Page 77 of The Killer Cupcake
Carmelo stared at the letter like it might bite him. "What the fuck is that?"
"Read it." Matteo turned and walked out, closing the door with terrible finality.
Alone now, Carmelo opened the envelope—her handwriting, careful and precise. The paper smelled faintly of her perfume.
His legs gave out before he'd finished the first paragraph.
Carmelo,
By the time Matteo gives you this, I'll be gone. And I’m sure in this moment you know why.
I know about Maria. I know about your beautiful children. Twins? How nice. I know about the house in Queens where you play family while I rotted in Mississippi, counting days. I know it all.
You kissed me when I was seventeen years old in my family's bakery, and I thought God himself had touched me. You wrote me letters that I memorized like scripture. You married me in Debbie's place with your brother as witness, and I believed—God help me, I believed—that meant something sacred.
Do you remember what you promised me that night? That we'd have our own bakery, our own babies, our own life. That my father would never have to bow to another man again. That your mother would love me like her own daughter. All lies, weren't they? Or maybe you believed them, too. Maybe that's your gift—believing your own fairytales long enough to make others dream them with you.
I lost everything the day they put me on that bus alone to Butts, crying for a man who would someday build a family with someone else. Now I’m on a bus right now as you read this letter, and I realize I lost it all for nothing.I gave up my home, my parents, my future. Three years, Carmelo. Three years of my life spent loving a lie.
I don't hate you. Hate would mean you still matter. I pity you—to be so empty inside that you need multiple lives, multiple women, multiple lies to feel whole. To be so careless with hearts that you don't even remember breaking them.
You were the wolf, and I was the fool who thought I could name and tame you. But wolves don't change, do they? They just learn new ways to hunt.
Don't write. Don't call. Don't send Matteo or Debbie with your apologies. Let me go, Carmelo. It's the only kindness you have left to give me.
I'm going to live the rest of my life as if you never existed. I'm going to forget the taste of pecan pie and your promises. I'm going to pretend that the seventeen-year-old girl never met a beautiful boy who taught her that love could kill you slowly.
Maybe someday you'll understand what you've done. Maybe when your daughter is seventeen and some boy looks at her the way you looked at me in your backyard, you'll finally feel the terror my father felt when he found what we left in that attic. Maybe then you'll know why he tried so hard to save me from you.
Maybe not. Wolves don't learn regret.
The girl you loved is dead. You killed her yourself, one lie at a time.
K.
Carmelo's kneeshit the concrete floor with a crack that echoed in the empty room. The letter trembled in his hands as he read it again. Then again. Each word cutting deeper, her handwriting blurring through what couldn't be tears or was he losing his sight?
The girl you loved is dead. You killed her yourself, one lie at a time.
The silence stretched until Matteo couldn't stand it anymore. He stepped back inside, found his brother kneeling like a penitent, the letter crumpled in his fist.
When Carmelo looked up, his face was that of a drowning man who still believed in rescue. "She's confused." His voice cracked like a boy's. "She thinks I lied to her. Thinks I don't love her. How could she think that?"
"Melo, Janey told her everything."
"No." He shook his head violently, struggling to his feet. "That's not what the letter says. It says our love is a lie. She's just confused—you know how Kathy gets. Too much happening, she can't process it all." He stood, though his knees were bruised. He started pacing, the words tumbling faster. "I need to explain. When I tell her about Mama, about the suicide note, about why I had to—she'll understand. She always understands."
He moved toward his clothes, hands already reaching. "Let me get dressed. Where'd she go? The Douglass?"
"Melo—"
"It's fine, Matteo. I'm fine." His movements were frantic now, yanking on his shirt. "I know my Kathy. In twenty minutes, I'll have this sorted. Then we leave. California, maybe, or?—"
"She's gone, Melo."
The words stopped him cold. He turned slowly, and Matteo saw the exact moment his brother’s mental began to fracture.
"What did you say?"
