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BARBARA

F rank was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in from outside. The sight of him stopped me cold.

“Goodness, Frank!” I gasped. “I didn’t expect you home until after six.”

His eyes were fixed on an unsealed envelope on the table. His voice was flat. “My meetings wrapped up early today, so I cut out and came home. I thought I’d surprise you, make an evening of it.” He never looked up. “Where’s Frank Junior?”

“At my sister’s.” I let out a long, controlled breath. “You know how he loves his Aunt Edith.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

My stomach tightened. I pursed my lips.

“That way, he won’t hear any of this.”Frank slid the unsealed letter across the table toward me. It was addressed to me, and the handwriting belonged to my mother.

“You opened my letter?”

“I thought it was important. Why else would your mother write instead of picking up the telephone? Good grief! I thought someone had died!”

I stared down at the envelope in silence, my pulse thudding in my ears. The room felt stiflingly hot.

“What’s she talking about, Barb?”

I picked up the envelope and removed the letter.

“ Who is she talking about?”

I tossed the letter on the table and leaned against the countertop, arms folded tight. “Well, I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Frank finally looked at me, eyes wide and terrified like a scolded puppy awaiting a rolled-up newspaper.

“Frank, it’s over.” There went the newspaper. “It’s been over for a long time. It’s high time we admitted it.”

“No, no. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. We have a life together, Barb. We have a son.”

“I know, and that’s what makes this so difficult. But we can’t go on like this.”

Frank shoved his chair back and stood so abruptly it crashed to the floor behind him. He gripped the edge of the table, eyes pleading. “What did I do, Barb? Tell me what I did, and I’ll set it right.”

“You didn’t do anything.” My voice wavered, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. “Damn it, I almost wish you had. It would make this easier.”

“Then what?”

“We’ve just grown apart. We were so young when we met, and we didn’t see each other very long before we whisked off and got married. You were just back from the war, and I was twenty-one. How could either of us have known what we truly wanted?”

Frank paused and studied me. “What are you saying, Barb?”

“I want a divorce.”

His face crumpled like a starched shirt left out in the rain.“A divorce?”

“Yes, Frank. A divorce.”

He stood motionless. Processing. Calculating. “On what grounds? What have I done?”

“We’re just no good together.”

The calculation was over. His eyes narrowed, and his voice turned sharp. “Who is he?”

“What?”

“ Who is he ?” he repeated, a bitter edge curling his lips.

“A woman doesn’t just walk away without a reason.

And don’t feed me that ‘we grew apart’ nonsense.

You’re a smart girl, Barb. I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out.

” He jabbed a finger at the letter from my mother.

“Your mother seems to know all about it. So I know there’s someone. Who is he?”

“Does it matter? It changes nothing.”

“Of course it matters! I at least deserve to know who I’m being thrown over for!”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Fine. I suppose you’d have found out anyway. It’s Victor Cardello.”

Frank inhaled sharply, like I’d knocked the wind from his lungs.

He repeated the name, soft and venomous.

“Victor Cardello.” He curled his fingers into fists.

For a moment, I thought he might lunge. Instead, he slammed a hand onto the table, rattling the salt and pepper shakers.

“Damn it, Barb! I knew it! I never should have let you near him.”

“He’s not the reason, Frank. This was coming long before Victor.”

“Oh, spare me!” His laugh was hollow. “You’ve had one foot out the door since you went to work for him. How long, huh? Since the beginning? How long did it take for you to—” He gripped his jaw, cutting himself off.

I stiffened. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not blind, Barbara. And I’m not stupid.”

“I never planned this, Frank. I swear to you, I never did.”

“Oh, that makes it better?” His voice was all acid now.

My cheeks flushed hot with anger. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “No. But it’s the truth.” I paused. “I never wanted to hurt you, Frank,” I said softly, almost tenderly.

