THE WIFE HE TRIED TO BURY

CHAPTER 2

It starts to rain before I even know where I’m going.

I don’t remember where I left the car. Maybe my driver is still waiting somewhere behind that golden cage they call a ballroom, wondering why I’m not there, why I’m not the perfect wife tonight.

I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

So I run. I run like the rain might wash me away if I’m lucky. Past marble columns, past laughter that doesn’t belong to me anymore maybe it never did.

The silk dress clings to my legs like a second skin, heavy and cold.

I can’t breathe. My shoes dig into my feet. Heels I picked just for him. To stand tall beside him, to look like the woman who had it all. Now they feel like tiny knives on my skin.

I stop near the curb and kick them off. One lands in a puddle and floats for a second before tipping over.

I don’t care. I feel the wet street under my bare feet, freezing. It feels good. Real. Like something that can hurt me honestly not like him.

Luciano’s voice is stuck in my head.

Love is a weakness, darling. Business is forever. He said it once while sipping whiskey in my father’s old office.

I laughed like it was some joke. Stupid, blind girl. He wasn’t joking.

I keep walking. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to be far from the walls that know my secrets. Far from the people who watched me fall apart with champagne in their hands.

An alley swallows me. It’s dark, the rain pounding on my shoulders, soaking through silk until it sticks to every inch of my skin. My hair drips cold down my back.

I lean against the wall, the brick rough under my palms. I squeeze my eyes shut but it doesn’t help all I see is him. His smile. His lips on her hair like I was never there.

I open the envelope again. Stupid. I know what it says.

Vacate the property within twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to disappear.

Twenty-four hours to pack up my father’s legacy, my name, my shame, and crawl away so he can bring her in like nothing happened.

A sound rips out of me a laugh or a sob, I don’t know anymore. I press a hand to my stomach. It’s just a reflex. Maybe it’s the only thing left of me that feels human.

I’m sorry, I think, though I don’t know who I’m apologizing to myself, my father, the tiny flicker of life inside me I’m too scared to name.

A car horn yanks me back. I stumble out of the alley like a ghost, back onto the wet street. Headlights s***h through the rain. One car rushes by so close the wind pushes my hair off my face.

I see a billboard above me. Luciano’s face. His smile, bright and perfect, selling lies to the city that eats girls like me for breakfast.

I hate him. I hate him so much my chest hurts. But the hate doesn’t stitch me back together. It doesn’t fill the empty. It doesn’t warm my frozen hands.

I feel sick. I bend over, palm pressed to my lips, but nothing comes out. Just acid and rain and tears I can’t separate anymore.

The bridge is ahead of me before I even think about it. Like I walked here in my sleep. The iron railing is slick with rain, dark and cold under the streetlights.

Below, the river swallows everything the city lights, the noise, the truth I can’t live with.

I stop at the edge. One step from flying. One step from being nothing again, but in a way that doesn’t hurt.

I look at my hands. The envelope is still there. I let it drop. The rain smears the ink until it’s just pulp on the pavement.

I grip the railing. My feet leave the ground for a breath, toes on the bottom bar. I lean forward. The wind hits my face, sharp and clean. For a second, I feel light. Free.

“I’m so tired,” I whisper to the dark water below. My voice sounds small. I don’t think anyone would hear me even if they were here. I’m glad they’re not.

I’m sorry. The words slip out before I can stop them. For my father. For myself. For the part of me that trusted monsters in expensive suits.

I close my eyes. I tip forward. The river roars like it’s calling my name. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s mercy.

I let my fingers loosen on the rail. Just one more breath. One more breath and it’ll all be over.

I’m ready. I think I’m ready.

I’m sorry.