Giovanni POV

"Did you just say divorce? Is that word a joke to you?" he asked, his tone heavy with exhaustion.

"Why are you being so childish? How could you throw tantrums because of what a kid said to you?"

"I really don’t want to have this discussion right now. I have a lot running through my head." He wouldn’t even let me say a word. Did he think I just threw that word around carelessly? He needs to know—I’m dead serious.

He was about to walk out but paused.

"Don’t bother waiting. I won’t be coming back home. I have more important things to deal with—not this nonsense," he said, then slammed the door behind him.

Even if he stayed away for months, who would dare stop him? But he better realize—I’m not joking. I hate that he always walks away whenever we’re having a conversation. Who am I to complain, though? I was only ever in his life because I was useful. A means to an end.

But I’ll change that.

I refuse to live in the shadows of myself.

My gaze dropped to the shattered award on the floor. Tears blurred my vision. This was my only achievement. The only thing that reminded me I used to be someone—used to be a bright student who's ready to leveled up as a musician. I wished I could fix it. But what could possibly hold broken glass together?

I sat there like answers were going to fall from the ceiling.

Sleep never came that night.

Eventually, I gathered the pieces, carefully, and placed them in a small box.

If I can’t have my award whole, maybe I can at least hold onto the pieces.

My alarm started ringing, reminding me it was already morning. Right then, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Mum. "Come home"

I wasn’t that surprised. Like I had been expecting it. I quickly changed into something simple and left.

***

When I arrived, I walked straight into the living room. Mum was setting the table, arranging plates like everything was normal.

“Come over here, daughter. Let’s eat first before we talk,” she said with a smile. “I made your favorite.”

Her excitement was obvious—but I wasn’t smiling back. I knew this trick. She always used food to soften me before saying what she really wanted.

I didn’t move. My face said enough.

She wiped her hands and came over, sitting beside me on the sofa.

“Eric is just a child,” she began, her voice soft, like always. “You should understand him by now. He’s just hurting… from losing a mother. You should know better.”

I scoffed.

“I was there,” I said, my voice low but heavy. “I gave everything for him to feel a mother’s love. I sacrificed myself—but he never appreciated it.”

"Remember he's your blood, your own blood, born by your own sister," she said, her voice low.

"I tried my best, Mum. I did everything. But not anymore. I'm tired. I want to find myself again," I said, feeling that heaviness rise in my chest. I used to be happy—really happy. Even when Dad refused to support my music dreams, I still snuck out to perform, to sing, to live. That was the life I saw for myself. Not this.

She stayed quiet for a moment, then took a long breath.

"Since you don't want to go on with this, then I don’t have to force you. You've also tried your best, hanging in till now."

That was the first time she had said something I truly wanted to hear.

She brought out a brown envelope and placed it on the table.

"That's it. Sign them."

I picked it up slowly and pulled the papers out.

"Divorce Papers."

It was written boldly across the top.

I felt a rush of excitement hit me. Finally I am going to dropped that family name LEONARDO. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the pen beside it and signed.

****

I got home late than planned. I used the key on the door—it clicked, but when I tried to push it open, it wouldn’t budge. That meant it was bolted from the inside. I couldn’t use the doorbell either; the battery was dead. I had just instructed the butler to fix it yesterday.

I knocked hard, but no one answered.

Just then, the door opened—and it was Eric.

“So, you shamelessly brought yourself back here. I was hoping you’d get hit by a car so you could finally leave this world.”

Those were the first words that came out of his mouth.

The clouds were getting heavier, warning it was going to snow soon. It was winter, after all.

“Let me in. It’s going to snow,” I said quietly.

“Eric, come here! The snow’s about to start falling. You’ll catch a cold,” I heard a woman’s voice call out.

She walked over, and I recognized her at once.

Stephanie Lewis—Mark’s so-called business partner and friend.

She looked at me, disgust in her eyes.

"You’ll have to go back to where you’re coming from," she said coldly. "Because I own here tonight."

Then she slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, silent.

The snow started to fall—slow at first, then heavier.