“Well, you’ve done a bang-up job of that, haven’t you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He paced the kitchen, raking a hand through his hair. “Victor Cardello? Christ, Barbara! Have you lost your mind?”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, my voice steady. “Victor and I love each other.”

Frank let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Love? You think that’s love ? He’s using you, Barb. Men like him don’t fall in love. They take what they want and move on.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” I shot back, my pulse hammering. “He’s different with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Frank sneered. “I bet he tells you you’re special. That you’re not like the others. That you’re the one who’ll change him. That’s what men like him do.”

His words struck like a slap. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, forcing down the sting behind my eyes. I wouldn’t let him see me cry.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured.

The laugh he let loose was bitter, devoid of any real humor. “Oh, Barbara. Sweet, na?ve Barbara. You really don’t know, do you?”

A chill ran up my spine. My fingers dug into the counter’s edge. “Know what?”

“Your precious Victor isn’t just some big-shot businessman. He’s a criminal, Barb. A mobster.”

The room tilted. My breath caught. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That’s not true. Victor’s a real estate developer. He?—”

“ Wake up! ” Frank roared, slamming his palm on the table.

The crash sent a jolt through me.

“His ‘real estate developments’ are just fronts,” he said, seething. “He’s running protection rackets, illegal gambling dens, and God knows what else.”

My mind reeled as his words sank in. A wave of nausea rolled through me.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, more to myself than Frank. “Victor would never…”

His face twisted into a cruel sneer. “What’s the matter, Barb? Your knight in shining armor’s not so shiny after all?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Victor is a good man.”

“A good man?” Frank spat. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re spreading your legs for him like a cheap whore?”

The slap came before I even realized I’d moved. A sharp crack rang through the kitchen as my palm connected with his cheek. Frank stumbled back, stunned, one hand hovering at his face. A dull sting pulsed through my fingers, but I barely noticed it over the fury burning inside me.

“Frank, I—” I began, my voice faltering, but he cut me off with a raised hand—not to strike, but to silence.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice tight with fury. “Don’t you dare.”

A deep red mark bloomed on his cheek, stark against his pale skin. Guilt gnawed at me, but so did rage. The once-cheerful yellow kitchen suddenly felt like a pressure cooker, the heat and tension threatening to explode.

Frank straightened up slowly, adjusting his tie with stiff, trembling fingers. “You want to know how I know about Victor Cardello?” he asked, his voice eerily calm. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because I owed him money. A lot of money.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. “How could you possibly know?”

“Victor told me”—I swallowed hard—“when you paid off the debt in one lump.”

Frank let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “And you thought that was the whole truth, didn’t you? Remember those ‘business trips’ last year?” Frank let out another humorless laugh. “I wasn’t working. I was gambling. And losing. Big.”

“I know that too.”

His gaze drifted past me, unfocused. “I thought Victor was doing me a favor.” His voice dropped, the words edged with shame.

“I’d worked with Victor a few times, insuring some of his high-end properties.

We got along. I thought maybe we even had a friendship.

So when I was drowning, I went to him. I thought he was offering me a lifeline. ”

I could see where this was going, and I hated it.

“But kindness turned to something else. He started making demands. And then, when I couldn’t keep up, he got his eyes on you.”

A cold chill ran through me.

“Do you remember that dinner in December?”

I remembered it all too well—the way Victor had watched me, the casual yet intense interest in his eyes. At the time, I’d felt flattered. Admired. Completely unaware.

“That was when he decided,” Frank said, his words heavy with resignation. “He wanted you, Barbara. And he knew the surest way to get you was to offer something I couldn’t refuse.”

I barely found my voice. “What do you mean?”

Frank’s eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. “You were part of the deal.”

The air in the room shifted.

“I couldn’t keep up with the payments, and Victor offered a…solution. He said if you came to work for him, he’d consider it partial payment on my debt.”

My mind reeled, trying to process this information. I thought back to that day when Victor had offered me the job—how excited I’d been, how it had felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. Had it all been a lie?

