Good morning, gorgeous.
It’s roughlythe same message every day. Sometimes he adds some flavor to it, showing he’s still watching me. Comments appreciating my new outfits, voicing frustration with the way Mom treats me, or angry jabs at my father for how he’s become increasingly more physical with me.
Normally, I read it a few times and then delete it. But today I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to keep these moments. Worse, I want to reply. But the days are coming when Steffano will be here. He’ll read my phone, and I don’t want to cause anymore pain for myself.
“Leticia!” Dad bellows from thefirst floor.
My bedroom door, left ajar for this exact reason, creeks open as if to beckon me further.
Picking my phone up and tucking it into my skirt pocket, I hurry out into the hallway and down the stairs to where he’ll inevitably be tapping his foot about something. My stomach pits. Steffano should be arriving sometime in the next week. Is he early?
Dad is standing at the bottom of the stairwell, his face beet red and a handful of crumpled papers in his hand. “What is this?”
He shakes the papers at me before practically shoving them into my chest.
I grab them before they fall to the floor and pull them away from my body to look. “I don’t know, what is it?”
CERTIFICATE OF VITAL RECORDS
COUNTY OF COOK
STATE OF ILLINOIS
OFFICE OF THE COUNTY CLERK
My stomach drops.My soul is sucked out of my entire body.He didn’t.
Certificate of Marriage
Groom: Cavanagh Royal Alexander
Age: 25
And
Bride: D’Medici Leticia Alexandra
Age: 23
Date of Marriage: August 23, 2024
He did.He did. He did.I look at my father andshake my head.Deny. Deny. Deny.My heart thunders in my chest, causing my pulse to thrum in my ears. “I don’t know what this is.”
“You lived in my house. You married that lowlife. You lied to me about being my little girl. For what? Months? A year?” Dad’s face has started to turn purple, and a vein is popping out on his forehead. “Francesca!”
Mom appears, as she does, from lurking somewhere nearby, her slender body curling in on itself as she approaches. “Yes, dear?”
“How did my daughter manage to get married without us knowing?” Dad sputters.
“She didwhat?” Mom rushes forward and takes the marriage certificate from me. “No, no, no. This can’t be right.”
“It is,” Dad snaps. “I went to the county clerk to file a marriage certificate, and our daughter has been married to that Cavanagh scum since before the truce was finalized.”
“I didn’t marry him. I only met Royal when I went to visit the Cavanaghs. I’d never seen him before.” I shake my head, spinning a small lie. I don’t know why I’m protecting the memory of Royal showing up at school.
“Get your coat.” Dad lunges forward, grabbing my arm. He squeezes as hard as he can, and it aches, the last set of bruises not fully healed.
He yanks, wrenching my arm behind my back before he hurls me toward the entryway. My arm screams in pain, the flesh feeling like it’s shredded and even the bones feeling torn apart.
