A Quiet Sadness Remains

through the phone, smooth and full of the easy charm that had first dr

nt spread across my desk. "I saw, Ethan. It sounds exciting." My own project, a min

r is showcasing some incredible Renaissance revival pieces. It' s given me so much inspira

"Chloe? The one you

een spending late nights in the archives, bouncing i

was an art history professor, a man who lived and breathed his work. Th

an good, Ava.

to use for me, back when he' d watch me sketch for hours, claimin

their cold precision. My life with Ethan was supposed to be just as well-designed, a

that sometimes clung to his clothes, a scent too sweet and floral to be from the dusty old books he claimed to be s

aised her sharp insights, her fearless critiques, her dedication. He made it sound like they were par

had designed to be our sanctuary, suddenly felt suffocating. I saw his laptop sitting on the ni

o it. An email draft was open on the screen, addressed to a university

en. "It must be experienced, felt. My collaboration with Ms. Davis has been a revelation,

plied. I scrolled down, my heart pounding. He had attach

ng in a cafe, a cup of coffee in her hand. And then, the last one. A picture taken in what was unmistakably our bedroom. Chloe was lying on our bed, wearing one of my si

ightmarish blur. I saw the robe, my favorite one, a gift from him on our anniversary, drape

sea rolled over me. I felt cold, a deep, bone-aching chill that had nothing to do with the tempe

or open. "Ava? I'm home!" Ethan

n the hall, coming closer. He appeared in the door

miling his perfect, charming smile. "To celebrate my new chapter. Ch

e a mask of loving concern.

. The hypocrisy was so staggering it was almost surreal. The man holding a peace offering was

rve him. He put the flowers down

s a stranger's, low and empty. "I'm

and lies. In that moment, I knew my marriage was over. He hadn't just broken a vow. He had shattered