How I Ghosted My Mafia Wife

"Spilled some hot coffee on it," I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake.

Madeline’s hand froze mid-air. Her brown eyes, the same ones I used to get lost in, were filled with suspicion. But I wasn't the same mercenary from five years ago who only knew how to solve problems with his fists. I had learned to play the part of the perfect husband at Windemere family dinners, to survive with a polite smile amidst lies and schemes.

"I got you a gift," I said, picking up a fine blue box from the sofa and sliding it toward her.

The box was light. Inside were the shredded pieces of our wedding photo.

Madeline took it, her face lighting up with that surprised expression I once thought was genuine. "What's the special occasion? Did I forget something?" She didn't open it, instead placing it on the coffee table and leaning in to kiss my cheek.

I took a step back, maintaining a perfect smile. "You really don't remember, Madeline? It's our fifth wedding anniversary."

Her expression froze, as if she'd been slapped. I saw the flash of panic and guilt in her eyes—the look of someone caught in a lie but trying to play innocent.

"Oh god, William, I..." She reached for me. "Things with the family have been so crazy, I completely..."

"It's fine." I gently pulled away, trying not to smell the other man on her. "I understand."

"No, it's not fine," she insisted, grabbing my hand and squeezing it, a trick she used to disarm me whenever I was angry. "We have to celebrate. Let's go to the stables. Right now. You love it there. We can ride and watch the sunrise, just like we used to."

Used to? The last time we went riding together was three years ago. Back then, she'd kiss my ear and tell me I was her king. Now, she couldn't even remember our anniversary.

But I nodded. "Okay. That sounds nice."

If I wanted to get out clean, I had to keep playing the part of the clueless husband.

At four in the morning, Madeline drove, trying to set a romantic mood by playing our wedding song, "La Vie en Rose."

"I'm so sorry I forgot," she said, glancing at me with a pleading look. "You know how much I love you."

I didn't answer. My hand had brushed against something in the glove compartment. A lighter.

Neither of us smoked.

I put it back, pretending I hadn't noticed. I had no interest in her pointless excuses.

By the time we reached the stables, the sky was just beginning to turn gray.

We rode for about half an hour, Madeline working hard to recreate a warmth that was no longer there. She'd sneak photos of me as I passed, praise my riding skills, and point at the sunrise with some romantic line.

One of the stable hands played along. "Mr. and Mrs. Windemere, you two are so in love. It's an inspiration!"

I said nothing.

Then her phone rang. A special ringtone.

"Sorry, baby. I have to take this. Urgent family business." She quickly stood on her toes to kiss my cheek, then spurred her horse toward the other end of the field.

I quietly walked back to the car, where she kept her backup phone. The screen was lit up with synced messages between her and Ryan.

Ryan: I miss you, Madeline… I bought some new toys. Wanna come see?

Madeline: You're too much… My hips are still sore from last time.

Ryan: Didn't you like it? Who was the one begging for more last night? Or are you admitting I wore you out?

Madeline: Never. Just you wait. I'll come back and drain you dry.

More messages flooded the screen, filled with filth and plans for their next hookup. They had a date tonight at the Westin, in the presidential suite. She’d already ordered champagne and red roses.

When Madeline returned, she was the loving wife again.

"I couldn't see you for a second, I almost panicked," she said, riding up beside me and taking my hand. "I thought you'd left me."

Nausea and rage blurred my vision. My hand clenched into a fist, so tight that my nails drew blood, but I didn't feel a thing.

Madeline noticed the blood trickling from my palm. "William!" she cried out. "What's wrong?"