One Year with the Mafia Boss
The sight of it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me, and I press my hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatens to escape.
I should not cry. I keep telling myself that, over and over, but my emotions are not listening. They never do. A tear slips down my cheek, then another, and I swipe at them angrily, determined not to let them win. But they keep coming, no matter how hard I try to stop them.
I set the pajamas aside and reach for the next item in the box. It is a toy car, small and perfectly detailed, the kind of thing a little boy would love. My fingers tighten around it, and I close my eyes, trying to steady myself.
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