On our fifth anniversary, my Mafia Don husband kissed my cheek, then switched to Corsican to tell our adopted daughter how much he enjoyed getting her pregnant piece by piece.
He didn't know I spoke seven languages. Corsican included.
He didn't know that in three days, I would vanish — no body, no trail, no goodbye.
When I disappeared, he lost his mind.
Now it was my turn to teach him what losing someone really meant.
