The Ninth Time He Left

I woke up the next afternoon. The hospital room was quiet, sunlight filtering through the blinds. My left arm was in a cast, and my chest was wrapped in thick bandages. The doctor said I was lucky. No vital organs were damaged.

"Ms. Leona, you're awake," a nurse said, entering the room. "Are you feeling any discomfort?"

"Where's my husband?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Mr. Valachi was here this morning. He said there was urgent family business and to let you know he'd be back as soon as he could."

Family business. That excuse again.

"Ms. Leona," the doctor said, coming in. "We'll need a family member to handle the insurance paperwork…"

I closed my eyes, a bone-deep exhaustion washing over me.

"He's not my husband anymore," I said calmly. "We're over."

Twenty more days. Then I can walk away from him. From all of this.

As the words left my mouth, the door swung open.

Isak rushed in, his hair a mess, still wearing last night's black shirt. His eyes were red-rimmed.

"Over?" he demanded, staring at me. "What's over?"

I stared at Isak, at the mask of confusion and panic on his face. The doctor and nurse quietly excused themselves, leaving us alone.

"The game," I said flatly. "The one on my phone. It's over."

Isak let out a breath of relief and hurried to my bedside. "Leona, you scared the hell out of me. The doctor said you were seriously hurt. I…"

"Where were you last night?" I cut him off.

"I told the nurse, urgent family…"

"Stop lying, Isak," I said, meeting his eyes. "You smell like her perfume."

He flushed but tried to cover. "Right, we were talking business at the club, you know how those meetings are…"

I didn't want to hear it. The image of the crash was burned into my mind—him saving Julia without a second glance at me.

"Leona, I know you're angry," Isak said, sinking into the chair beside my bed. "I want to make it up to you. What do you want? A new car? I'll buy you a Lamborghini, something better than the Maserati."

"Don't need it."

"Then… your arms business needs funding, right? I can move some money from the family account…"

"Don't need it."

Isak looked defeated. "Then tell me what you want. Jewelry? Property? What?"

I just looked at him, the man I'd shared a bed with for three years. He had no idea what I really wanted.

It was simple. I just wanted his heart. And that was the one thing he could never give me.

"I don't want anything, Isak. Just go. I want to rest."

He sat there a moment longer, looking like he wanted to argue, but he finally stood up.

"Okay. You get some rest. I'll come see you tonight."

The door closed, and the room was quiet again.

"I was laid up in the hospital for over ten days just getting patched up. The day I got out, Isak offered to come get me. I told him no.

I've had Maria handling the handover for me, on the quiet. My flight's in three days. Now there's just one last piece of business before I'm gone.

I took a cab back to our downtown penthouse.

The moment I walked in, the familiar decor felt suffocating. Every object was a reminder of this sham of a marriage—our photo on the living room table, his things on the vanity, the vase from our honeymoon in Italy.

I started with the photos. I pulled them from their frames, one by one, looking at the girl who still believed in fairy tales. Our wedding photo, me beaming, him with a polite, distant smile. A birthday picture, my arm around his waist, his eyes looking somewhere else.

Every photo told the same story of my one-sided love.

I tore them to shreds and threw them in a trash bag.

Next were the gifts. The Patek Philippe watch he gave me, worth a hundred grand. The necklace I gave him, which he wore once. All the presents now seemed like a cruel joke.

In the nightstand, I found the love letter Isak wrote me before our wedding. On the yellowed paper, in his elegant script, he'd written:

"My dearest Leona, thank you for coming into my life. I promise to love you forever, till death do us part…"

A cold laugh escaped my lips. Love me forever?

I tore the letter to pieces.

Just as I was about to take the trash out, my phone rang.

"Ms. Leona!" It was Toni, Isak's personal bodyguard. His voice was frantic. "It's the boss! He's in trouble!"

My hand froze on the trash bag.

"What is it?"

"He's at the Calabria family's club. He got into it with Sandro. It's bad. You're the only one I could call…"

The Calabrias. Our mortal enemies. Sandro was the Don's hot-headed son, one of the most dangerous men in the city.

"What happened?"

"They were fighting over a woman. I couldn't hear clearly, but now Sandro's issued a challenge…"

A commotion erupted, and then I heard Sandro's voice.

"Since we both want her, let's let fate decide!"

Then Isak's voice: "Sandro, what are you doing?"

"Russian Roulette!" Sandro yelled. "The loser never goes near Julia again!"

The line filled with noise, then Toni's voice came back. "Ms. Leona, you have to come! He accepted!"