The Invisible Girl's Parisian Escape

n of a future I had dared to imagine for myself. I held it all through the night, a shield again

Mark could share his news, I would share mine. I would lay my heart at hi

ange, new clarity, *it will hurt. But it won't break me. Not anymore.* Because now, I h

ed voicemail on her international number. I imagined her reaction-the supportive shriek, the immediate

s most exclusive restaurants, echoed in my mind. The scent of mothballs and old fabric filled my small bedroom. My nicest dress was a s

my face. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman, not a girl. There was a fragile strength in my eyes I hadn't seen bef

e of breathtaking elegance. A wall of glass offered a panoramic view of Veridia, its lights twinkling like a carpet of fallen stars. The air smelled of money

turned as I approached, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. He was weari

lt impersonal, like he was admiring a piece of art. His own body language was relaxed, a stark contrast to the

ome," I replied, my

tag, led us to a secluded table by the window. The cit

ech was rehearsed. *Mark, before you say anyt

the breath to speak, a w

chignon. She wore a silk dress the color of champagne that shimmered under the restaurant's soft

a look of such profound, unguarded love that it physically hurt to witness. His face lit up with a warmth I had nev

oice anymore. It was a scream. The rehearsed wor

a joy that was a knife in my heart. "I'd

murmur. "Isabelle, this is Clara, the girl I told you about.

e words struck me with the

ark has told me so much about you." Her grip was firm, her smile kind. And that kindness was the cruelest

. I think I mumbled a greeting, but the

take our orders, but I couldn't read t

le's hand. He laced their fingers together, a simple, devastating gesture of

he hope I had so carefully nurtured all day curdled into a thick, choking humiliation. The acceptance letter

he house they were buying in the suburbs. Isabelle, trying to include me, asked about my work, her voice full of genuine interest. I couldn't answer. My t

ce my silence, the rigid set of my shoulders, the way I stared at my untouched plate.

aping my raw throat. I stood up, my chair makin

er of surprise in his e

. I need

miling hostess, through the heavy glass doors, and into the waiting area for the elevator. My clu

eeded to

n dress, the chill seeping into my bones, but I didn't feel it. All I felt was the gaping, caverno

ing color. My heel caught on an uneven piece of pavement, and I stumbled forward, a

didn't

ghting, I could see his features were sharp and defined. He had dark hair, and his eyes-his eyes were the most intense shade of blue-grey I had ever seen, like a storm gat

s deep, laced with a concerned author

. My tears, which had been a silent stream, now fel

e didn't let go of my arms, his grip a firm, grounding presence in my spin

ranger on a cold Veridia street, the full we

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