His words anchor me, pulling me back from the edge of despair. No matter how our story began, what matters is what we’ve created together.
“I need to see her,” I whisper suddenly, the words surprising even me. “I need to go to her grave. Today. Now.”
Raffaele studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whatever you need.”
He helps me to my feet, his hands never leaving my body as if he fears I might shatter if he lets go. And maybe I would. But as we prepare to confront the ghosts of my past, I find strength in the solid reality of his presence beside me.
The cemetery gates creak with winter’s stiffness as we push through, the iron cold enough to sting my gloved fingers.
February in Cleveland shows no mercy—brittle air slicing through my wool coat despite its thickness, finding the gaps around my neck and wrists. I clutch the letter tighter in my gloved hand.
Raffaele walks silently beside me, close enough that I feel his heat but not touching. He knows this moment belongs to me alone. At least until I’m ready to share it.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Raffaele asks, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. “We could come back tomorrow.”
I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the path ahead that winds between headstones partially buried in crusty snow. “No. I need to do this today.” My voice doesn’t waver, surprising even me with its steadiness. “I want it over and done with.”
My boots crunch through patches of ice as we navigate the rows of graves, my steps deliberately slow to accommodate the precious cargo I carry beneath my coat.
Mom’s headstone is simple; polished granite with her name, dates, and the words ‘Beloved Mother’ etched beneath. The sight of it sends a fresh wave of anger crashing through me.Beloved mother.As if that tells the whole story.
Next to hers is Sabrina’s, which is almost identical with the ‘Beloved Sister’ engraved into the stone. Both of their names are followed by dates that encompass a life cut too short. No mention of them being liars. No warning about the secrets buried beneath the polished surface.
This is for me and not for them. For the version of them I thought them to be, not how they turned out.
“Could you give me a few minutes?” I ask, not looking at my husband.
Raffaele nods once, squeezing my shoulder before retreating to wait beneath a bare oak tree twenty yards away. Close enough to watch over me, far enough to grant privacy. Always the perfect balance of protection and respect.
I wait until his footsteps fade before sinking awkwardly to my knees on the frozen ground, my gloved hand coming to rest protectively over my slightly rounded belly.
“Hello, Mom,” I whisper, my breath visible in the cold air. The words taste wrong on my tongue, hollow and insufficient for everything that churns inside me.
“I got your letter,” I continue, my voice gaining strength with each word.
The headstone offers no response, just sits there, solid and unyielding against the gray winter sky. A bitter laugh escapes me, short and sharp.
“God, I wish you were here so I could scream at you properly,” I say, tears suddenly burning behind my eyes. “So I could ask you why… why you let me believe a lie my entire life. Why you let Sabrina hate me for something that wasn’t my fault. Why you didn’t tell me the truth before you died.”
My voice rises with each question, echoing across the empty cemetery. A crow caws from a nearby tree, the only witness to my pain besides my silent, watchful husband.
“That’s what really pisses me off,” I continue. “I know why; your letter explained it. But I… it doesn’t make sense, Mom. As my parent, you should want to protect me, right?”
Shaking my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose while silently counting to ten. Asking the dead doesn’t give me different answers or explanations than the ones in the letter. That’s something I need to come to terms with in time.
“Do you know what Sabrina did because of this secret?” I demand, anger surging hot through my veins despite the cold. “She tried to have me killed, Mom. She conspired with a monster to end my life because she blamed me for Dad’s suicide. Because I was proof of your betrayal.”
Tears spill over now, hot against my wind-chilled cheeks. I brush them away roughly with my glove.
“My own sister wanted me dead because of a secret you kept. And now she’s gone too.” I don’t elaborate—can’t bring myself tosay that Raffaele put a bullet through her head while I climbed the stairs, listening to her final scream.
Some truths don’t need to be spoken aloud, even to the dead.
“I had to find out from her that Dad killed himself because he discovered I wasn’t his.” I pause to blow my nose. “And then from your letter that my biological dad was just some tourist passing through who never even knew I existed.” The words taste like poison as they leave my lips.
I slam my fist down on the frozen earth beside the grave, pain shooting up my arm. “Damn you for this! Damn you for lying! For making me question everything I thought I knew about myself!”
The letter in my hand crumples as my fingers tighten around it, the paper crinkling loudly in the cemetery’s silence. I want to tear it to pieces, scatter the confessions to the wind, but I can’t. It’s the only explanation I’ll ever have.
