Chapter 2: The Language of Insults
My grandmother had taught me Italian before she died.
She taught me the soft vowels, the sharp insults, the hidden meanings people tuck beneath elegant conversation.
I stayed silent because silence earns interest.
I stayed silent because I wanted to know who they became when they thought nobody was listening.
For five years, I learned everything.
Bianca mocked my accent, my clothes, my family, my career. Matteo’s brother Luca called me “the obedient foreign doll.” His wife Serena said I was lucky Matteo married me before someone better noticed him.
At birthdays, baptisms, holidays, and anniversaries, they smiled warmly at me in English.
Then they tore me apart in Italian.
Matteo never defended me.
Worse, he joined them.
“She signs anything,” he once said after Christmas dinner, swirling whiskey in his glass. “I handle the money. She trusts me completely.”
Bianca laughed. “Good. A wife should never ask too many questions.” Continue Reading ⬇️
