There was something strange about the way she moved when I observed her today. There was something wrong. But I couldn't tell what it was. She doesn't like to show her feelings, especially when they are strong. Even to herself. Especially to herself. I can tell though. She cannot hide from me. She stands straight, and puts her mind in order. You can see it happen. She'll straighten up and get this certain look in her eyes. When you look at her you can see all her thoughts being rearranged, filed, put away, hidden. That's one of the things I like about her. She's normally very reserved. Or else she would never keep everything where it should be.

Today, looking out my apartment window into her kitchen, I could tell something was different. She wasn't humming to herself and she gave every single pot and pan, barely dirty or covered in pasta or hard to clean pie, so much loving attention that they all glittered like diamonds. I could tell this was something big, because she never deviates from a particular way of doing a particular routine each day. She never varies it. But today she scrubbed so hard that when she put away each dish, it caught the sun and blinded me. It was making me a bit nervous. What was wrong with her today? Why was she so anxious? What did she think was going to happen? But even with this change in her, she was captivating. I was watching her every move. She is exquisite in the way she moves. I watched every little twitch, every movement of each muscle and she was the focus of my whole being.

Then she raised a particular drinking glass. I caught my breath. This glass did look like it was made out of diamond. Clear, with a million different facets, it was the most perfect cup I had ever seen. She had gotten it as a free product, a marketing campaign from the company where I work. She had been surprised, but it worked. She buys a lot from my company now. I had suggested that little marketing campaign just so I could send that gift to her. But she'll never know it was a gift from me.

She's married. She lives in a huge house next to my apartment. And when I found out about her husband, I discovered why they could afford such a house. Her husband is in the Mafia. She doesn't know. If she knew, she, being the perfect woman she is, she would divorce him. After turning him in. His job is a carefully kept secret from his wife. She, on the other hand, seems to ignore the truth about his vocation. Perhaps she sees the signs as some of his idiosyncrasies. Every day he leaves at 8 A.M, comes home at 6 P.M. Personally, I think he shouldn't have married someone who wouldn't approve of his job. But of course this situation was not up to me.

She's married to a Mafia guy. That means I can't approach her because he's probably a suspicious man who would sense my feelings for his wife. I don't want the enmity of somebody in the Mafia. So all I can do is watch her and send her a gift by a roundabout route. The glass. A small connection between us. Every day, when she washes that glass, I pay careful attention, to see if she likes it more or less. To see a million different things.

Then my attention turned to her, and the glass I had given her. All of a sudden, that glass turned into a blur. I heard a loud crash. Time slowed down. She had broken it. She never would have broken it unless something was very wrong. She must have been in danger. Fear ran through me and left me dizzy. Then time sped up. My ears still ringing, I raced out of my apartment. I tried her door. It was locked. I smashed the window, climbed in and raced to the kitchen. I opened the door and ran in. I looked up…

Straight into the muzzle of a gun. I saw her on the floor, diamond-like shards about her face and hair, the life in her eyes gone. My watching had brought tragedy. I knew a person shouldn't have anything to do at all with the wife of a suspicious Mafia man. Then the husband's hired man smiled into my eyes. I closed them and waited…