My Illicit Lover: My Husband's Uncle

The scent of incense hung heavy in Saint Anthony's Church, mingling with the smell of melting candles and old wooden pews. I stood in the back row, watching the baptism ceremony at the altar, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird.

Marco held our nephew, little Anthony, the chubby baby sleeping peacefully in his arms. Father Martinez was reciting prayers in Latin, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Around me, family members watched with reverent attention as the sacred ritual unfolded.

But I wasn't focused on the baptism at all.

'This scene...' My hands began to tremble. 'I've seen this scene before.'

Not the vague sense of déjà vu, but crystal-clear, terrifying memory. Every detail was exactly the same—Marco's blue tie, Nonna Torrino sitting in the second row on the left, even the angle of sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows.

I had died before.

The insane thought exploded in my mind, nearly knocking me off my feet. I gripped the back of the pew behind me, my knuckles white from the pressure.

'God, this can't be possible...' But the memories came flooding back like a dam had burst. Marco's betrayal, Lucia's tears and accusations, the family's isolation, and finally that truck rushing toward me...

I remembered what dying felt like. Cold, dark, and filled with that desperate, helpless rage.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti..." Father Martinez's voice pulled me back to reality.

If this was real, if I really had returned to that afternoon, then I knew exactly what would happen next. After the baptism ended, during the family gathering in the church hall, Lucia would break down crying. She would accuse me of being cold and heartless, claiming I didn't care about her "trauma" from Syracuse University.

Then Marco would choose to comfort her instead of standing by me.

'Not this time.' I swore silently. 'God gave me a second chance, and I'll be damned if I let them destroy me again.'

The baptism ceremony concluded, and little Anthony was passed back to his mother—my cousin Gina. Family members began moving toward the church hall for the traditional post-ceremony gathering. I followed behind the crowd, every step filled with tension and anticipation.

The hall was set up with long tables covered in Nonna's homemade Italian pastries and coffee. The family elders sat in their usual circle, men discussing business while women exchanged child-rearing advice.

I found a corner to stand in, observing everyone's expressions and movements. Everything was exactly as I remembered.

"Val, you look pale." Marco approached with two cups of coffee. "Do you need to sit down?"

In my previous life, I would have gratefully accepted the coffee, would have said "I'm fine," would have played the perfect wife in front of him. But not this time.

"I'm good." I said coldly, refusing the coffee.

Marco looked confused, but before he could respond, the drama began.

Low sobbing sounds came from the crowd. Everyone turned to look, and I saw Lucia sitting at the long table, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking.

"Lucia, what's wrong?" Marco immediately set down his coffee cups and hurried over to her. Other family members gathered around too.

"It's nothing... I just..." Lucia peeked at me through her fingers, then cried even harder. "I just feel so alone."

"Sweetheart, what happened?" Zia Maria (Marco's aunt) asked with concern.

Lucia slowly lowered her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks, looking utterly pitiful. Her gaze swept over everyone present before finally settling on me.

"It's because of her coldness!" She suddenly stood up, pointing at me with a trembling finger. "When I was hurt... when that man hurt me at Syracuse, where was she when I needed family the most?"

The church hall fell dead silent. All eyes turned to me, filled with shock and accusation.

"She never treated me like family!" Lucia continued her tearful accusation. "I called her, she was always too busy. I wanted to talk to her, she said she had no time. When I needed help the most, she treated me like a stranger!"

In my previous life, I would have immediately apologized, would have explained that I didn't know what she had been through, would have taken all the blame. But this time, I simply watched her performance calmly.

"I'm sorry you went through pain, Lucia." My voice was steady, but clearly audible in the quiet hall. "But that's not my fault."

Everyone gasped.

"I'm not obligated to take responsibility for other people's pain," I continued. "Especially when I had no idea what was happening."

"Of course you knew!" Lucia shrieked. "I told you what happened that night! You just chose not to believe me!"

This was a lie. In my previous life, I had never received any calls or messages from her asking for help. But the family members were clearly moved by her tears and accusations.

"Val, how can you talk like this?" Marco's voice was full of disappointment. He walked over to Lucia and put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, I'll protect you."

Seeing this scene, even though I had experienced it once before, my heart still felt like it was being sliced by a knife. My husband, choosing to comfort another woman instead of standing by my side.

"As family, you should support her recovery." Marco turned to me, his eyes cold. "Your attitude disappoints me, Val. Lucia needs understanding, not questioning."

This was the final straw that broke the camel's back. Rage burned in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm.

"I need to talk to you privately, Marco." My voice was steady, but each word was filled with determination. "About our marriage."

Marco looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe it's time to end this whole thing."

A stunned silence descended upon the hall once more. The family elders stared at me in shock, as if I had just committed blasphemy. In a traditional Italian-American Catholic family, divorce was almost unthinkable.

"Val, you can't say that..." Marco's face went pale. "You're just emotional. Let's talk about this when we get home."

"There's nothing to talk about." I turned to leave. "I've already seen everything clearly."

I walked through the crowd toward the door, feeling the whispers and disdainful looks behind me. But this time, I didn't care. I knew the truth, knew what kind of person Lucia really was, knew who Marco had chosen.

Pushing open the hall door, I walked toward the church parking lot. The evening sun slanted across the asphalt, and there was an autumn chill in the air.

Just as I was about to get in my car, a black Mercedes slowly pulled up at the other end of the parking lot. The window rolled down, revealing a mature face—deep, penetrating eyes, well-defined features, and that kind of presence that was impossible to ignore.

Dante Torrino.