Dear Diary,
After dropping into our lives, taking over our home, banishing me to the cot in the storage room, replacing all the lights in my bedroom with red bulbs, (for the love of God, red lightbulbs?), sleeping with a thug on the couch where my son could see them, then sending us to Grandma Bobbie's house so we wouldn't be "in the way," Mrs. Corinthos seems to have tired of us and disappeared again.
She and Mr. Corinthos have been gone for days. I'm not sure if they went away or if they're still in Port Charles, but we haven't seen hide nor hair, not Brylcream nor black lingerie, since we were packed off to Grandma Bobbie's last week.
I like it at the brownstone. She keeps a comfortable room for Michael and me with actual beds, unlike the cot Mrs. Corinthos expects me to use while she soils my bed. The baby talk gets a little old, but Grandma Bobbie seems to care about my son's welfare, or at least remember from time to time that there is a child in the house.
She also seems to understand my situation. Over breakfast yesterday morning, I confided the difficulty of raising my child in the presence of that woman and her husband. "I know they can be scaw-ey, but just look the othew way and youwll feew aww better!" Okay, the baby talk is annoying.
After a few days of hiding out at the brownstone, we finally decided it was safe to return to our cottage.
"But Mommy," asked Michael, "what about the scary lady?"
"Don't worry dear, she's with your uncle Sonny. She'll be too, ah, busy to think about us for a while."
"Uncle Sonny?"
"You remember him, the Cuban with a Greek name who pretends to be Italian. He's sort of like your uncle Reginald, except uncle Reginald doesn't wear Armani knock-offs, mumble, clench his teeth, yell, or hurt people."
"Oh right! Uncle Sonny!"
I sat Michael on my knee. "Be a good boy and say a prayer to Our Lady of Slatterns, and maybe the scary lady and uncle Sonny will have another baby. Then we'll never see either one of them again."
He closed his eyes, put his hands together and prayed, his forehead creased with concentration. I lit a candle and joined him. Here's hoping that Our Lady hears our prayers and knocks up Mrs. Corinthos but good.