at the counter and looks up when I come in.
"Signora. You're up early."
"Tommaso, I need to ask you something." I keep my voice steady. "There's food in the dining room from last night. The focaccia and vegetables and cake. And dough in the pantry that never got baked. Could you make sure someone deals with it? Whatever can be saved, save it. The rest can be cleared."
He studies my face for a moment, and I see him notice something there, some change he's too tactful to name. "Of course, signora. I'll see to it myself."
"Thank you. And the table can stay as it is for now. Don Leon will be home..." I pause, realizing I don't actually know when that will be. "Soon. He'll be home soon."
Tommaso nods, asking nothing, offering nothing. I'm grateful for his discretion.
"I'll be staying with my parents for a few days," I add. "If anyone asks."
"I understand, signora."
I leave him to his work and go back to the front hall. My suitcase is waiting, my laptop bag beside it. The house is quiet around me, too early for most of the staff, too empty for comfort.
I call Gia.
She answers on the second ring, her voice rough with sleep. "Ysabel? What time is it?"
"Early. I'm sorry. But I need your help."
"What's wrong?" I hear her moving, sheets rustling, the click of a lamp. "What happened?"
"I'm leaving. Going to my parents' place for a while. I was hoping you could drive me."
There's a pause. "You're leaving Leon?"
"I don't know what I'm doing. I just know I can't stay here right now. Not with everything that happened last night, not with him still stuck overseas, not with..." I stop, take a breath. "I need to go somewhere that isn't this house."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Gia says. "Don't go anywhere without me."
***
Gia's car pulls up the drive at half past six, the engine loud in the morning quiet. I'm waiting on the front steps with my suitcase, and she gets out and crosses to me without a word, pulling me into a hug that lasts longer than it probably should.
"You look terrible," she says when she finally lets go.
"I didn't sleep."
"I can tell." She takes my suitcase and loads it into the back of her car, then turns to look at the house behind me. "Are you sure about this?"
"No. But I'm going anyway."
She nods, accepting that, and opens the passenger door for me. "Your parents know you're coming?"
"I called my mother while I was waiting for you. She didn't ask many questions."
"Rosa never does." Gia slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine. "She just opens the door and starts making food."
"That's exactly what she said she'd do."
We pull away from the house, down the long gravel drive toward the main road. I don't look back. If I look back, I might change my mind, and I can't afford to change my mind right now.
"There's something else I need," I say as we reach the gates. "Do you know a solicitor? Someone discreet?"
Gia's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Ysabel."
"I'm not asking you to approve. I'm asking if you know someone."
She's quiet for a moment, navigating the turn onto the main road. "My cousin's husband handles family matters. Sebastiano Ferro. He's good, and he knows how to keep his mouth shut."
"Can you give me his number?"
"I can do better than that. His office is on the way." Gia checks the clock on the dashboard. "Though it won't be open for hours yet. We could wait somewhere, get tea, and I can call when they open for the first appointment."
"Okay," I say. "Let's do that."
We drive to a small cafe on the far side of town, one I've never been to before. Gia orders tea for both of us and a plain bread roll for me when I admit I haven't eaten. We sit in a corner booth and watch the morning brighten outside the window, not talking much, just waiting.
At eight-thirty, Gia makes the call. I hear her explain that it's urgent, that her friend needs to see Sebastiano this morning, that it's a family matter requiring discretion. She listens, nods, thanks whoever's on the other end.
"Nine o'clock," she says. "He'll see you first thing."
The solicitor's office is in a small building near the edge of town. Gia waits in the car while I go inside.
Sebastiano Ferro is a small man with kind eyes and careful hands that move slowly when he speaks. He listens while I explain what I want, asking only what he needs to ask.
"I can prepare the initial separation documents now," he says when I've finished. "You'll review them here, sign if you're ready, and I'll keep the original on file. We can provide a sealed copy addressed to your husband for him to read."
"How long does the rest of it take?"
"This does not end your marriage today." He folds his hands on the desk. "But signing today starts the process. That's the first step. You can take it or leave it."
He prepares the paperwork while I sit in the worn leather chair across from his desk, watching pigeons on the windowsill outside.
When he slides the documents across to me, I read them slowly, every clause, every formal phrase.
My name. Leon's name. The dissolution of a marriage reduced to typed paragraphs and signature lines.
Sebastiano hands me a pen. It's heavier than I expected.
I sign my name at the bottom of each page, the ink dark and final against the cream paper. My hand is steady. I'm surprised by that.
"I'll prepare the sealed copy for your husband now," Sebastiano says, taking the documents back. "How would you like it delivered?"
"My friend can drop it at the estate. There's someone there who can make sure he receives it."
He nods and disappears into a back room. When he returns, he hands me a thick envelope, sealed, with Leon's name written on the front in careful script.
"I'm sorry you're going through this," he says. "Whatever happens next, I hope you find some peace."
I thank him and go back to Gia's car, the envelope in my hands.
"Done?" she asks.
"Done. But I need you to do one more thing." I hold up the envelope. "Can you drop this at the estate? Give it to Tommaso, the older staff member. Tell him it's for Leon when he returns. I'll wait in the car by the gate."
Gia looks at the envelope, then at me. She doesn't ask what's inside.
"Of course," she says.
We drive back toward the estate. When we reach the gates, I stay in the car while Gia walks up the drive to the main house. I watch her disappear inside, watch the door close behind her, watch the windows of the house where I lived for two years and may never live again.
She's back in five minutes.
"Tommaso has it," she says, sliding into the driver's seat. "He didn't ask questions."
"Good." I take a breath. "My parents' place now."
The drive takes less than half an hour, the familiar roads unwinding past olive groves and almond orchards, past the fields I've known my whole life.
The Cabral farm sits on the borders of the Rosciano estate, a small piece of land where my parents moved after I married Leon.
After decades of service, they wanted a life beyond the great house.
I understand that now in a way I didn't before.
The farmhouse comes into view around a bend in the road, small and white against the green of the hills behind it. I can see my mother already standing in the doorway, watching for the car.