A Final Goodbye, A Lasting Mark

Brya

raphic designer who created beauty out of chaos, a wife who had built her life around love and trust. I was not the kind

reappeared. She was crafting her response, choosing her word

ppeared. It was simp

Come see fo

ng downtown, one of the new, ultra-modern glass towers

my ribs. This was a challe

the sofa to steady myself. Ignoring the protest of my aching body, I stumbled to the bedroom, pulling on the first pair of jeans and a

c storm of questions. What would I say? What would I do? A part of me, the rational, tired part, screamed at me to turn

had just watched her life burn down in a s

ng. As I walked toward the lobby, a sleek black town car pulled

sn't

coat that accentuated her slim figure, and her hair, a cascade of dark silk, bounc

d back, a genuine, unguarded smile that I hadn' t seen directed at me in what felt like an eternity. He reache

e was like a physical blow. It wa

efore my brain could

ayt

arse, cracking

and then, unmistakably, irritation. Kiersten' s expression was harder to read, but as her eyes met

pped and cold. He took a half-step forward, subtly positionin

belief. "I should be asking you the same thing, Clay. I' ve

dropping to the pavement. "My phone died. It was a lo

the scene unfold with a detached curiosity, like a spectat

arine smile. "Ariel, right? Cla

her voice was thick

ould head up." He was dismissing her, but it felt like he was pr

of desperation. "She can stay. I want to k

ng around the empty street as if the paparazzi were about

y husband disappears all night, and I get sent photos of h

et out a delicate, theatrical sigh. "Clay, may

-ignited the las

bout my health," I sna

t firmly, pushing me back. "That's enough, Ariel

, now used to shove me away in favor of her-made something snap. I shoved him back, my

shock and fury. "What the hell is w

throat. "You abandon me, you lie to me, you st

into one of cold dismissal. He turned his back on me, placing a ge

broke me. He didn' t even look back as he guided her into the gl

She wasn't smiling anymore. She was just watching me, her eyes cold

woman staring back was a ghost-pale, gaunt, with wild eyes and

ber the traffic or the route. I just remember par

l wasn'

sank onto the sofa, my gaze falling on the potted orchid on the coffee table. Its petals

Ari," he had said, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of a petal

ng. Just like e

y mom. I needed her to tell me everything would be okay, to wra

ok as I dial

everything alrig

y audible. "Can I... can I come

other end of the line. I

ice softening but laced with a familiar we

than that,

ery marriage has its rough patches. You need to be more understanding. He' s under a lot of pressure

g to my pain; she was managing my expectations, smoothing over the crac

t M

er and I have an early golf game.

and completely alone, abandoned by the tw

-