Goodbye, Mr. Marchetti Chapter 06

Goodbye, Mr. Marchetti Chapter 06

At the hospital, Vittorio’s arm was in a cast.

His face was covered in bruises and road rash.

When he saw me, his eyes went black.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said. “I swear to God, Serena. I will end him.”

Enzo had gotten in the car and driven straight at them.

He wanted Vittorio dead.

He almost got there.

At the last second, Vittorio yanked the wheel.

Sienna took the worst of it.

Enzo was in the ICU.

My parents were shattered, their faces grey. They begged Vittorio to forgive him.

He didn’t even blink.

I got on my knees. I was heavily pregnant. I pressed my forehead against the floor.

“Do whatever you want with me,” I said. “Just let him live. I’ll do anything. Please, Vittorio. Please.”

I don’t know how long I stayed there.

I only remember getting colder and colder, trembling all over.

Behind me, I heard the doctors shouting.

I looked down.

There was blood everywhere.

The baby was gone.

A boy. Fully formed. He never opened his eyes.

Vittorio relented.

“We’re even,” he said.

He brought a pardon for Sienna and paid for Enzo’s medical bills.

Then he walked out of my life.

He didn’t divorce me. He just disappeared.

After that, I completely fell apart.

Most of it I can’t remember. That’s what happens when the mind takes too much damage.

I remember my mother’s face. Hollowed out. Exhausted.

She was afraid to sleep too deeply. She tied her wrist to mine with a length of rope so she’d feel me if I

moved.

My father was old, but he went back to work, odd jobs, whatever he could find.

The doctors told them I might never be okay again.

They said: “The heart is hard to heal.”

Mom wheeled me outside to sit in the sun.

She cooked every dish I’d ever loved.

My father came home exhausted every night, but he’d sit with me and talk about nothing important.

They didn’t try too hard. They just stayed close.

At night, I could hear them crying.

One night, I undid the rope.

I climbed out onto the balcony. The wind was cold.

One foot was already over the railing.

I turned and looked at my mother one more time.

She was standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of soup.

“Eat something first,” she said. “Then go.”

Only your mother asks if you’ve eaten when you’re standing on the ledge.

I stayed.