🔴 MY HUSBAND BOOKED A FLIGHT TO ROME — BUT I’M HIS ONLY FAMILY
I heard him whispering on the phone, something about “needing to see her,” and my stomach just plummeted.
The air in the kitchen suddenly felt thick and hot, like before a thunderstorm, and the orange light from the streetlamp outside was flashing against the cabinets. He swore he was working late — AGAIN — but the booking confirmation was right there on the laptop. Rome? Who does he know in Rome?
He came in then, smelling of expensive cologne and lies, and I asked him point blank, “Who’s the flight for, Mark? Tell me the truth.” He looked genuinely confused, but something flickered in his eyes — something I’d never seen before.
And then the doorbell rang, and a woman’s voice called out, “Pizza delivery!”
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I took a deep breath, trying to steady my trembling hands. The pizza delivery felt like a surreal joke, a cruel punchline to the unfolding drama. I watched Mark, his face a mask of bewilderment, as he slowly walked towards the door. He opened it, and the woman standing there wasn’t the pizza delivery person; it was a woman, maybe a few years younger than me, with fiery red hair and the most startling emerald green eyes. She looked at Mark, a slow smile spreading across her face, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Finally,” she said, her voice a low, melodious hum. “It’s about time you got here.”
My stomach clenched. I braced myself for the betrayal I was sure was coming. Mark, still frozen, stared at her, then turned to me. He opened his mouth, and I expected the lie, the denial, the carefully constructed story. But instead, he said, “Sarah, this is… this is my sister. Maria. She lives in Rome.”
Sister? The relief I felt was almost as overwhelming as the fear had been. Maria stepped inside, her eyes flicking over me with a curiosity that wasn’t hostile. She looked back at Mark. “So, you never told her?”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely sheepish. “It never seemed the right time. It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Maria laughed, a warm, genuine sound this time. “You’ve been talking about her for years! You should have told her.” She turned to me, her green eyes bright. “I’m so sorry to barge in like this. He’s been planning this trip for months, but he’s terrible at surprises.”
Mark explained that Maria had moved to Rome years ago to pursue her art and that they’d fallen out of touch after a family disagreement, a rift that he’d been trying to mend. His whispered phone calls were to coordinate the trip and the booking confirmation was to fly to Rome to see his sister. The “needing to see her” was the truth, and the “working late” had been him making sure the meeting was a surprise.
Over the course of the evening, as we devoured the pizza and the tension melted away, I learned about Maria’s life in Rome, her art, her struggles, and her triumphs. I also learned about Mark’s lifelong devotion to his sister, a love that was clearly as deep and complex as any romantic relationship. I’d been so consumed by my own insecurities, my own fears, that I hadn’t considered the possibility of something else.
As the night drew to a close, Maria said she planned to visit us sometime again in the future, she’d be visiting to stay longer this time. Mark, still contrite, pulled me close, whispering, “I should have told you, I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool. I will make it up to you.”
He had been a fool, but not in the way I had feared. As I watched him embrace his sister, his face alight with a joy I hadn’t seen in a long time, I realized that the flicker in his eyes hadn’t been deceit, but a shared secret of love and family. As it turned out, I wasn’t his only family anymore, but the expansion of his family also included me. It was a relief, but it was more than that: it was a promise. I smiled, and knew that it would be okay. Perhaps, eventually, we could even visit Rome.