The Rest of My Life, Without You

The bullet tore through my shoulder, and a searing pain burned through me before the world went black.

When I woke again, my shoulder was wrapped in gauze. Tony and Elma were nowhere to be seen. The hospital bustled with people. No one noticed me stirring in the corner bed.

From the next bed, a movie flickered on the small TV. The couple on screen stood beneath the Eiffel Tower, kissing.

It was a beautiful scene. Too bad, even with a second chance at life, I still never got to see it for myself.

When I turned my head, I saw Tony standing at the door, his face lit up with relief.

"Scarlett, you're awake! Thank God. Elma only got a few scratches. She's fine now, all thanks to you."

Seeing how pale and frail I looked, a trace of tenderness flickered in his eyes. He hesitated, then said awkwardly, "Earlier… I spoke too harshly. Don't take it to heart. But still, this whole thing started because you told on her. Don't do that again."

His words stung. My throat tightened, my chest ached. Seven years ago, I would've fought to defend myself—shouted, argued, cried. But now I just felt tired.

After a pause, Tony said, as if suddenly remembering, "I promised to take you to Paris, didn't I? Once you're better, let's go together."

I was startled he'd even remembered. But my time was running out. I shook my head.

"Forget it."

He handed me his phone. "Scarlett, I'm serious. I already booked the tickets. I'll keep my promise this time. Once you recover, we'll go."

"No, Tony," I said softly. "You don't owe me anything. You don't have to thank me or feel guilty. If anything, I owe you."

He caught something in my tone and tensed. "What do you mean by that?"

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my shoulder. Tony rushed to help me, his hands trembling.

I could feel it—the tremor that never left him. Because of me, his hand tendons had been severed when he saved me. Even now, he couldn't lift anything heavy.

"Tony," I asked, my gaze fixed on his hand, "do you regret it now?"

His voice came firm and steady above me. "No. No matter who it was, I'd have done the same. I'd never regret saving someone."

"And the fire?" I looked at the scar on his shoulder, burned deep into his skin.

"That time too," he said. "I don't regret it."

"Thank you, Tony," I whispered. "You're a good man. I was lucky to meet you. But I repaid your kindness by forcing you to marry me. You must've hated me for that."

I smiled, and tears slipped down before I knew it.

Tony's hands trembled again. There was panic in his eyes.

"Scarlett, what are you talking about?"

Just then, one of his men rushed in.

"Don Gambino, Miss Russo is crying and looking for you."

Tony frowned, concern flashing across his face. He turned to me.

"I'll go check on her."

I wiped my tears, gave him a small, sweet smile.

"Tony, I've finally made up for your regret. I hope from now on your life will be peaceful, everything you wish for within reach."

He froze, startled by my words.

"I'm just going to see Elma—don't make it sound like we're saying goodbye. Wait here. I'll be right back."

I watched him walk away, his back straight and sure, and bitterness welled up inside me. My tears broke free again, falling fast and hot.

"Goodbye, Tony," I whispered.