Daniele was still young and he had time to make mistakes. What he didn’t understand was, I had already made them and guilt ate away at me every day since the unexpected loss of my beloved Amara. In the years since she passed, I noticed things about myself. Things I didn’t do. Things I should’ve done. While Amara held down the home base, I worked outside of it. Oftentimes, I came home late. Some nights, I didn’t come home at all. Asserting myself into the role, becoming head of this house, it took time and effort and I neglected things. People.

I had no idea Amara was struggling mentally. Like most mothers, she hid it well. But now, as I lowered Vittoria’s plate as she took her seat, she smiled at me, widely, openly and full of love.

The critical thoughts that attacked me came at the most inconvenient times.

Maybe if you came home earlier…

Maybe if you spent more time with her…

Maybe if you’d shown more affection…

Maybe if you’d taken the kids every now and then so she could relax…

Maybe if you’d taken her out for a meal every now and again…

Maybe if you treated her like the woman she was and not the mother she became…

Maybe if you’d fixed her a fucking plate…

Under the table, Vittoria’s dainty hand covered my knee and squeezed it in gratitude, and I couldn’t stop myself from dipping into her and capturing her mouth in a brief kiss. Her eyes widened in surprise at the very moment my mouth touched hers. And when I pulled back, she looked around the table quickly then picked up her fork and glanced down at her plate, but I didn’t miss the way her lips softened with a barely there smile while the apples of her cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

If I’d done even some of those things, maybe – just maybe – she would have stayed.

These were mistakes I would never make again. My one regret was not being what Amara needed at the time she needed it. The shame that lives inside of me will never wane. But I swore to be better and for Vittoria, I vowed to be the husband Amara – shamefully – never got.

Some lessons were learned the hard way.

And my brother was about to discover that.

Before I’d even started to eat, I noticed my dad watching Vittoria closely. When her lips closed over the forkful of food, she chewed slowly and her eyes closed in delight.

“You like it?” My father asked.

Vittoria nodded, making a sound of sheer pleasure that I hadn’t heard her make outside of the bedroom. I shifted in my seat.

“Try the other one,” he said and my eyes narrowed on the old man because it was obvious, he was up to something.