His Lost Little Lady

On the day Tristan Spallone, the head of a mafia family, and I mark our fifth wedding anniversary, the manager of the Spallone family vault calls.

Something that was stored away for a long time has finally come due, and Tristan is to retrieve it. He's so busy that he barely has a moment to breathe, so I go in his place.

What I bring back is an old roll of film. The manager warned me that if it wasn’t developed soon, its age might cause it to be ruined beyond recovery.

But when I have them developed, frame after frame is filled with Winnie Leigh, his first love. Her smile looks so sweet in those pictures that they nearly suffocate me.

What about me, one may ask? I never once appeared on his albums.

The office door slams open. Tristan bursts in, already out of breath. "Anna, is your life really so empty that you have to dig through mine?"

I turn toward him, the man who's usually so composed. I neither question him nor break down.

Instead, I speak slowly. "We're getting a divorce."

Tristan frowns and thrusts the stack of photos into the shredder. He then looks back at me. "They're gone. Do you still want a divorce?"

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Yes."

Impatience flickered in Tristan Spallone's eyes. He yanked at his tie, snapped open his cufflinks, treating me not like his wife but like an opponent he had to bring to heel.

His voice was low, heavy with that familiar pressure that always seemed to shrink me. "For a handful of old photos? Anna, don't start with me. I don't have time for this."

"I'm serious," I answered evenly, holding his gaze.

Tristan didn't bother with words any longer. He closed the distance between us in a few quick strides.

Towering over me, he caught my chin and tilted my face up to his. His scent and warmth, the same things that had once unraveled me, now wrapped around me like a snare.

"Alright, sweetheart. You've been wanting to get our wedding photos taken, haven't you? We'll go once I get through these next few days."

It was the same thing again. Every argument, every letdown, always dissolved into that empty promise, as if the words themselves carried a spell strong enough to mend every scar.

Tristan made that promise over and over again, yet not once had he kept it.

I knocked his hand aside and stepped back, forcing space between us.

"No. I don't want anything anymore," I said quietly.

The steady chill in my voice snuffed out the last flicker of warmth in his eyes.

"Anna, my patience has limits. Don't threaten me with a divorce. You won't be able to bear the cost."

Tristan's voice was soft, yet laced with a dangerous edge. He didn't add another word or even spare me another glance. He simply turned on his heel and walked away.

This time, I didn't chase