The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 02

The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 02

It wasn’t like I never thought about leaving Michael.

Truth be told, I thought about it countless times over the past year.

Yet every time I remembered how good he used to be to me, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.

He drove through a blizzard to a 24-hour pharmacy to buy fever meds for me.

On the day of my parents’ funeral, he canceled a multi-million-dollar partnership, flew back from abroad, and stood by my side at the memorial service.

He even fumbled through cooking a plate of pasta before saying, “Vivian, I’m going to treat you right for the rest of my life.”

It wasn’t until today that a hard truth finally hit me.

The Michael Lombardi who drove through three neighborhoods in a snowstorm to buy medicine wasn’t the same Michael who ditched me by the road and blasted me on Instagram as a psycho today.

The Michael Lombardi who was good to me probably died a long time ago.

While packing my bags, I stumbled across a photograph.

It was taken five years ago.

Isabella wasn’t around back then, and Michael hadn’t established his family enterprise yet. Some friends at a gathering dared him to give me a bridal style carry.

Michael hoisted me up and spun me in circles three times while I laughed like an absolute fool.

My makeup was half-melted in the photo, and I yanked a button off his shirt.

We looked like an absolute mess, but we were genuinely happy back then.

I flipped the picture over to find a line scribbled in Michael’s handwriting: “Vivian, you’re the one for life.”

I stared at that sentence for a long time, pulled out a lighter, and burned the photo to ashes.

Some things aren’t forgotten; you just refuse to remember them anymore.

Isabella showed up in the spring of last year.

Michael’s regular secretary went on maternity leave, so he asked his right-hand man to find someone reliable to fill in temporarily.

After interviewing three candidates, he picked Isabella.

I found out later that Isabella was a former college junior of his.

Same university, same club, just six years behind him.

The first thing that felt off was a hair tie Isabella left in his car.

Michael was driving at the time, glanced at the hair tie, and let out a soft chuckle. “Must be Bella’s.”

“She said her hair was down when she rode with me last time, grabbed it from somewhere.”

“I just dropped her off on my way to the Malone family meeting.” He glanced sideways at me. “V, don’t read into it.”

That was the first time I felt like there was a third person between Michael and me.

I didn’t get it. He traveled with a full motorcar fleet; his secretary had zero need to ride in his personal car.

Fine. Maybe they were talking shop.

Our very first fight happened a week after I found that hair tie.

The spark sounds ridiculous now.

It started because I asked him to replace Isabella.

“Why?”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What’s uncomfortable about it? You haven’t even met her.”

“I just am. Is it really that hard to get a new secretary?”

Michael looked at me like I was a stranger. “Vivian, did you hit early menopause or something?”

“Bella is doing a great job, why on earth would I replace her?”

“Because she makes me uncomfortable.”

“Got any proof that makes you uncomfortable?”

I had no proof.

I only had a cheap hair tie and a woman’s unnamable intuition, which had eaten away at my sanity for an entire week.

“Don’t go spouting nonsense without proof.”

Michael stood up. “You’re being completely unreasonable.”

That was the first time he used that word to describe me.

Before long, that word turned into a label he slapped on me during every single argument.

No matter what I said or did, as long as it involved Isabella, I was the irrational one.

The more I pushed back, the heavier that label became.

So heavy that I sometimes started doubting myself. Was I really overthinking it?

Was I just too petty?

Should I have just been more broad-minded?

Until half a year ago at the family Christmas gala, when Isabella and I showed up wearing the exact same designer gown.