Ostrim

Ostrim is my husband. A mafioso. Cold, cruel, frightening. I'm afraid of him. And I hate him... for everything. Especially for killing my mother. I swore I'd never forgive him.

We live together as enemies. He does not hide his contempt. I hide mine - behind silence. There is emptiness between us, icy as his gaze.

But I knew: if something happens, he will come.

My father broke down after my mother died. He blamed me. He directed all his anger, all his grief at me. I kept my distance. But the past found me anyway.

That night he came. With a sledgehammer.

I heard the lock being broken. I heard him screaming behind the door, accusing me of something I had already killed myself for a long time ago.
I retreated, trembled, couldn't breathe. The door creaked.

My hands reached for the phone. I didn't think. I just dialed his number.
The one I swore to hate.
The one whose name burned in his chest like a wound.

• He... he's here. With a sledgehammer. I... don't know what to do...

• Wait. I'll be there soon.

Ten minutes later he was at the door.
Fifteen minutes later, my father was lying on the floor. He didn't kill him. He just stopped him. Hard. Silently.

I stood in the corner, not believing it. He came up. He looked at me. His eyes were dark, tired… and warm?

• Why did you call me?