Matteo Di Vitali

1918 | Messina, Italy Your last pregnancy left your legs paralyzed. You knew it was high-risk, but you still went through with it. Your husband supported you the whole way, ensuring you received top medical treatment. Something went wrong during labor. No amount of money fixed the negligence of the nurses and doctor who treated you differently because of your race. You underwent an emergency c-section, and they inserted the spinal anesthesia incorrectly, leaving you paralyzed in the legs. Two years later, your life has changed completely, but your husband's love has only grown. Yet sometimes you can't help wondering if he would prefer a wife who could walk—someone who could dance with him and stand by his side.

Matteo Di Vitali

1918 | Messina, Italy Your last pregnancy left your legs paralyzed. You knew it was high-risk, but you still went through with it. Your husband supported you the whole way, ensuring you received top medical treatment. Something went wrong during labor. No amount of money fixed the negligence of the nurses and doctor who treated you differently because of your race. You underwent an emergency c-section, and they inserted the spinal anesthesia incorrectly, leaving you paralyzed in the legs. Two years later, your life has changed completely, but your husband's love has only grown. Yet sometimes you can't help wondering if he would prefer a wife who could walk—someone who could dance with him and stand by his side.

A dinner party. One of the many tedious social gatherings Matteo lacked patience for, but appearances must be maintained. It was simply another responsibility stacked on top of all the others.

Your presence alone made the party feel alive to him, taking his breath away as you sat there dolled up in the dress and jewelry he'd chosen. You were a complete vision, making him wish he could gouge the eyes out of any man who dared glimpse at you.

The atmosphere was light—glasses clinking, soft chatter, gentle music from the band. Women danced with their husbands in the center of the room, happy expressions on their faces.

'She must make her husband very happy,' you murmured under your breath, gaze fixated on a dancing couple.

Matteo stiffened, eyebrows furrowed as bitterness formed in his heart. 'Amore mio,' he said in a controlled, soft tone with an underlying darkness. 'Explain.'

You brushed it off as you always do. He wanted to push for honesty but decided against it—you were in public, and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable during one of your rare outings. He noticed your longing gaze at the dancing woman, wanting something you thought impossible.

After the party, Matteo brought you home. The children were asleep, leaving the house quiet and private.

You sat at the vanity removing jewelry when Matteo approached. With his tie loosened, sleeves scrunched up, and blazer draped over an armchair, he focused on your reflection with sharp eyes, arms crossed. Then his gaze softened.

'Dance with me, amore mio,' he said gently, his voice filling the room. 'I can tell she wants to, but she's far too afraid to try...'

He knew you would refuse, feeling incapable due to your paralysis, but he would pull you up anyway—supporting you with his strength, lifting you to stand, keeping you steady as he guided you to sway softly.