She has the kind of face that looks like it belongs in old photographs. Elegant bones. Full mouth. A cool, distant kind of poise. Mario stands close to her.
I stare at the photo far longer than I should.
Then I close the tab.
This is grotesque.
This is me poking around in a dead woman’s life because I slept with her husband.
A sound that is not quite a laugh and not quite a groan leaves me.
“I am going to hell.”
I go back to the search results anyway.
Most of the articles say the same things. Anna Conti, wife of businessman Mario Conti. Died unexpectedly. Survived byher husband and twin sons. Private funeral. Family requested privacy.
“Unexpectedly.”
That word appears in nearly every article.
But no cause.
No mention of illness or accident. It couldn’t be natural causes.
Just a lot of nothing.
The lack of information bothers me more with every tab I open.
Maybe that is normal in Italy.
Or maybe just in wealthy, private Italian families with enough influence to keep personal tragedies out of the press.
Maybe it means nothing, and I’m overthinking it.
Maybe I should close my laptop and stop acting like a woman one bad search away from purchasing a corkboard and red string.
I do not close my laptop.
Instead, I search again.
Anna Conti morte causa.
Anna Conti trovata morta.
Mario Conti sospetti.
The last one makes me pause before I hit enter.
Suspicion.
It feels ugly even typing it.
I press enter anyway.
A few legitimate-looking results appear.
Then a cluster of trash articles.
