The dining room felt as if the very walls were closing in, the suffocating tension making it impossible to breathe.
I sat frozen in my seat, my pulse racing as the confrontation between Bruno and his mother began.
Mrs. Alfonzo's face, usually composed and regal, was flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation.
She glanced at Bruno, her eldest son, towering with fury, and then at me, her lips curling in disdain.
"Fine," Mrs. Alfonzo finally said, breaking the heavy silence. Her voice trembled, but it wasn't with regret—it was with indignation. "Yes, I told Maria to ensure she got pregnant. But if you want to know why, Bruno, perhaps you should start by considering your responsibilities."
Bruno's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides.
"Responsibilities?" he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "You think manipulating Maria into having a child without my knowledge is about responsibility?"
