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Mia
“Here.”
Rieta puts a mug of milky tea into my hands and sits down beside me on the sofa. Her expression is creased with sympathy as she asks, “How are you feeling?”
It’s been three days since Rieta and I stood side by side in her bathroom, staring at the positive pregnancy test. People talk about time standing still when you receive a shock, but it didn’t happen that way for me.
Everything started rushing too fast. Out of my control.
I don’t remember it, but apparently I was screaming,I am going to kill you, Lazzaro Rosetti.
When I came back into myself, I was holding two pieces of the broken test in each hand.
Now, I don’t feel anything. I stare into my cup of tea, wishing for a way to make everything make sense.
“Still not heard anything from Laz?” Rieta asks, glancing at my blank phone screen.
“Nothing,” I whisper bleakly.
Not a goddamn word from the man who knocked me up without my consent.
After Rieta and I left the party, Laz ran out as well. My uncles tried to chase him down, but Laz lost them in some alleyways, and no one’s heard from him since. Rieta told me that Fabrizio Rosetti has been around at Mom’s practically on his knees apologizing for what his baby brother has done. Apparently, Laz isn’t as unreliable, irresponsible, and reckless as we were led to believe.
He’s worse.
But that’s no surprise to me. Anyone who can mess with someone’s birth control while he’s married to someone else must be out of his goddamn mind.
“Mom called again,” Rieta says, almost apologetically.
I flinch as I’m speared with guilt. I’ve received several voicemails from Mom and a dozen messages.
I don’t blame you, darling.
It’s not your fault, it’s mine.
I should never have trusted him in our home.
Lazzaro is a master manipulator.
A cruel man who wanted to humiliate us all for fun.
I’ll never forgive him for what he’s done to you.
I’m so, so sorry.
I’ve been at Rieta’s for three days, too eaten up with shame to face Mom. It would be easier if she were furious with me and screaming for my blood. Her understanding and sympathy are only making me feel worse.
Rieta’s phone vibrates, and then the front doorbell rings. She glances at her phone and sighs. “It’s Mom. I told her to stay away until you were ready.”
“Maybe I should talk to her. I have to face her eventually.” I put down my tea, grab a cushion, and thrust it against my belly. “Oh, God,” I moan.
“Are you feeling sick?”
“Yes, but not because I’m pregnant.” I take a deep breath. “Let her in. I should get this over with.”
“If you’re sure,” Rieta says doubtfully, and goes to open the door.
I’m sitting on the edge of the sofa with my hands clamped on either side of me when Mom comes into the room. Her cheeks are streaked with mascara tears, and she looks pallid without her usual bright lipstick.
