haven

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It was nine o'clock when I came back from a trip, and I opened the door to my husband's room and saw my lover, the head of the mafia, dozing off in my bed. It wasn't just the champagne glasses, the dress that had been left on the floor, or Dorian Kincaid without his shirt that caught my attention. It was the pale blue sapphire necklace that my mother had given me. That's what she used to wear every Sunday. What she gave me while she was dying of cancer. "Some things should be yours before they belong to anyone else," she whispered that day. I wore it at her funeral.