7. Mel
— ? —
Mel
Present Day
His bags are already by the door.
Three of them, expensive leather, packed and ready. I stand in the hallway staring at them for a full minute before I can make myself move, before I can make myself walk into the living room where my husband is checking his phone, his jacket already on, his mind already halfway to Tokyo.
“Santino.”
He looks up. His face flickers, surprise, maybe, or one of the expressions I can’t read anymore.
“Mel.” He slides his phone into his pocket. “I was going to come find you before I left.”
“Were you?”
The words come out flat. Dead. I don’t have the energy to make them sound like anything else.
“Of course.” He frowns, studies my face. “Are you feeling okay? You look-”
“Is there anything you’re keeping from me?”
The question lands between us like a grenade.
He blinks. “What?”
“Anything at all.” I take a step closer, then another, until I’m standing right in front of him and I can see every line of his face. “I’m asking once, Santino. Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
“I don’t…” He shakes his head, confused. “No. Everything’s fine. Why are you-”
“So everything between us was a lie?”
“What?” His voice sharpens now, alarm replacing confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Allegra.” The name tastes like poison. “The baby. The divorce. You not loving me anymore.”
I watch it happen, watch his whole body freeze, watch a shutter drop behind his eyes, and I hate that I can’t read him anymore. I used to know every expression on this face. I used to be able to finish his sentences, predict his moods, understand what he was thinking before he said it.
Now I’m looking at a stranger.
“I don’t understand,” he says slowly. “What are you talking about? What divorce?”
“Don’t.” My voice cracks, just once, before I force it steady again. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Your mother made sure I know everything. The photos. The petition. What you said this morning about the baby.”
“What photos? What petition?” He takes a step toward me, hands raised like he’s approaching a skittish animal. “Mel, I have no idea what you’re-”
“I heard you.” The words rip out of me. “This morning. In your office. You told her Melanie isn’t the priority. You told her you’d handle it yourself. And when she asked about the baby, you said-” My voice breaks again. “-you said she could keep it. That you weren’t even sure I wanted it.”
His face goes complicated. Confusion, frustration, and, almost, hurt.
“That conversation wasn’t-” He stops. Starts again. “Mel, I don’t know what you think you heard, but-”
“Just admit it.” I’m crying now, and I hate myself for it. “Please. I know everything already. Just tell me the truth. I need to hear it from you.”
He stares at me, jaw working, and I watch him swallow whatever he was going to say.
“I don’t know what you think you know,” he says finally. “But I do love you. What kind of question even is that?”
The words should carry weight. Once, they would have meant everything.
Now they just sound like lines. Like a line he’s supposed to say. Like the dialogue from a marriage that’s already over.
“Please.” I’m begging now, and I don’t care. “Santino, please. Just tell me the truth. I can handle the truth. I just can’t handle not knowing anymore.”
His phone rings.
The sound guillotines the moment in half, a specific ringtone, a song I don’t recognize, bright and cheerful and obscene in this room.
Allegra’s ringtone.
He has a different ringtone for Allegra.
I watch his face change as he looks at the screen. Watch the conflict flicker behind his eyes. Watch him hesitate.
A thread inside me snaps.
No drama, no noise. Just a small, quiet thing, and I feel it happen in my chest like a physical sensation.
“Pick up.” My voice comes out strange, calm and scraped empty. “Go. That’s all you were ever going to do anyway. I was stupid to believe otherwise.”
“Mel-” He’s still holding the phone, still looking between me and the screen like he can’t decide. “I need to take this, but we’re talking about this when I’m back from the trip. Okay?”
He steps forward, reaches for me.
I don’t move.
He kisses my forehead, his lips warm and dry against my skin, familiar and foreign all at once, and says it again.
“I love you.”
Then he’s gone.
The phone is already at his ear as he walks through the door, his voice shifting lighter, easier. “Hey. Yeah, I’m leaving now. Traffic should be-”
The door closes behind him.
I stand there.
I stand there in the doorway of my marriage, in the ruins of everything I thought we were, and I listen to the silence fill up all the spaces where he used to be.
He’s gone.
And I know, with a certainty that settles into my bones like ice, that I won’t be here when he comes back.
***
I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes. Hours. Long enough for the light to change, for the shadows to shift, for the house to settle into that particular silence that means everyone else has gone to bed.
Then I move.
One foot in front of the other. Up the stairs. Down the hallway. Into my room.
I pull out my phone and I call the only person I can trust.
Chiara answers on the second ring.
“Mel?” Her voice is rough with sleep. “It’s almost midnight. Are you okay?”
“No.” The word comes out steady. I’m surprised by how steady it is. “I’m leaving.”
Silence on the other end. Then, quiet: “When?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow. As soon as I can book a flight.”
“Mel…” She pauses, and I can hear her getting out of bed, hear a door close. “What happened?”
“Everything.” I sit down on the edge of the bed, the divorce petition still in my hand. “The photos were real. The divorce is real. I heard him this morning, talking to your mother about giving her the baby. It’s over, Chiara. It’s all over.”
“Wait.” Her voice sharpens. “What do you mean you heard him? What exactly did he say?”
“He said I’m not the priority. He said your mother can keep the baby. He said-” My voice cracks. “-he said he’s not sure I even want it.”
“That doesn’t sound like…” She trails off. “Mel, are you sure? Are you absolutely sure about what you heard?”
“I know his voice, Chiara. I’ve been listening to it for years.” The words come out flat, scraped hollow. “I know exactly what I heard.”
“But maybe there’s-”
“There’s nothing.” I cut her off before she can offer hope. I can’t handle hope right now. Hope will destroy me. “I asked him directly. I gave him every chance to explain. And you know what he did? He answered a phone call from Allegra and walked out the door.”
Another long silence.
“Where will you go?” Chiara asks finally.
“Home. Texas.” I look around the room that was never really mine. “There’s nothing for me here anymore.”
“What about the baby?”
My hand goes to my stomach. “The baby comes with me. That’s the one thing they’re not getting.”
“They won’t just let you leave. My mother-”
“Your mother thinks she’s already won. She gave me the divorce papers herself this morning. She told me to be gone by the time Santino gets back from Tokyo.” I laugh, and it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I’m just following orders.”
“Mel…” Chiara’s crying now. I can hear it in her voice, the wet thickness of tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Stay safe.” She’s trying to get herself under control, trying to be strong for me. “Stay in touch. Swear to me you will.”
“I promise.”
“And Mel?” She takes a shaky breath. “If you ever need anything - anything at all - you call me. I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care what my family says. You’re my sister. That doesn’t change.”
The tears I thought were gone well up again, and I have to swallow hard before I can respond.
“Thank you,” I manage. “For everything.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up before I can change my mind.
And then I start to pack.