Page 13 of Mafia and Scars

I glance at the clock again. 7:43 p.m.

He was supposed to be home at six.

My throat tightens as I look at the framed print propped in the center of the table. Tiny handprints, one pink and one blue, overlapping in the shape ofa heart—Sofia’s chubby toddler hand next to Leon’s delicate newborn hand. I spent hours coaxing those perfect impressions out of wriggly little hands, biting my tongue when paint smeared and toddler tempers frayed. It was supposed to be our gift to him. Something to remind him that we’re a family and that this day matters.

The kids are slumped on the couch now, still wearing their ‘special’ clothes. Sofia in her sparkly tutu and Leon in his pale-blue sailor outfit. Sofia’s been so excited about this surprise for her daddy, and she keeps asking when he’s coming home. Leon’s eyelids are drooping, and I know it’s past his bedtime now. I keep smiling and keep lying through my teeth. “Soon. Any minute now. He wouldn’t miss this!”

But the meal’s gone cold. The wine glass I poured for him sits untouched, droplets sliding down the stem like tears.

I check my phone for the hundredth time. No text. No call. Nothing.

My chest aches, sharp and hollow. I did everything to make tonight perfect. His favorite dinner, a homemade dessert, and even put on a dress and styled my hair instead of my usual outfit of mom jeans and messy bun. Although I wrinkle my nose as I pull at my dress—it’s a bit too tight, and Geliy says he prefers my body when it didn’t have the extra baby weight

“Mama, can we eat now?” Sofia asks in a weary voice.

“Yeah, baby,” I whisper, blinking hard. “We can eat.”

As I scoop cold carrots onto her plate, I swallow around the lump in my throat.

This was supposed to be a celebration, a reminder of how far we’ve come.

Instead, it’s just me and two kids trying to convince ourselves we’re enough.

Later, when I finally tuck them into bed, the house is silent except for my own uneven breathing. I curl up on the couch, staring at those little painted handprints.

They look like love.

Like family.

Like everything he forgot tonight.

And I realize that we no longer matter to him. And maybe…we never did…

I shake my head to clear the memory. But with nothing to do during the long flight, the memories keep flooding through my mind…

We’re at the baby’s baptism. The guests have come back to our apartment for tea and refreshments.

Geliy comes over to me as I chat with two friends.

And I freeze as I notice his eyes running down my body like I’m an annoying problem that doesn’t quite add up.

“You could try harder, you know,” he says, interrupting our conversation. “It’s been months since you had the baby.”

I choke out a laugh, but the strangled sound comes out much too high-pitched. “It’s been a couple of months since I gave birth, Geliy. My body’s still?—”

“Still what?” His tone is light, but there’s something steely beneath it. “Still recovering? You used that as your excuse last month.”

One of my friends looks embarrassed to be hearing him speak to me like this, while the other friend looks like she’s only just restraining herself from giving him a piece of her mind or something worse.

The words hit me harder than I want them to. “I’m doing my best,” I murmur, praying that he drops the subject.

His eyes narrow. “Your best used to look different.”

I know everyone around us is listening. My stomach twists, and I lower my voice. “Why are you saying this?”

He shrugs. “Just being honest. Ma noticed it too.”

It makes sense now why he’s bringing this up. His mother is here today, and no doubt, she’s been sharing her views and opinions with him. “You…talked to your ma about my weight?” I whisper.