Page 97 of Deacon

I could only subject him to so much.

I took a deep breath, put on my proverbial big girl pants, and swiped the screen, my hand shaking.

As soon as I did, Max launched straight into a frenzied diatribe.

‘Ana, it’s me. Have you seen the news?’

He sounded panicked and desperate.

‘I have,’ I clipped coldly. ‘I’m not sure I should even be answering this call given you’ve been ghosting me, and it turns out it’s because you’re having an affair.’

‘Ghosting you? I was busy with the film -.’

My rage boiled over; I couldn’t hold back my frustration and fury anymore, and I interjected with a curse.

‘You bastard. You left me stranded in Ethiopia with a broken leg and didn’t even call me. I fell down a mountain, far away from you, and broke my leg, and my husband couldn’t find five minutes to check if I was alive!’

‘Ana, per favore, listen to me, I was committed to method acting and -.’

‘Shut your mouth!’ I clipped into the receiver. ‘Don’t you dare give me your pathetic excuses! You had a phone, production managers, every resource on earth! You just didn’t care. You abandoned me while you were out fucking around with your co-star!’

‘Non è così! It wasn’t like that, Ana; you have to understand the pressure -.’

‘I don’t have to understand shit! You could have texted to check in on me. That wasn’t about work, Max. That was you showing me exactly who you are, a self-absorbed, heartless coward!’

‘Ana -.’

‘Don’t ‘Ana’ me, you pathetic loser! You think your little affair is what broke us? The cheating is just the disgusting cherry on top of the trash heap you call character. The moment you left me to rot in the Horn of Africa, without a word, you dead-ended this marriage.’

Massimo fell silent on the other end, his heavy breathing the only sound cutting through the line.

‘You know this means we are over, and if anyone asks, I will let them know exactly why. I’ll never forgive you for Ethiopia, and I’ll never forgive you for this shit turd you’ve landed on me.’

‘Ana, cara, you can’t say anything to the press; they’re already blowing it out of proportion,’ his voice stammered through the speaker.

‘Blowing it out of proportion?’ I scoffed, the laugh sharp and dry in my throat. ‘Oh, forgive me, Massimo. I forgot that fucking another woman on set while your wife is recovering from a shattered bone is just a minor public relations hiccup!’

Our conversation descended into a confusing blur of defensive spin and blatant gaslighting as I pressed him about his infidelity.

He threw out every excuse in the book, blaming production stress, the invasive paparazzi, painting his betrayal as an inevitable casualty of his career.

I cut straight through his rehearsed script, every word dripping with contempt for his entitlement.

‘Save your dramatic monologue for the press circuit,’ I snarled into the mic. ‘You’re a sniveling coward, Max. I am done playing the dutiful, silent wife to protect your fragile ego.’

Then came the kicker when I demanded to know the real reason.

‘Forget your schedule and pressure on set, why did you do it, to me?’

He sighed.

‘Truth be told, cara, I was unhappy,’ he said, launching into a catalog of grievances about his recent restlessness.

‘We moved too fast, Ana. I was away on set, and you poured all your devotion into your son and your ex-husband.’

‘What the hell, Max?’ I snapped, my rage spiking at the cheap attempt to drag my child into his mess. ‘You knew my responsibilities before we married, and you swore you supported them!’

‘Bellissima, I missed you,’ he whined. ‘Your co-parenting with Deacon pulled you away, and accepting Nashville was hard. I needed your undivided attention, but I never got it.’