His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 02
I camped out in the guest room for seven straight days.
I finished work early one evening and arrived home to a pitch-dark entryway.
When I bent to kick off my shoes, I spotted a brand-new pair of blush velvet house slippers tucked into the shoe rack.
Not a speck of dirt marked the soles.
My deep blue slippers had been crammed to the very bottom shelf, stacked one on top of the other.
I pulled my pair out and set them front and center on the rack before heading to bed.
The next night when I returned home, the blue slippers were shoved back down to the bottom shelf once more.
The blush pink pair sat perfectly aligned at the front, toes pointed toward the hallway.
That Serena Only linen coaster still sat in the kitchen cabinet.
I pulled it free and laid it on the living room coffee table to wait for Nico.
He pushed open the front door clutching his briefcase, his tie hanging loose around his neck.
He looked like he’d just stepped straight out of a Valenti Holdings board meeting.
His movements stalled the second his eyes landed on the coaster.
“She stitched that herself,” he said flatly.
“A coaster marked Serena Only doesn’t belong in our house.”
He set his briefcase on the sofa and undid his tie.
“She’s just childish at heart. Don’t waste energy fighting over small things with her.”
“She’s twenty-seven years old.”
Later that night, I passed the study on my way to grab water.
The door hung ajar.
Nico spoke in a hushed murmur on the phone inside.
“Don’t cry, Serena. Clara’s all talk, no action. She’d never actually kick you out of this house. I’m the one who calls the shots here. You can come over whenever you want, no need to worry.”
He stood on the other side of that door, claiming full ownership of our shared home like I didn’t exist.
I gripped my water mug tight in the hallway, lingering outside without pushing the door open to confront him.
The following morning, a sealed envelope rested on the coffee table.
It bore dark red wax stamped with the Valenti family crest, addressed in Nonno Vittorio’s handwriting: [Nico personally].
I tore the seal open to pull out a clan core supper gathering invitation.
The event was scheduled for six o’clock the following Saturday at Valenti family mansion.
The dining table in the Valenti manor was never just furniture.
Only those formally recognized by the clan earned a seat there.
As Nico’s legal wife, my permanent spot was the chair to his right—the designated seat of the clan’s lady of the house.
The printed guest list only held two names: [Nico, Serena. Mine was missing entirely.]
I laid the paper flat in front of Nico, tapping the empty line meant for me with my finger.
“Nonno must’ve overlooked your name by accident.”
“He remembered to print Serena’s full name without a single mistake, yet forgot to list his own daughter-in-law?”
“Nonno’s always treated her like his own granddaughter, you know that.”
“What about me?”
Nico’s lips parted, but no words came out. He twisted his head away from my stare.
I grabbed my cell and dialed Nonno’s number.
“Nonno, it’s Clara. I just wanted to double-check the time for the clan supper this weekend, I don’t want to mix up the date.”
A soft chuckle rumbled through the receiver.
“Clara, Nico told me you’re flying out to Boston for a work trip that night. Serena’s free to accompany him instead. Your business travel won’t get in the way of anything, will it?”
Silence hung thick in the living room.
I could hear the old man’s slow, steady breathing over the line, faint financial news buzzing in the background.
“I don’t have any business trip scheduled.”
A beat of quiet passed on the other end of the call.
“I must’ve misheard him then. Come join us regardless, we’ll have a fuller house with everyone present.”
I hung up the phone, and Nico’s face darkened instantly.
“Did you really have to call him behind my back? Now what’s Nonno supposed to think?”
“You’re scared Nonno will catch you lying, or you’re terrified Serena’s reputation will take a hit?”
He offered no reply.
I folded the invitation and slid it back inside its wax envelope.
“Take her to the dinner yourself. I won’t be attending. That seat was always meant for her anyway.”
At eleven o’clock sharp that night, the landline in the living room rang out.
I crammed earbuds into my ears and cranked the volume all the way up, drowning out every sound with loud music.
But one thought looped endlessly in my head—He’d erased my place at our own clan’s dinner table and handed it straight to Serena.
My phone lit up with a new text from Nonno.
[Clara, I’ve had the kitchen craft the entire supper menu around Serena’s taste preferences. Text me any food allergies or dislikes you have ahead of time.]
I never typed a single reply.
Nico left the house before sunrise the next day. A message waited in my inbox when I woke.
[Clara, I spoke to Nonno about the supper seating. The Vale family lost both parents young, and they shielded our clan from federal charges years ago. All the elders insist I look after her. Can you find it in your heart to sympathize with her tough upbringing?]
My fingers burned against the hot ceramic mug in my grasp.
She’s lonely, so I surrender my rightful seat.
She’s orphaned, so my name gets erased from formal clan invites.
She’s damaged, so my husband spends three minutes every night talking her through insomnia.
What about me? Was I not hurting in this marriage too?
