Marcello, the Don of the Valence family, has severe PTSD. He’s cold, and he pushes everyone away. But I can hear his thoughts. I know about the possessiveness hiding under that cold front. When he says, “Stay away from me, I don’t want to see you,” what he’s really thinking is: Lilian, don’t go. Don’t leave me. I really need you. Six years of marriage, and I’m used to him never meaning what he says. But tonight, at the family banquet, his assistant is on his arm again, instead of me. I ask Marcello, “She’s standing where the Don’s wife should be. You got nothing to say about that?” Impatience flashes across Marcello’s face. “You’re twenty minutes late, Lilian. You have no right to question me.” “Either go stand in a corner, or get the hell out of my estate. Now.” A second later, his thoughts crash into me: Lilian. Get mad. Slap her. Scream that you’re my wife. Prove you love me. I need to feel secure. But this time, seeing the smirks on everyone’s faces, I’m just… tired. I take off the diamond ring, the one that marks me as the Don’s wife. “Since there’s no place for me here, let’s get a divorce.” Perfect timing. The hospital is sending me to London for a placement. I leave tomorrow.
