He Left Me For Dead, Now Our Son Calls Another Man Daddy.
I spent my marriage standing behind Dante Moretti while he protected Elena, the childhood sweetheart he always chose first. When our cruise ship exploded, he covered her with his body and left me, twelve weeks pregnant, in the fire. I used the chaos to stage my death and walked away. Three years later, I have a new name, a restoration studio in Florence, and a son Dante has never met. Tonight, Dante locks down Florence and kicks in my studio door. Then a little boy with his gray eyes hides from him and calls another man "Daddy."
The ship exploded at nine-forty at night, and my husband was already standing in front of another woman. I had been looking for him for ten minutes. The deck was tilting, and the air had turned the color of a furnace, and I had one hand pressed to my belly in a way I had not yet admitted to myself. Tomorrow morning I had an appointment in Monaco — a private clinic, an ultrasound, twelve weeks. I had planned to tell Dante on the plane, with the sea below us and his hand in mine. The sea was below us now, black and hungry, and the fire was moving across the aft deck faster than people could run. I found them at the starboard railing. Dante had his back to the flames and his body wrapped around Elena — his childhood sweetheart, the one he had chosen before me, during me, and after me. She
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