ELENA'S POV
Why is it that no matter what I do, Bianca always sees me as the villain?
I drop my phone onto the bed with a growl of annoyance. It bounces twice before settling gently on the duvet. At least it didn't break when it hit the floor.
I get really angry when Lorenzo's mother talks about me. She believes that because I'm not as wealthy as Giulia, I'm somehow beneath her? What about her beloved son? She is aware that he is far from flawless, but she would never acknowledge it.
I've endured every insult his family could possibly give me in our three arduous years of marriage. He doesn't seem to care, even though I'm fairly certain he is aware of everything. He does nothing to stop it, just sits there and watches me take it.
Not to mention Giulia. She presents herself as sophisticated and superior to everyone else, but this is only a front. I've witnessed the true her, and she is ruthless and spiteful. Lorenzo is not treated that way by her. She saves the worst for me, oh no.
I understand why. She perceives me as a danger, someone who might divert Lorenzo's focus. She believes she can somehow keep me in line if she makes my life miserable. She's correct, too. I allowed her to affect me.
I will always remember this one instance. I decided to surprise Lorenzo with a homemade lunch at his office. Giulia was standing by his desk when I arrived. Her eyes narrowed as soon as she saw me, and I could sense the condemnation leaving her.
"Oh, what is this? She scoffed and hardly looked at the lunch I had prepared, asking, "Are you playing the devoted wife now?" Lorenzo typically favors eating out. At restaurants where there are real chefs, you know.
I forced myself to stay calm. "For a change, I thought a homemade meal would be nice."
Giulia laughed cynically. Yes, if you believe he will value that. But between us, I doubt he would exchange his wagyu steak and fancy salads for whatever it is.
I wanted to hurl the lunchbox at her. It was all I could do not to slap that cocky smile off her face. However, I was unable to cause a commotion in Lorenzo's office. That would exacerbate the situation. So, I just placed the lunch on his desk, trying to ignore her. I didn't care that I felt like I lost that round. I didn't want to be like her.
The worst thing? If I told anyone what happened, they'd probably just think I was jealous. I was overreacting, they would say. I would never be believed over her. I'm just the resentful wife to them.
I'm finished. It's okay if Lorenzo would rather hang out with Giulia than with me, or if he wants to work all day. I'm leaving.
I pick up a suitcase and begin packing with unsteady hands. Lorenzo bought me a lot of expensive accessories and designer dresses, which I admire in the closet. I feel empty now, despite everything that was meant to make me feel unique. They make me think of a life I no longer desire.
I choose to move on from them. I never really connected with them. They weren't genuine love or connections; they were just things. As I fold my clothes, I'm struck by how little I actually own. A platinum credit card with a casual "knock yourself out" was the only personal gift Lorenzo ever gave me.
I pick up my phone after packing the suitcase. I've got a strategy. I have to give my former landlady Lucia a call. As I dial her number, my fingers shake.
"Hello, Elena here, Lucia. I had a question. Is my former apartment still for sale?
She speaks in a kind but slightly surprised tone. "Elena! The apartment is available, yes, but I've got much nicer places now, especially for someone like you."
She is referring to a wealthy man's wife. However, I no longer desire that life". No, Lucia. My old place is what I want. I need it at the moment.
The other person pauses before Lucia speaks again, this time in a softer tone. "All right, it's yours if you're certain."
I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. "Thank you, Lucia."
***
The taxi ride feels surreal as I leave the fancy neighborhood behind. The sleek, polished houses gradually turn into smaller homes, and the busy streets seem alive with energy. I see more small, neighborhood stores and fewer designer ones. The locals appear at ease and to be leading normal lives.
I feel as though I'm transitioning from the phony luxury I've been living in to a more genuine and honest world.
When the taxi pulls up to my old apartment, Lucia is already waiting outside. She smiles at me, obviously interested in how I will respond.
This is it, then. What are your thoughts?
I inhale deeply while glancing around. The apartment is smaller than I remember, but there's a warmth here, something that feels familiar and comforting. I feel as though the walls welcome me back.
I try to speak steadily as I say, "It feels like coming home." It feels right, but it's not fancy. I must be here.
I enter and look around. The couch has definitely seen better days, and there's a crack in the ceiling that I can't recall. However, the small elements that give it a sense of belonging—old curtains, books on the shelf, etc.—remain.
It isn't exactly the same, of course. Since I left, other people have moved in, but that's okay. It's still mine, in a way.
I know what I need to do after I've settled in and taken a deep breath. In an attempt to calm myself, I pick up my phone and dial a number I found online.
"Hi, is this Marquez e Moretti Associati?" I ask, hardly raising my voice above a whisper.
A receptionist responds. "Yes, ma'am. How can we help you?
Knowing that there is no turning back once I say these words, I inhale deeply. "I need your help drawing up divorce papers."
***