Page 96 of Jetmir

Jetmir spent hours sitting at it every day, scribbling notes, typing away on his computer, and filing papers away. If he was hiding something, I intended to find out what it was. Plus, if I could somehow log into his computer, I’d be able to send an email to my parents.

I could at least tell them I was all right and maybe even convince them I’d left on my own because I needed space. The last thing I wanted was for our families to kill each other.

I rose from the couch, startling Dozer who I swore glared at me. He got up, then jumped off the couch and disappeared through the same door Jetmir did while I padded quietly to the desk. There was a map of the island. A few bills. And a notebook. I opened it and found something scribbled in it, but unfortunately, it was in Russian. If I had my phone with me, I could use Google Translate. As it was, the notes were useless.

Next, I moved to the drawers.

The first held nothing more than neatly folded documents and a few leather-bound notebooks. The second was filled with loose papers stacked in careful piles. I pulled them out, expecting to find something important.

Instead, I froze.

Nestled beneath the papers, as though it had been deliberately tucked away for safekeeping, lay my wedding ring.

For a long moment, I simply stared at it.

It looked so small sitting there, the gold band gleaming softly in the afternoon light spilling through the window. Beckoning me.

My throat tightened.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it, lifting it from the drawer as though it were something fragile enough to shatter. The familiar weight settled into my palm, bringing with it a flood of memories I didn’t believe myself strong enough to revisit.

Before I could think better of it, I slipped it onto my finger. It slotted into place effortlessly. The tiny diamonds caught the light, shimmering delicately across my skin. It fit perfectly, as though it had never left my hand.

My chest constricted.

I yanked it off so quickly it almost slipped from my grasp.

“What are you doing?” I muttered under my breath, scolding myself.

Of course it fit. It wasn’t as though my fingers had changed.

I squeezed the ring tightly in my fist, irritated by the warmth lingering against my skin, by the way wearing it had felt so… right.

Damn it.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I tossed the ring back into the drawer as though it had burned me. It landed with a soft clink.

Grumbling under my breath, I reached for the stack of papers I’d pulled out, ready to shove them back where I’d found them, when a line at the top of the first page caught my eye: My forever one and only Mrs. Volkov-Tijuana.

My hand stilled.

A frown tugged at my brow. The greeting was penned in Jetmir’s unmistakable handwriting.

My pulse quickened as I read the words my husband had written to me. Words of longing, yearning, and love. Words of eternal devotion.

I reached for the next sheet that started with My dear angel. The one beneath it began with My forever love. And the next. And the next.

Every page started with some variation of the same greeting, each one addressed to me.

Confusion slowly gave way to disbelief. There were dozens of letters. No… hundreds.

I thumbed through the stack, the pages blurring together beneath my fingers. Every single one bore a different date, spanning three years. Some were creased from being folded and unfolded. Others had smudged ink, like the words had been scrawled in haste—or rewritten after being abandoned.

I held a hand against my pounding heart. Why would Jetmir write hundreds of letters to me and never send a single one?

Because you left him, my mind whispered.