“No,” I murmured, shaking my head. “That can’t be true. Victor wouldn’t?—”

“Wouldn’t what, Barb?” Frank cut in, his voice edged with contempt. “Wouldn’t use you as a pawn? Wouldn’t manipulate both of us for his own gain? Grow up.”

I struggled to find something to say—some retort that would cut through Frank’s accusations and make them less real, less devastating. But nothing came.

“He’s playing the long game, Barb,” Frank continued, relentless. “You think he cares about you? That he loves you? He’s just getting you in deeper and deeper. And the worst part is, you’re letting him.”

I bit my lip, the pain a slight distraction from the storm inside me. “I don’t believe that, Frank,” I said slowly. “Victor has always been honest with me.”

Frank’s laugh was a cold shard of ice in the stifling room. “Honest? You believe that? Then why didn’t he tell you any of this?”

I had no answer. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

“Barbara,” Frank said, his voice softer, almost pleading. He reached for my hands, and before I could stop myself, I let him take them. His grip was warm, familiar. “We can still fix this. Think about our family. Our son.”

I looked at him—really looked at him—my husband for almost four years. The father of my child. The first man I’d ever loved. The conflict within me surged, tearing me in two.

I closed my eyes, hearing Victor’s voice. “A divorce won’t be simple, angel. Not in a town like this.”

I pulled my hands away.

“No. We can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand?” Frank’s voice sharpened. “What’s there to understand? You’re leaving me for another man. It’s as simple as that.”

“I’m leaving because I’m unhappy, Frank. Because we’re unhappy. Can’t you see that? This isn’t just about Victor. It’s about me wanting something more, something different. Something I can’t have with you.”

Frank paced the kitchen, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “So, what now? You just walk out on our family? On our son?”

“Of course not,” I said, my voice softening. “Frankie will always be my priority. But he deserves parents who are happy, not just…coexisting.”

Frank stopped pacing and leaned against the counter, his shoulders slumped. “And Victor makes you happy?”

I hesitated, knowing my answer would hurt him, but unable to lie. “Yes. He does.”

His face hardened. “Well, I hope you two will be very happy together,” he spat. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll make this easy for you. I’ll fight you on everything—the house, the money, custody of Frank Junior. Everything.”

My heart sank. I had hoped—foolishly perhaps—that we could handle this amicably. “Frank, please. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

“If you think I’m going to let that thug anywhere near my son, you’re out of your damn mind. And no judge in his right mind will leave Frank Junior with you.”

My blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“Wouldn’t I?” Frank’s eyes were ice, his jaw set. “You’re a two-bit whore, and you’re leaving me for a goddamn gangster, Barbara. If that doesn’t make you an unfit mother, I don’t know what does.”

I refused to let him see how deeply his words cut. “You don’t know the first thing about caring for a child. You wouldn’t last a week on your own.”

Frank yanked his keys from his pocket and stormed to the door. He turned to me, his voice cold and soulless. “I need a drink. When I get back, maybe you’ll have come to your senses.”

He slammed the door behind him so hard, the kitchen windows rattled. A coffee cup fell from the counter and smashed on the linoleum floor.

I took a shaky breath and mechanically moved to clean up the broken pieces.

Mother’s letter on the kitchen table caught my eye. I had to know what she had said to damn me.

Wednesday, May 16, 1951

Barbara,

Your news came as a shock. I should have written sooner, but to tell the truth, I didn’t know what to say. I know little more now.

I do hope you know what you’re doing. This is quite a decision for you to take. I was under the impression that this man was friends with your husband. What “friends” can do to a family… I should know.

You mean to tell me that Frank is doing nothing about this??

All I can say is be sure of everything, take plenty of time to decide, and don’t be impulsive. But you seem to have everything worked out, down to the last detail.

I hate to see this happen.

You’ve really let me down.

Mother