My brother, meanwhile, wasn’t happy about being forbidden from bringing his friends into the house anymore.
There were suddenly all kinds of restrictions because of me.
Everything had changed.
The house began to smell of medicine.
Ramps were installed everywhere.
And then there was me—my appearance constantly in their line of sight.
They didn’t like any of it.
They were children, after all.
But that was only the beginning of their hatred toward me.
Children could be remarkably cruel.
Back then, my adoptive parents stopped a lot of things from happening.
Or at least, they tried to.
And once my new siblings learned whose daughter I was, they became a little more careful around me too.
But a great deal changed after my father’s visit.
It happened three months after I’d moved to Naples.
And I had been longing for that visit more desperately than I’d ever longed for air.
Because of the rules, I was no longer part of my family’s household.
I belonged to Don De Rosa’s clan now, but I wasn’t forbidden from seeing my family.
It simply wasn’t encouraged.
I was expected to show that I fully understood my situation and had no intention of betraying Don De Rosa.
As if I could have done something like that.
I was just a child who had been kept away from all the affairs, secrets, and information that mattered.
So I desperately looked forward to seeing my family again.
When I found out my father would be able to come, I would have jumped for joy if I’d been capable of it.
But…
The actual visit was…
Brief.
What had I expected?
Probably the same thing that had happened when we’d said goodbye––for my father to hug me.
To pick me up in his arms again.
I wanted so badly to feel that I still mattered to him.
Especially after leaving Florence.
And even more so after ending up in this house, where all I’d felt was coldness and alienation.
And then there he was.
My father.
My warmth.
My happiness.
When he walked into the room, I saw that he looked well.
Very well, actually.
He was still the same stern, imposing, intimidating man he’d always been.
Seeing him like that filled me with relief and happiness.
It meant he was doing well.
That the whole family was doing well.
But the moment his eyes fell on me, something changed in my father’s expression.
And I crumbled.
I saw a flash of pain and regret.
Then he looked away.
Just like he’d done before.
Only this time, it hurt even more.
I hadn’t changed much since we’d last seen each other, and throughout the entire visit, my father barely looked at me.
Our conversation was awkward.
It consisted mostly of questions like: “How are you?” “How are you feeling?” “Are they treating you well?” After every answer, he’d simply nod, then ask another question.
There was such distance between us.
It felt like I was speaking to a stranger rather than his daughter.
And that’s when I realized…
That meeting drove a knife into my heart and forced me to face the possibility that my father was better off without me.
And apparently, so was the rest of my family.
Of course, I asked how things were going for them.
Everything was great.
They were all busy with their lives.
Mom had opened an exhibition.
My brother had moved on to the next school and had already begun training under our father.
And, naturally, my father had dealt with his enemies.
They loved me; I had never doubted that.
They probably genuinely wanted me to live a good life.
Just…
Far away from them.
Somewhere I wouldn’t constantly remind them of everything terrible that had happened.
Of course, none of those words were ever spoken aloud.
But I felt them anyway.
Later, I kept telling myself that I’d imagined too much.
That things couldn’t really be like that.
But our meeting had been far too short.
My father soon excused himself, saying he had business to attend to, and left.
Everyone in the Mariani household noticed, of course.
The adults remained silent and didn’t comment on it at all.
My brother and sisters, however, had no such restraint.
They hadn’t exactly liked me to begin with, and now they seized on the opportunity to mock me.
They made jokes about how suspiciously quickly my father had left.
Maybe he’d actually run away from me?
They knew this had been our first meeting since I’d left home.
And that only made their words hurt more.
The teasing was mild––mostly subtle hints and insinuations.
But time passed.
Years went by, and neither my father nor anyone else from my family ever came to see me again.
Eventually, the Mariani family came to a simple conclusion: they didn’t need me.
I refused to believe it.
How could they not need me?
My mother adored me.
My brother loved me.
So did my father.
They were simply busy.
They had too much going on, and circumstances had placed me too far away.
Besides, I belonged to another clan now.
Maybe Don De Rosa was the one preventing my family from seeing me?
There had to be some explanation.
Anything was better than believing what the Mariani family kept telling me.
When I was eleven, my eldest stepsister brought me some news.
She practically came running to tell me.
My biological family had adopted a girl.
She had absolutely nothing to do with my father’s clan.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Her parents were alcoholics who owed money and had tried to hand their daughter over as payment for their debt.
My father had taken pity on her and took her in.
My mother cleaned her up.
My brother began taking care of her.
And eventually, my parents adopted her.
She took the surname Amato.
My eldest stepsister even showed me photographs.
She was a blonde girl with enormous brown eyes.
My complete opposite, despite us being the same age.
Of course, I was glad my parents had helped a child who needed them, but by caring for her while never once coming to see me, they had turned my life into a living hell.
After that, living with the Mariani family became almost unbearable.
They started allowing themselves to do much more.
After all, in my wonderful, beloved Amato family, I’d simply been replaced and forgotten.
Even Don De Rosa, although he asked about me roughly once every six months, only did so when my adoptive father happened to visit him.
Don De Rosa himself had never once come to Naples.
He hadn’t seen me since the day I’d left his home.
But that incident was exactly what finally forced me to wake up.
I remembered perfectly how I sobbed after my eldest stepsister spent almost the entire evening telling me that I’d been replaced.
I cried through the entire night.
And the next morning, I started trying to walk.
I fell constantly.
I hit the floor.
I whimpered through the pain, but I kept trying.
The doctors practically yelled at me, insisting that I was only making my condition worse.
But…
I couldn’t live like that anymore.
Either I was going to get better, or I was going to die trying.
It took a long time, and it wasn’t until I was fourteen that I finally returned to normal.
I could walk properly again and move freely.
Even my face had returned to normal.
There wasn’t a trace left of my old injuries.
What’s more, I knew perfectly well that I’d grown into a beautiful young woman.
I was undeniably attractive.
But what did that change?
For me?
A great deal.
I wasn’t disabled anymore.
As far as everything else was concerned?
Absolutely nothing.
I knew that my family was doing better than ever.
My father had not only maintained his power in Florence, but had become the most powerful man in Piedmont.
People genuinely feared him now.
My older brother was getting married soon.
Naturally, I hadn’t received an invitation.
And their new daughter—the girl they’d adopted—had grown into a stunning young woman with hundreds of suitors chasing after her.
My father and Don De Rosa were still on good terms.
They no longer worked together as closely as they once had, since there was no longer any need for it.
Apparently, they hadn’t even seen each other for several years.
But last year, my entire family—including their adopted daughter—had visited Don De Rosa.
There had been a formal dinner.
A lavish affair.
And, oh, what a surprise, I hadn’t been invited.
Perhaps their meetings had actually been somewhat more frequent than I’d realized.
I tried to avoid information like that, but my eldest stepsister absolutely loved using it to twist the knife.
It had been so many years since I’d left home, yet I still sometimes found myself wondering whether my family ever thought about me.
And every time I did, I almost wanted to laugh.