A woman walks cautiously, her stilettos makes muffled sounds as they meet the newly spread pavement. The street is quiet, she’s alone. Yet, she’s not afraid. She fingers her platinum blonde hair, her dark roots peek out at the top of her head. She’s trying to be someone she’s not, trying to hide behind a façade. The scarlet dress, pearl teardrop earrings, shiny leather clutch. Louise’s Trattoria, the restaurant awning reads, its red and white stripes remind her of a candy cane. She walks inside and is immediately enveloped by the warm, romantic atmosphere. Her grey eyes scan the crowd, she doesn’t recognize anyone. She knows better. The hostess beckons her, leads her to a small table. A smile brushes across the her face, she has seen him. He stands up to kiss her, places his hand on the small of her back, and holds out her chair. The woman fingers her wedding ring, but she feels no shame.
A man watches her. It’s a coincidence he even saw her here. He can hear the clock ticking, telling him he will be late for his meeting. He has just been walking to a client’s office, hair brushed back, leather briefcase in hand. He takes in his surroundings, the pier at one side, and the shops on the other. His eyes wander to the restaurant, the atmosphere beckons him in. He should take his wife here sometime, the red and white stripes on the awning remind him of her. He smiles. If she had not turned her head, tried to call the waiter, he wouldn’t have seen her. He doesn’t recognize the new her, only feels the pull in his heart that tells him it is her. She’s dyed her hair, she’s dressed differently, and her smile reaches her cool grey eyes. He can feel his heart drop down to the depths of his soul, too far to retrieve. He wants to shield his eyes, plug his ears and pretend he’s somewhere else. He wants to do anything but see his brother kiss his wife.
He contemplates throwing it, he fingers his wedding ring. It burns his skin, brands it like someone has scalded him with hot coals. He can feel himself wince, his whole body tightens up. He leans his elbows on the railing, his coal colored eyes rest on the weather floor of the pier. He can make out the dark blue waters. He could just drop it, toss it over the railing and never see it again. He would never have to see his and her names elegantly carved into a golden band, never have to remember the date inscribed on the shiny surface. He takes a deep breath, slides off his ring, and holds it over the water. He steps on the edge of the railing, hoisting himself up, one hand holding the ring, the other the railing. He loses his footing, leans in too far. His arms flail, trying to hold on. He tumbles forward and he can feel himself fall. The water slaps his face as he crashes into the dark depths. His suit jacket pushes him down, the perfectly sown silk, drenched in icy water. He doesn’t try to swim, instead stops moving. He holds his breath, dunks his head into the chilly waters and awaits death with open arms.
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