Not that it mattered, because when I finally did remember, I sank to my lowest. I couldn’t get to them. I sat out front of the house, the one I once called home, and I couldn’t do a single thing. I couldn’t go inside and demand to see my own children. I knew that Giovanni would follow through with his threat. And I refused to be the reason my boys died. Instead, I would bear the pain of not knowing them to keep them alive. So that’s what I did.

I watched from a distance. Tommy would bring me photos, tell me stories about them now and then.

“I’m their mother and I left them, just left them with that monster. I deserve every ounce of their hatred,” I tell him.

“You had no choice. You did what you had to do for you all to survive,” he insists.

Did I? Or did I just hide? Did I give up too easily?

Tommy offered to try to get them. He would have died trying, though. He might be the president of a motorcycle club, but he’s no match for the De Bellis Crime Family. The reach my husband—ex-husband—has is huge.

Giovanni De Bellis owned Melbourne, and now my eldest son is sitting on that throne. When I saw them, Gio and Santo, I couldn’t believe how grown they were. How much they looked just like him. Their father. Gio wouldn’t even glance in my direction. I don’t blame him. I left him. Santo did, though. And I saw it. The hurt, the confusion, the questions.

I want to talk to them. I want a chance to tell them how much I love them. Even if it’s something they’ll never believe.

“Mum, can I take your car?” Esther barges into the room.

“What’s wrong with your car?” Tommy asks her.

“It has a flat. I don’t have time to deal with it,” she says.

“Take mine,” I chime in while sitting up in bed.

This girl has been the reason I haven’t completely drowned in my depression. I know I shouldn’t use my daughter as an emotional crutch. But Esther and Tommy are my reason for living. She is my reason for living.

The boys would have been better off never knowing I was still alive. I can only imagine the thoughts going through their heads. No child should know that their mother left them behind.

“Thanks, Mum. Try to get out of bed today. After school, maybe we can go get our nails done,” she asks me.

“Sure. Have a good day at school, honey.” I smile at my daughter. She’s seventeen. I got pregnant two years after Tommy found me, after he took me in, not knowing who I was.

Chapter Twelve