Turning the Tables: From Housewife to Inmate and Back Again (14 page)

When it came to celebrating New Year’s Eve, in years past, we would all go to a catering hall with Joe’s family, but this year, my sister-in-law Sheila and Joe’s brother, Pete, held a low-key New Year’s Eve party at their house. It was very emotional, especially at midnight. We were crying because we missed my father-in-law so much. Joe and I were also upset because we knew we had a tough year ahead of us. At the stroke of midnight, I kissed Joe, just like we did when we were kids, and hugged him a little tighter than usual. I said a prayer asking God to protect me and my family in the upcoming year and to give me strength to get through it all.

The days leading up to my surrender date were quiet. On New Year’s Day, we went to Maria’s house for dinner to celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday. The next day, we took down our Christmas tree and put away all our decorations and relaxed at home. On January 3, the Saturday before I had to turn myself in, we took the girls skiing. When I got into bed that night, I looked around my room. This was the last time I would be sleeping in my own bed for a long time, since I would be leaving for prison the following night. I said another prayer, thanking God for all the good in my life—my children, my husband, my parents, family, and friends. I asked God once more to protect us all and give me strength. I was going to need it.

W
hen I woke up, I looked over at Joe, who was still sleeping, and immediately thought,
Today is the day I lose my freedom.
In less than twenty-four hours, I would be leaving for prison so I could turn myself in during the early hours of January 5. I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs to make my coffee and get breakfast going. These were the last scrambled eggs and toast I would be making for my family for a very long time.

Joe and I took the girls to church at the Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Newark, where we had gotten married. I also wanted some quiet moments to reflect on everything that had happened, pray to God to give me and my family strength over the next year, and spend some quality time with Joe and the girls. I had always prayed a lot, but now I was relying on God and my faith even more, to get me through the next year.

When we parked the car, I told the girls they had to be quiet and behave in church. That’s when I saw the first photographer. And then the next. And the next. A pack of paparazzi was taking pictures of us going into the church. I started to get mad.
Is nothing sacred?
I thought. But this is the price you pay for fame. It has a very steep price, as I’d come to learn in the last six years. Steeper than I ever could have imagined.

We had a busy day planned. Gia’s fourteenth birthday was in four days, on January 8. I wouldn’t be there to celebrate with her, since I was beginning my sentence on January 5, so we decided to throw her a party the Sunday afternoon before I left. I let everyone know that this was in no way, shape, or form a goodbye party for me.

As soon as we got home from church, I headed straight to the kitchen to cook for the party. I made my baked ziti (which the girls love), meatballs, braciole, chicken cutlets, a big salad, and cookies. I love to cook. It relaxes me. It calms me down. And I love having my family over to the house. So I was happy.

At around two o’clock, my parents and Joe’s family showed up. We sat and ate. We laughed. We all sang “Happy Birthday” to Gia, who blew out the candles on a huge cake adorned with purple and pink flowers that I had gotten her. Nobody cried. Nobody was walking around like the world was coming to an end. It was a happy day, just the way I wanted it.

Everybody was gone by 6 p.m. Again, there were no tears. Just hugs and kisses goodbye. They told me everything would be okay and that they loved me. I told them I loved them back. It felt good to have them all there. I was sad, though, because I wasn’t sure when I would be seeing them next. But I was happy to have good memories of my last day at home with all of them—my beautiful family.

T
hen came time for the toughest goodbyes of all. Joe and I went upstairs with the girls. We all lay down on the big bed in my room. All six of us.

I told the girls, “Mommy has to leave.”

“When?” asked Milania,

“Tonight,” I told them.

Gabriella, who was ten at the time, got so hysterical, she couldn’t even breathe. She usually held her feelings inside, but now she was inconsolable. When Joe’s father died, all the girls had gotten very emotional. They love their grandparents so much. We are all very close. They cried a lot. But this was ten times worse than that. I held Gabriella and told her it was going to be okay—even though I knew it might not be. What else could I do?

