Chapter 21: Remorse and Reflection

Antonio stood still for a moment, outside Luca’s door. His anger had finally subsided, the harsh words he had thrown at his son echoing in his mind. As much as he tried to justify his actions, he knew deep down that his little boy hadn’t deserved the outburst. The child was innocent—confused by the world, by Antonio's erratic moods, and by the conflict that seemed to be at the heart of this broken home.

The heaviness in his chest didn’t ease as he pushed open the door and entered the dimly lit room. Luca was sitting on his bed, hugging a stuffed bear tightly to his chest. His big brown eyes were wide and sad, a slight frown tugging at his lips. He looked so small and fragile, sitting there, lost in a world that was no longer simple and pure.

“Luca...” Antonio’s voice softened as he stepped into the room, trying to calm his breath.

The boy looked up, his eyes still wide but now filled with uncertainty. “Papa... are you still mad?”

Antonio’s heart clenched. Seeing Luca so vulnerable, so confused, made him realize just how far he had gone. How deeply he had hurt the one person he was supposed to protect the most.

“No, Luca,” Antonio said gently, his large frame sitting down beside the bed. He reached out, running a hand through the boy’s dark hair. “Papa’s not mad anymore. I... I’m sorry.”

Luca blinked, his innocent gaze searching his father’s face, unsure if he could believe him. “Why were you yelling?”

Antonio took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully, trying to put things into simple terms that Luca could understand. He couldn’t afford to confuse him further, to push him away in the way his ex-wife had done.

“Sometimes... sometimes grown-ups get frustrated, Luca. And they don’t always know how to handle it. That’s why I yelled,” he explained, his voice softening even more. “But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve talked to you more calmly. I’m sorry for making you scared.”

Luca didn’t say anything, but his tiny hand reached out to touch Antonio’s, clutching it with an innocent kind of trust that made Antonio’s heart ache.

“It’s okay, papa,” Luca finally said, his voice soft but genuine. “I was just scared.”

Antonio nodded slowly, his fingers brushing gently over the boy’s small hand. He didn’t deserve to be scared. Not of him. Not of the anger Antonio had displayed.

“I’m sorry, Luca,” Antonio repeated, his voice gruff. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I... I was wrong.”

Luca smiled faintly, his small face brightening for a moment. “Are you going to play with me now?”

Antonio looked at him, the image of his son’s innocent face a reminder of the kind of father he wanted to be, the kind of man he wished to raise him to be. Not the man he had been today.

“I will,” Antonio promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be better. I’ll make sure you’re never scared again.”

Luca nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he leaned into Antonio’s side. The soft, trusting warmth of his son’s body against him was enough to bring a tear to Antonio’s eye. He let his guard down for a moment, wrapping his arms around Luca and holding him close.

After a few moments, Antonio pulled away, placing a gentle kiss on Luca’s forehead. He needed to check on Isabella. He had punished her earlier—spanked her as he let his anger overwhelm him. It was a reflection of his own rage, but it wasn’t right. Isabella didn’t deserve that. He had done things out of impulse, but now, in the stillness of the moment, he realized that she too was just as trapped in this twisted situation as he was.

“I need to go check on something,” Antonio murmured, rising from the bed. “Stay here, Luca. I’ll be back soon.”

Luca gave him a small nod, his eyes heavy with sleep as Antonio left the room, a sense of responsibility weighing him down. He had to fix things. For Luca’s sake. For his own.

As he made his way through the darkened hallways of the house, his thoughts turned to Isabella. She had been so quiet after he had reprimanded her. So quiet, in fact, that he wondered whether she had cried in her room. Whether she had been hurt more than he realized.

He approached her door slowly, pausing just outside to steady himself. He knew this was his fault, all of it. He had forced her into this marriage, manipulated her and trapped her in a situation she hadn’t asked for. And yet, he had hurt her even more today, pushing her beyond her limits.

Antonio’s hand rested on the doorknob, his chest tightening. He had always believed that weakness was to be avoided at all costs—weakness in a man, in a woman, in himself. But standing here, feeling the weight of his actions, he realized that the true weakness lay in not facing what he had done. Not owning up to the hurt he had caused.

He opened the door quietly and stepped into the room.

Isabella was sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze fixed on the floor. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of the nightlight near the dresser. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with the tension of the earlier events.

She didn’t look up when he entered, and that struck him more than he expected. Isabella had always been vocal, always ready to argue or defend herself. But now, she seemed resigned. Defeated, even.

Antonio’s heart clenched.

“Isabella,” he began, his voice low, tentative. “I... I shouldn’t have acted the way I did today. I was wrong.”

For the first time since their marriage began, Isabella finally lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting his. There was no anger in them, just... exhaustion. A weariness that ran deeper than just the day’s events. It was the kind of weariness that could only come from living in a constant state of fear and uncertainty.

“You were angry,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the usual fire. “I understand. But... you hurt me, Antonio. And you hurt Luca.”

Antonio’s chest tightened, the weight of her words hitting him harder than any insult could have. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about the child. About the fragile little boy who had come into this mess through no fault of his own. And he was the one responsible for that mess.

“I know,” he replied softly, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I’ve failed you both.”

Isabella didn’t say anything for a long moment. She seemed to be contemplating his words, weighing them carefully.

“I don’t want to be a part of this game anymore, Antonio,” she said finally, her voice shaking just slightly. “I don’t want to live like this... like you and your world, your power struggles. I just want peace. For Luca. For me. I can’t do this anymore.”

Antonio closed his eyes, the pain of her words sinking in. He had never expected this—never expected to hear her voice the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind for so long. But deep down, he knew she was right. His world was toxic, and he had dragged her into it. But now... now he realized it wasn’t just about power anymore. It was about them—his son, Isabella, and him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Isabella met his gaze without bitterness, without fear. She simply looked at him, as though understanding the brokenness in his voice.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” she said softly. “You just have to start with one thing. Start with us.”

Antonio swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he nodded. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about power or control. He was thinking about her. About Luca. About trying, in whatever way he could, to make things right.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a beginning.

Isabella wasn’t sure if she could forgive him, or if she even wanted to. But right now, they had to move forward. For the sake of the child they both cared about.

“I’ll try,” he said, more to himself than to her, as he stepped forward and sat next to her on the bed.

The night felt heavy, the weight of their shared silence a reminder of how far they had come. But in the quiet of that room, Antonio felt something shift—a fragile hope, buried under years of bitterness and resentment, starting to form. And that was enough, for now.