I believed above all that even if the evidence was clearer than water and everything pointed to it, it would still all be a lie. But here I am, watching my wife, whom I thought was dead for five years, in a park in a small town in Spain, playing with a little girl about four years old.

Then people ask me why I'm so crazy, but they give me reasons to be.

I can confirm that our marriage wasn't the best. I can also confirm that this was all my fault. And I can even understand why you decided to escape, to fake your own death, but honey, no one escapes the mafia, especially not me.

I wasn't the best husband. I neglected our relationship a lot. I spent all day away from home. I barely paid attention to you, and when I did, we always ended up yelling at each other. Not to mention how possessive I was about you. I barely let you leave the house, and if you did, I always had someone with me. What would happen if one of my enemies found you?

I still remember the day you brought the divorce papers to my office and I tore them up in front of your face. I think that was your plan A, because your plan B was to jump off the third-floor balcony of our mansion. I still don't understand how the hell you're still alive.

As the years passed, and after your "death," I realized how badly I had treated you, and I regretted it for a long time. But that was before I knew you were alive, and apparently, with a daughter who, if I calculate the dates correctly...

Your adventure ends here.