Page 30 of Broken Trust

And she's so beautiful it hurts to look at her. Those eyes are mine, even if biologically they're my twin's. The curve of her mouth, the dark curls, the stubborn little chin, all of that is his. She's the child I used to picture in the small hours, lying in bed with my hand on my empty stomach, a mix of the two of us with the best of each. And she's right here in front of me, reaching for me, and she isn't mine.

I ache to take her out of his arms, to hold her against my heart and cover her soft little face in a thousand kisses and never let go.

But I can't. It hurts too much. And it doesn't seem fair for a child this innocent to be dragged into the middle of all this mess, passed between the grown-ups who broke everything before she was even born.

So I keep my arms folded and my feet where they are.

The door opens again. Nella is back, phone in hand, and one look at my face is all it takes.

“Time's up,” she says flatly, holding the door open. “Out.”

Dante nods. He looks at me, and there's so much in his face that I have to turn away.

“I heard in town that you were doing this,” he murmurs. “I'm really proud of you, Gia.”

I open my mouth to tell him about the papers. That they're filed. That some man in a suit will be knocking on his door with an envelope any day now. The words are right there on my tongue.

I don't say them.

“Goodbye, Dante,” I say instead.

He holds my eyes for one more second, and then he turns and goes out, the bell jingling behind him. Through the dusty window I watch him cross the square with Rosa bouncing against his chest. She's twisted around, still looking back at the restaurant, one hand reaching over his shoulder.

I don't realize I'm crying until Nella passes me a paper napkin from the cornetti bag.

“Gia,” she says. “Look at me.”

I wipe my cheeks and turn to her.

“She's gorgeous. I've held her. I know what she does to you.” Nella's voice is gentle, but she doesn't let go of my eyes. “But don't you dare forget what he did. He lied to you. He slept with our sister and came home to your bed smelling of her. That baby is sweet, and she's innocent, and he is neither of those things.”

“I haven't forgotten.”

“Good. Because I saw your face when he walked in.”

I don't have an answer for that. I turn away and pick up my putty knife, and that's when I see it.

The bag is still there, slumped against the box. Navy blue, with a little white elephant on the side and a teething ring clipped to the strap.

“He forgot the bag,” I say.

Nella glances at it. “He'll manage. There are shops.”

I go over and pick it up. It's heavier than it looks. I can see a packet of wipes through the open zipper, a tiny pair of socks, and a bottle with a pink lid. It smells faintly of baby powder and his cologne.

“I should run after him,” I say.

“I can give it to him. You don’t know where he lives now.”

But she does? Fuck! I want to ask where he’s living? Is he writing again? How does it feel to wake up to Rosa? So many things are flying in and out of my head right now, but I can’t. Nella’s right. I need to stay focused.

“No!” I blurt out.

“Gia don’t do this.” She has a twinkle in her eye. “You should leave it on his doorstep with a note.”

I look out the window. The square is empty now, just pigeons and the old men on the bench by the fountain. Dante's gone.

I tuck it under the sink in the back kitchen, out of the dirt, and tell myself I'll send it back tomorrow.