For years, his promises were a steady drumbeat: wait, he said, endure a little more; the docks will be mine and danger will pass. I believed him because we had bled together, because when enemies came, he carried me as if my life alone mattered. I forgave punches, insults, late nights, and the way he sometimes watched other women with a greedy smile that tightened my stomach. I washed his wounds and mended his pride; he built an empire on my patience. At night, I imagined a small house, sunlight on a table, a child's laugh through the rooms. I held faith because love had been our shelter. But love can not restrain appetite, and appetite has teeth. The man before me spoke of settling, yet his hands still reached beyond comfort; his heart left room for others. That was the betrayal I could not accept and my trust.
That year—here in this casino—Samuel and I had hidden our not-yet-one-year-old daughter from enemies. To survive, we closed up in a box and covered her mouth. We held her until she stopped breathing. That day, Samuel's cries echoed across Harbor City. He swore on his severed finger to avenge our daughter's death.
I bow to the heavens as well.