Too Late, Don Russo: His Pregnant Wife Signed First novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Casserole

Betsy's POV

On the third day, a rental car stopped outside Bea's cottage.

Valeria Ferraro got out in a white wool coat, carrying a covered dish.

She was crying before she reached the porch.

"Don't let her in," Bea said behind me.

"I want to know how she found us."

I opened the door.

"Oh, Betsy." Valeria pressed the dish into my hands. Her fingers were ice cold. "It's lasagna. I didn't know what else to bring. May I please come in?"

Bea stood in the hall with a dish towel over her shoulder.

Valeria walked past her into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"First," she said, "I'm so sorry. I should never have danced with him. He asked me because he couldn't face you."

She wiped her eyes with a tissue from her sleeve.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"Marco had the address. It was on some Christmas cards at the office."

Bea's eyebrows rose.

"Cards," I said.

"I don't know, honey. Paperwork. Don never opens his own mail."

She smiled and reached for my hand across the table.

I let her hold it.

I was cold and tired, and nobody had held it in a long time.

"The night of the party you texted me," I said. "I never gave you my number."

"It's in Don's phone. I was worried. I'm so sorry if that was wrong."

It sounded reasonable.

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