“And where is the sick child?” she asked coldly. “Did he finally die… or is he still hanging on?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but his father interrupted me before a single word could come out.
“Never mind that,” he said, calm and dismissive. “What about Noel? And I heard Lena might be pregnant again. Is that true?”
I stayed silent, fingers tightening around my skirt until the fabric twisted. My chest hurt in a way that felt like something inside me was splitting apart.
His mother clicked her tongue softly, then added with a satisfied tone, “That woman really knows how to bring life into Vincenzo’s world. No drama, no breakdowns. Always composed. Always pleasant. Not like… some people.”
I lowered my eyes and said nothing.
Then his father’s voice dropped heavier, sharper.
“Go assist the kitchen. And bring us tea first. Tell Vincenzo we expect him next week for our anniversary dinner. You may bring your sick child if you insist.”
My voice came out small. “Yes, of course.”