Audriana, my baby, who was only five at the time, started to cry. Huge, heaving sobs. Then Milania, who was eight at the time, started up, followed by Gia, then finally, me and Joe. We lay there, a tangled mess of arms and legs, hugging each other and crying. Me, Joe, and Gia, bless her heart, tried to calm the little ones down as best we could. This was tearing my heart out, but I didn’t let them see that. I couldn’t. I had to be strong for them. They were my focus—not me. In true Milania fashion, she wiped her tears on my sleeve and we all laughed.

But as I held my girls and kissed them on their cheeks and on their foreheads, I started to get mad. Instead of having more time with my babies, I had to leave for prison in the middle of the night while they were sleeping—because of the paparazzi. This is how bad things had gotten. This whole thing was totally out of control. How had it come to this?

At that moment, I knew things had to change. That I would use my time in prison to rethink things. I was going to come out of prison a better person and try to make things right again in my life.

We lay there for about an hour and a half. Then I knew it was time to start putting the girls to bed and say my goodbyes. This was going to be hardest part of all. I had dreaded this moment for months. And now it was here.

I
got up off the bed and told each of the girls to go to her room, because I wanted to spend time with each one of them. The first room I went to was Audriana’s—my littlest sweetheart.

We snuggled into her bed, pulling the covers over us. I held her very, very tight as I read her one of her favorite books,
Goodnight Moon
.

We said a prayer in Italian together—one we say all the time.

“Gesù mio, fai stare bene a mia mamma, mio papa, Gia, Gabriella, Milania, Audriana, tutta la famiglia e tutto il mondo.”

“My Jesus, please take good care of my mommy, my daddy, Gia, Gabriella, Milania, Audriana, the whole family and the whole world.”

Then we did the sign of the cross and her drowsy little eyelids started to close. I love hearing her sweet, soft, little girl voice say that prayer. I tried not to cry when I thought that I wouldn’t hear her say that prayer with me in her bed for a long, long time. I stayed there with her and held her. I wouldn’t leave her until she fell asleep. I love all of my girls the same, but Audriana is my baby. I am her mommy. Her whole world. All I could think about was how she was going to wake up in the morning and I wouldn’t be there. I sat there with her in my arms crying softly to myself as I watched her drift off to sleep.

This sounds weird, but I worried that she would forget about me while I was in there, because she was so little. I also wanted to make sure she knew I wasn’t abandoning her. These are the strange thoughts you have when you are going to be away from your family like I was.

Then I went to Gabriella’s room. I think the reason Gabriella was so hysterical was because my leaving was throwing off the order in her entire world. I realized that she wasn’t ready to handle this at all. But I had to go. I had no choice. I got into bed with Gabriella. I was holding her. We were hugging and crying.

Gabriella started asking me why I had to leave. My baby, Audriana, thought I had to leave because Mommy was going to work and writing a book. I told Milania and Gabriella the same thing—adding that I was writing about prison and had to live there because of that.

Gabriella was sobbing again. She couldn’t catch her breath. Now she was saying, “I don’t understand. You go to work all the time, but you always come home.”

I held her tight and kissed her on the forehead and said, “You will be able to call and visit. I will be able to email you.”

I just lay there with her, thinking,
I am going to prison. Holy hell.

We prayed together. We said a different prayer than the one I said with Audriana—one in English this time. I calmed Gabriella down enough so that she could relax and go to sleep. When she finally fell asleep in my arms, I kissed her on the forehead again and whispered to her that I loved her.

Then I went to Milania’s room. I read Milania one of her favorite books,
Olivia
, about a very independent little pig who loves to wear red. She always loves that one. I have read it to her more than a hundred times, I think. I probably know all the words by heart at this point.

We were crying as I snuggled in bed with her. “While I am away, you need to be a good girl,” I told her.

Milania can be a handful. She is super-independent and speaks her mind, as you know. I still can’t believe the things that come out of her mouth. But she’s also so adorable and affectionate and, like Audriana, needs her mommy. Quietly, she asked, “Are you going to be able to call home?”

I said yes, I would.

