Leave Me and Raise Her Baby

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby.

Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul.

I became invisible to him.

Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times.

He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media.

[My little angel smiled today!]

I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass.

"I want a divorce."

They all froze.

"Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison.

Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?"

I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."

"Giulia, what the hell are you talking about?"

Cesare Ferrante's eyes turned red as he shouted at me, like he was the one who had been wronged.

"Bianca is your sister! She's raising a child alone and is overwhelmed. Is it wrong for me to help her? I personally feed the baby and sing lullabies. I'm learning how to be a good father, preparing for our future children. You can question anything else, but you cannot question my love for you!"

I did not respond. Instead, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and placed them in front of him. "Here are the divorce papers. Sign them."

The room fell silent. Every family member stared at me in shock.

In their eyes, Cesare and I were the last couple in the world who would ever split up.

When we were 18, a boy followed me home from school one day. The next morning, that boy's father showed up at my door with broken fingers, begging for forgiveness. It had been Cesare's doing.

When we got married, Cesare shut down half the city to hold our wedding. In front of all the guests, he kissed the ring on my finger and declared, "Giulia is mine. Anyone who touches her is a dead man."

For ten years, no matter how dangerous the negotiations he sat through during the day and no matter how bloody the deals he made, he always came home at night.