Falling Back to the Way Home

Five years into my relationship with a Godfather-to-be, I realized Cicio Russo had fallen for someone else. And I decided that the choice should be his. I laid the options right in front of him: break up with me, or send that someone else far away overseas.

Cicio Russo stood outside my windows all night, down there with the coldness of the night cutting through him and fogging his breath. By morning, Cicio told me that he'd decided. His choice was me.

Or at least - that was what I was made to believe.

Surprise came on the very day of our wedding, a strange little boy ran straight down the aisle that was supposed to be mine to walk.

“Daddy,” he cried at Cicio and Cicio’s face of stony indifference, “What about me? You have left mommy already. Are you going to abandon me, too?”

The ring slipped from Cicio’s hand and hit the carpet with a muted thud.

He turned his back on me and walked away without even looking back.

I pulled off the white veil. And I snatched the microphone from the host.

“If you take one more step,” I screamed into the microphone, “if you leave, I will give all this up. And you, too. Do you hear me? I will give you up.”

He froze.

For only one second.

Then he stepped away anyway.

The day I realized Cicio Russo had taken a liking to another girl behind my back, I spent the whole night thinking without much agitation.

The final conclusion I reached? He was all I cared about. And I still couldn’t let him go. So, at my insistence, Cicio left that girl.

Well, to be more exact, he sent her away. And our relationship seemed to have returned to what it had been before all the drama and betrayal. But I knew it hadn’t.

Over the past three years, the time Cicio Russo spent alone with me had grown shorter and predictably shorter. He would rather stay in the grand study, where he dealt with all his family business, facing those dull shelves with bulky books, than come home to be with me and my everlasting warm company.

The meals I reheated again and again, the lights that stayed on night after night—it all felt like they were telling me: He was not coming back.

One night, Cicio came home late and paused for a moment when he stepped through the door.

He probably hadn’t expected to see me in the living room, because normally at this hour, I would have been asleep; he knew that.

I got up from the sofa and took the coat from his hands. Then I fumbled slightly, untying his tie for him with a hint of unfamiliarity.

I should've known that because ever since that girl had left, he hadn’t let me touch him at all.

“Go take a shower first. I've got something to tell you.”

In recent years, Cicio had less and less to say to me at all. For now, his tired eyes shot at me with fatigue. And not to my surprise, it was both urging and impatience.

I smiled wryly. “Cicio, can we get married?”

Cicio paused in his breath, and my heart jumped into my throat.

I was terrified he would shut me out with the word “no.”

But Cicio just stayed silent for a moment, then said, “Okay.”And he turned and went upstairs, leaving me reeling where I was.

The wedding preparation had gone on for a whole month, yet Cicio only showed up three times. The first time was for the photoshoot—he took merely one picture and left.

Then he showed up briefly and took me to get my wedding ring done — a little underwhelming in terms of carats, but it’d do.

As for the third time, it was the day we went to officiate our marriage, on the way to get the marriage certificate at the city hall.

In the back seat of the car, I stared into his eyes, this silent man beside me, who hadn’t spoken a word the whole way here.

I couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or exhaustion on his face.

Anyway, I told him.“Cicio, let’s have the ceremony first if you want; we can get the certificate after the wedding ceremony.”

“Okay.”A rather predictable answer from Cicio, again.

Flash forward to this very moment, at the wedding ceremony, I was watching Cicio turning away from me, watching his feet taking him away from me without the slightest hesitation, and I felt a strange sense of relief.

Because deep down, I know that I had left myself an escape route out of this mess.

Three days after the wedding, I finally met Cicio again. It was at the kindergarten, a bunch of parents were dropping their toddlers off at the entrance gates, and there he was, dropping off his newly acknowledged son at school.

With the mother of that little thing, of course.

The principal of this prestigious children’s wonderland personally came out to welcome Cicio, the good news, the renowned parent.

“Mr. Russo, Mrs. Russo, rest assured, your son will be well taken care of here.”

I noticed that, being called Mrs. Russo, Jessica Kolt, aka the mother of his son, standing beside her husband, stole a glance at him and flushed.

Cicio paused slightly, but didn't protest.

I stood a little farther away, feeling amused. What a scene. We were on the page of actual marriage just the other day, and our relationship was in no way over. And yet, he was already getting another woman as his wife.

The grip on my hand loosened. My little nephew, whom I was holding, suddenly dashed straight in front of Cicio.

He pushed Cicio hard and glared at the woman beside him.

“Is that how the adult world works? I don’t understand you guys. Like, a few days ago, you were marrying my aunt there, weren’t you? And now? What? You call a stranger Mrs. Russo? What’s all this?”

All around were teachers and parents watching. I knew Cicio wouldn’t let his son's reputation be stained by such a scandalous tumult.

He stepped forward and pulled the woman behind him, glaring at me like the coldest day in January.

“Danielle Genarro, control that kid. He's your responsibility. Don’t let him throw his nonsense around and slander my wife.”

Just one sentence, and everyone’s eyes were drawn to me instead.

He was certain I wouldn’t publicly humiliate him; he was certain I still had feelings for him.

As for me, I had imagined countless times how he would speak to me when we met again after that day of catastrophe.

But I never expected that he would lose the last ounce of guilt toward me.

Finishing his harsh words, Cicio turned his back on me, his steps hurried, leaving with the principal to process the enrollment for his boy.

By the time they were through with all that and came out, I still hadn’t left.

Jessica Kolt, with her head down, didn’t dare throw a look at me. She had worked for me after all. In fact, three years ago, she had been my intern assistant.

And it was through my connection that she had gotten to know Cicio.

The boy asked, “Mom, why is that woman always around Daddy? She’s so annoying.”

Oh my. No wonder he was Cicio’s son—just like him, always made it impossible for anyone to like him.

Cicio kept his hands in his pockets, calm as ever. He turned to me.“He’s still a child. It’s just kids’ talk. Don’t take it personally.”

I tilted my head back and let out a soft laugh.

“And what if I insist on taking it personally?”

Cicio stared at me, finally shaking his head in helplessness.

“Dani. Please. I can't deal with you right now.”

Jessica, clearly scared of me, shivered and pushed her son forward, facing my wayward face.

“Apologize to Principessa Genarro! If you upset her, Dad would get mad with you and disown you.”

The boy looked at me in terror, much like his mom, and turned around and clung to Cicio’s legs, crying loudly. The noise gave me a headache.

At that moment, I suddenly realized, damn it, I didn’t even want his answer anymore.