The Shirt That Hurt
MARY’S POV:
He said I could keep it.
The shirt I had bought him. The shirt I had wrapped in a tissue paper and tied with a ribbon. The shirt I had given him on our anniversary, hoping he would wear it, hoping he would remember that someone loved him.
He had given it to her.
“He’s not here,” I said. My voice was flat, empty, the voice of someone who had run out of feelings.
“No, he’s not. He’s with me.” Vesper smiled. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. I’m sure you’ve seen the photos.”
I had. Of course I had. Everyone had.
“Good for you,” I said.
She laughed, a light, musical sound that made my skin crawl. “You’re taking this well. I thought you’d be more upset.”
“I’ve had time to process.”
“Have you?”
I didn’t answer.
Vesper turned to Marl. Her expression shifted, the amusement fading into something more knowing. More intimate.
“I thought you liked my type,” she said.
My hand closed around the door handle. The metal was cold, familiar, the same handle I had touched a thousand times. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
I closed the door behind me.
The house was dark, the lights off, the only illumination coming from the fading sunlight filtering through the windows. Elowen was standing in the hallway, her soccer ball clutched to her chest, her eyes wide and worried!
“Mommy?” she said softly. “Who was that lady?”
I forced a smile onto my face. “Nobody, baby. Just someone who got lost.”
Elowen studied me for a long moment. She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. She just nodded and walked back toward her room.
I stood in the foyer, my back pressed against the door, and let the silence wash over me.

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