Then, out of nowhere, Milania looked me dead in the eye and said, “I hate that this is happening to you.”

I realized that she knew more than I’d thought she did. It was very surreal. In that moment, Milania stopped being the one I was consoling. Milania was now the one consoling me. She held me tight and said, “Don’t worry, Mommy. I will be a good girl. I will take care of Daddy and my sisters.”

At that point, I realized just how strong my girls are—that we raised them to be strong. That’s how I was raised. If I had been in a situation like that, I would have said the same thing to my parents.

Milania wasn’t asleep when I left her. She lay quietly in her bed. I hugged and kissed her. We said a prayer together. When I left her room, she was staring off into the distance. She seemed content.

All this time, Gia was holding it all together and helping Joe and me with the girls. She was the only one who knew where I was going and why. I have to say, I am so proud of the strength and maturity she has shown throughout this whole nightmare. But now it was just the two of us in her room. Gia broke down. She was hysterical. I got into bed with her. We were hugging and holding each other. I tried to calm her down. I told her I loved her so much and that I was so proud to be her mother. After a while, I said, “I really need you to look after your sisters and help Daddy. I need you to step up and do this for me while I’m gone.”

Gia stopped crying. She knew she had a job to do, and from that moment on, she tried to be strong and focus on her job, and her job alone. I cannot tell you how much that means to me. I love her for all the help she gave me while I was at Danbury—and for the sensible, intelligent, grounded young woman she is becoming.

While I was upstairs with the girls, Joe was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, crying and trying to cope with everything going on. The kitchen table is the heart of our home. It’s where we have shared all our meals together—in good times and bad. Over the doorway to the family room is a message I had stenciled on there that says, G
IVE
M
UCH
* G
ATHER
O
FTEN
* G
REET
M
ANY
. That has summed up so many wonderful memories we created there.

While I was talking to Gia, Joe came into her room. He had tears in his eyes and then started crying again. He sat down on the bed with us. We all held each other and just hugged. We didn’t say anything. Milania made her way in there, too.

Joe looked at her and said, “It will be OK . . . it will all be OK. Daddy will fill Mommy’s shoes now.”

“I want Mommy, not you!” said Milania, never one to mince words. She didn’t say it in a mean way. She was matter-of-fact about it. Joe made some wisecrack joke and we all laughed. Leave it to Milania to give us a good icebreaker when we needed one most.

As tough and independent as she might seem, Milania likes me to snuggle with her until she falls asleep. So does Audriana. (I would often fall asleep in their beds with them.) I wasn’t sure how both girls were going to deal with me not being there to help them go to sleep while I was gone.

N
ow that the girls were settled in, I had to get ready to leave. It was getting late. I looked at my phone to see what time it was. It was just before midnight. I had to hurry up.

I stared at my reflection in the gold leaf mirror over the sink in my master bathroom. This was the same mirror I had sat in front of when Priscilla, my makeup artist, and David, my hairstylist, came to my house to get me ready for TV appearances, red carpet events, galas, speaking engagements, and book signings.

Now I was getting ready for prison. I took off my hair extensions. I knew I wouldn’t need them in there. Jim was on his way to my house to pick me up and drive me to the federal prison in Danbury, where I would be locked up. I still couldn’t believe this was really happening. Teresa Giudice, star of
The Real Housewives of New Jersey
,
New York Times
best-selling cookbook author, and constant tabloid sensation, was going to prison. But so was the real Teresa—Teresa the wife, the daughter, the sister and, most importantly, Teresa, the mother of four daughters who are my whole world. Having to leave them was tearing my heart apart. I would be leaving a part of myself behind when I walked through those prison doors. The hugest part there is.

I walked over to the tub and glanced out the window. It was pitch-black outside. I couldn’t see a thing. I had no idea that a group of die-hard reporters, photographers, and fans was standing across the street from the security gate leading to my house, waiting for me to leave. I knew they would show up at some point. I just didn’t realize they would be there so early. Over the past six years, I had gotten used to the paparazzi staking me out—at the worst times possible.