I heard her before I saw her.

Heels clicking neatly on the tiled floor. I felt the cold October air swooping in uninvited, and on it wafted the calming scent of rose and amber.

I did my best to look busy, shining the champagne glass until it nearly squeaked. But even I couldn’t ignore the gorgeous silk green dress sitting directly behind me on the other side of the counter.

I took a deep breath and turned around, shoving a trembling hand deep into my pants pocket. “What can I do for you ma’am?” I ventured to ask, finally bringing my eyes to hers. Her hazel eyes sparkled as she twirled one of the tight brown curls that hugged her face. She almost seemed playful as she flashed me a dazzling smile that had won me over years ago. It was all I could do to manage one of my own, which turned out to be more of a grimace.

“I’ll have the usual, Patty.” Another captivating smile.

Another grimace. My voice caught as I replied, “Coming right up.” My fingers began to sweat as I wrapped them around a cool bottle of Chardonnay sitting on the bottom glass shelf. I clumsily pulled a wine glass from the bar cart, twisted off the cork, and began pouring. A task I’ve done countless times for countless customers, yet this time a slight dribble could be seen as it spilled over the edge in a silver stream.

I could feel her hazel eyes burning into my skull as she watched my every move. Never had I expected her to return. She shouldn’t be here! It’s too obvious. She was a cop, and I was a bartender who’d been walking through the park on his way home from work, accidentally stumbling upon a couple one night, seemingly having a great time.

Then she turned, and I recognized her.

My dead wife.

Before my mind could fully comprehend the impossibility of my wife being alive and well in the arms of another man, everything happened.

A knife flashed out of a flashy red handbag and sunk itself into the man’s stomach, making a hissing sound as it entered. All of this happened so fast that I don’t even remember when the knife was placed in my hand, my brain was still trying to catch up.

I’m not sure when it hit me. Perhaps when my wife’s ghost flung herself on the ground , facing me with hands up and begging me to leave them be. Or when I happened to look down and see the initials on the hilt of the knife.

P. R. Thornton…

Me.

I set the bottle down and felt my blood boil. This beautiful, elegant woman, smiling as if she’d not a care in the world, was a liar and a murderer. Yet… she seems to still have me wrapped around her finger.

I jerked my head to shake the thought away. It was only a matter of time before she lied her way out of it, and I would be sentenced for life. How could I love someone who would do that?

I placed the bottle firmly back in its place and turned to face her. But before I could get a word out, she laughs as if we’re old friends(which in a sense I guess we are) and sighs, “I need to confess something…”

My heart stops and I forget to breathe. “Mary, you didn’t,” I rasped, my throat closing in on itself.

“I did. Now can you pass the wine?” She gives me a different smile. One that makes my heart start beating again and awakens a hope hidden deep within my chest.

I know that smile.

She didn’t report me. She still has feelings. I can’t believe she’s alive! All these thoughts somersaulted through my head, and I tried to calm myself.

She’s glancing at the clock on the wall. I barely hear her when she says, “You’ve got five minutes.” She uncrosses her legs, picks up her handbag and seems to float out of the room.

The blood has left my face. My hands cramp, and my whole being seems to have been shot up into space where a thousand blinding lights stab into my eyes through my skull.

I fall backwards from what seems like a great height to burst into a thousand glass fragments on the floor. But no, that’s just the shelves breaking.

I see nothing.