Wealthy. Independent.
My chest constricts until I can barely breathe.
"Thank you for letting me know," I manage.
"And Polina?" His voice softens. "You're family. If you ever need anything, you can come to me.”
Is it my imagination, or does he sound almost guilty?
“Thank you, Pakhan. I appreciate that."
I end the call and stare at my phone for a long time.
I don’t want to leave Dante, but he married me to protect me. He never promised to love me.
I no longer need protecting.
I think about what Bianca said at the party. About how they were supposed to be together. About how perfect they'd be.
I'm not sure I believe her—Dante didn't exactly react favorably to her at the party—but surely he wants to get on with his life. If not with Bianca, then someone else. Someone who wasn't forced on him by circumstance.
The thought of Dante being with another woman sends a sliver of agony through me.
It'll hurt even more to be blindsided with divorce papers one morning over breakfast, and if they never come, I love him too much to make him live a mercy marriage.
I have somewhere to go. Somewhere that isn't charity, isn't an obligation Dante has to shoulder because he entered a strategic marriage to keep the peace.
Better to leave on my own terms. With dignity.
Dante
My wife left me.
I watch her from half a block down. She walks with purpose, shoulders straight, chin up. With so much more confidence than when I first saw her.
Was that only a few weeks ago?
She stops at a crosswalk, and I watch her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is so familiar it hurts. I know that hair. Know how it feels tangled in my fists. Know the sound she makes when I pull it lightly at just the right moment.
Everything in me wants to stop her. To make her come home. I could. Easily. One phone call and she'd be back in our bed within the hour.
I have the power, the resources, and the manpower to make it happen without breaking a sweat.
But I won't.
Because a command isn't a choice, and I will not be one more man who dictates her life.
She deserves to have the autonomy she’s been denied. She deserves to make her own choices.
So I let her go.
Sort of.
The light changes. She crosses.
I follow.
Three blocks. Five. Seven.
