The Mafia's Unwanted Wife

I stood up when I saw Lucas entering the door. It was late at night. He looked at me as I helped him take off his coat. I wrinkled my nose after catching a whiff of alcohol. "Have you eaten?" I asked. "I was waiting for you so we could eat together," I added, but he didn't even bother to glance at me. I puffed up my cheeks and bit my lower lip. "I cooked your favorite dish. I know that when—" "Can you shut the fuck up?" he angrily cut me off. I swallowed and just bowed my head. When he took off his shoes, I picked them up and placed them neatly on the shoe rack. I was used to this. I understand why he acts this way, but what I can't fathom is why he can't even treat me as a human being anymore, not even as his wife. My eyes glistened as he headed to the kitchen. I served the food, assuming he'd eat since he sat down, seemingly waiting. But after I prepared it, he looked at it in disgust before leaving me alone here. He nearly slammed the glass onto the table as he put it down.

"Hi," I greeted him as he sat down. "Alone?" he asked. I shook my head. "I'm with someone. They're in the restroom, they might be coming back soon," I replied. "Can we s—" "Husband... My husband is with me," I cut him off. He nodded and they excused themselves, leaving me alone. I forced a small smile and rested my head on the sofa's armrest. It was going to be an early morning tomorrow. I already felt tired. It felt like just a while ago I wanted to grow up quickly, and now I wished I could go back to being a child, coloring in coloring books at home. As the alcohol started to take effect, I decided it was time to head home. I would be driving. I didn't want to return home, but I had no other choice. Plus, my uniforms were there. I hadn't brought any clothes with me. I looked at the house in front of me. The lights were on, and the place was bustling with life. It was late at night, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was already inside. I let out a sigh and walked in. I almost

The sun had already set when I arrived at our house with Lucas to collect the belongings I left behind. Just as he wanted, I was going to retrieve all my things and leave nothing behind. The lights were off, so I took it upon myself to turn them on. It's a good thing we both have keys to the house, so it wasn't a hassle if either of us was away and the other would come home. I sighed, my cheeks puffed out, as I looked around the entire house. I had been here for seven years, but no matter where I looked, there wasn't a single happy memory. All I could see were painful experiences. The house was quiet, and it felt like you could hear crickets chirping outside. It was always like this. The house was huge, yet it felt like no one lived in it. It was incredibly lonely. Instead of lingering, I went to my room and started packing my things. Maybe this was the right decision. Perhaps seven years of suffering were enough for me. When you think about it, there are so many men in the world

My neck felt stiff as I woke up on the sofa. I sat up, wiping away my saliva from my face. I was still at our house. Technically, I could leave and let him be since he seems good now. I'm not even sure why I'm still here. Maybe I've just gotten used to being available whenever someone needs my help, like I'm possessed by Mommy. From her, I learned to be attentive to those around me and not be able to walk away until things are at least a little better than they were before. I answered Noah's call when my phone rang. "We haven't heard from you," he said. I pouted. "Maybe you're just planning to talk to me about Miss Bernadette again," I joked. I laughed when he fell silent. He was probably sulking. I stood up from the sofa. I wanted to get some water as my throat felt dry. "How's your day?" I asked. He pretended to cough. "It's okay. How about you?" he replied. "Not good. I'm still at our house," I said. I put the call on loudspeaker so I could leave it on the table and move

Lucas was unable to do anything that evening. I stayed in his room, but he eventually shooed me away from the bed and had me lie down on the sofa instead. Since our conversation earlier, he had been looking at me with disdain again, as if every minute I should be feared because I wasn't sure if I would ever be continue my living. "Leave if you're not going to help," I told him, urging him to contribute. Small glass shards were spreading more due to his kicks, while he sat on the sofa. He glared at me. "Shut up." I glared back and continued working. What I couldn't understand since earlier was why he refused to call the police to investigate what had happened in the house. He didn't want to, so I was left to clean up the mess in silence. Instead of calling the police, he called for repairs—to have the broken windows replaced. I began by picking up the shattered glass around. I had removed the curtains earlier since they were already damaged and had holes. I intentionally started