Page 47 of Jetmir

I sat in the leather chair by the window, a bottle of bourbon in one hand and said binoculars in the other. I’d had both keeping me company for hours now. It was obsessive, pathetically so, but I just couldn’t stop.

Tonight, the estate glowed beneath thousands of fairy lights and candles flickered in every window in celebration of my wife’s birthday.

Twenty-two.

I could see Anya smiling at her gift from her parents. Was it fucked up that I was jealous? Yes, it was. I’d gifted her a French bulldog, being privy to the knowledge that she’d wanted one for years. But damn it, I wanted to give her everything.

Her parents had her wrapped in a lingering hug.

My chest tightened.

She was happy, at least in that moment, and a small, decent part of me knew what I was about to do was wrong. But I couldn’t stop my plan.

I’d missed her for long enough. I’d loved her every second, minute, and hour of the day. Every day. Every week. Every month. For three long years.

So now, I was taking matters into my own hands. Tonight, she’d have her fun. Tomorrow, she would be mine.

I adjusted the focus wheel and watched as Gabriel walked over to her, cane in hand. My grip tightened and I let out a long exhale through my teeth. I’d been working on that problem and it was partly why I’d waited so long to go after my wife.

Gabriel whispered something in Anya’s ear before kissing her cheek. Then her friends Francesca and Gianna launched themselves at Anya, giggling and conspiring.

I reached for my newest disposable phone with only one number programmed in the address book.

My thumb hovered over her number before I flicked a glance through the binoculars again, just in time to see her blow out candles on the elaborate birthday cake. Dozer barked from where he was wriggling in her arms, and the whole room erupted into laughter.

She got the first slice, then sat down, chatting with her family and friends.

I couldn’t resist the temptation. I pressed the call button on the phone and waited. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?” she answered.

Hearing her voice brought me to my knees all over again. My nerves were too shot last night to really savor her lilting tone and the way she always spoke so sweetly.

I closed my eyes.

“Happy birthday, my angel.”

I was met with silence.

“Please talk to me,” I rasped. She didn’t answer. I lifted the binoculars again. “I miss you so fucking much. Your laughter. Your kisses. Even your book boyfriends.”

The words scraped my throat raw.

She’d stepped away from the crowd and was perched against the terrace railing.

“Please say something,” I whispered.

She looked toward the house where her mother was laughing with guests.

“You shouldn’t be calling.”

I closed my eyes.

“How can I not? It’s your birthday.” I called her every year on her birthday. Every year she hung up the moment she heard my voice. This time… maybe there was hope.

She looked out toward the ocean. “You have to stop. Put this behind us.”

“No.”