A Quiet Sadness Remains

ng over the fireplace. We were smiling, caught in a moment of what I had believed was pure, unshakeable joy. I took it down from the wal

cribed to me with loving, poetic words that now read like fiction. I packed them all into a cardboard box, the sound of glas

What are you doing?" he asked, a frown creasing h

aid, my voice carefully

ons. He sat down at his desk, running a hand through his hair. "I' m so drained. Chloe and I w

pictured them together, their heads bent over a book, their hands bru

e sighed, a sound of deep satisfaction. "She

rk, with its practical demands and concret

pounding behind my eyes, and waves of nausea made it impossible to eat. I was sitt

" he said, a note of irritation i

I lied. "Jus

re last night, and she needs them for her presentation this afternoon." He said it so casually, as if

asked, my voice

ou. You seem a little on edge lately. You know how important this book is to my career. I'd appreciate a li

f suspended misery. I needed more than just a photo on a laptop. I needed someth

tting smarter. But he was also arrogant. I found his "research" folder on our shared cloud drive, a space he probably assumed

plans for their secret meetings. Audio files, short recordings of their conversations, his voice deep with an admi

e flash drive, my phone buzzed. I

"Oh, oops. I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong nu

cold. It wa

tinued, her voice syrupy sweet. "That 'private lesson' was

h malice, it stole my breath. She wanted me to

re in the silence of our home, the flash drive in my hand feeling heavy, like a weapon. The grief was still there, a hollow ache in my c