Shattered Trust, Silent Scars

ng on Wall Street. My mind was on the divorce papers

of hot coffee went all over the front of my Brioni suit. My laptop bag, a

am so, so sorr

off my expensive shoes with a napkin. It created a scene. People stopped and s

r gallery. She saw the whole thing. She saw me standing there, looking d

er head and disappeared into her gallery without a

ed me. "Mr. Fowler, your wife is here t

r to send

a mask of fury. Caleb trailed behind h

all them off," she dem

who

are icing him out, his applications for art grants are being mysteriously 'lost,'

r him with favoritism, and buy him a watch worth more than their yearly salary. Did you really think they were going to welcome h

ing. "Mr. Fowler, I'm sorry abo

g to you," I cu

see? This is what I'm talking abo

e table, a piece she had bought me from a

e a business trip. Art Basel in Miami. At l

d out, leaving me with the shatter

t symbol for us. Even if you could glue the piece