How long can you mourn the loss of someone who was going to be your world?
She lets her briefcase slide down with a thud, pointedly ignoring the piece of misery hanging in a dark corner of the small hallway. The antique gilded curlicues framing the mirror she had once thought so quaint have completely lost their luster.
The first time she noticed it, the day after she moved in, she’d wondered why the owners would put a mirror in such a poorly lit area. Now she knows. And she doesn’t dare to move it.
She flips on the lights. Classic FM. Coffee. This was once Bella’s favorite time of day, curled up in the ugly but comfortable olive-green armchair and scrolling through her messages. Now the sips of coffee (black, always black) and the low sound of a cello concerto do nothing to quell the rising discomfort, the little voice that tells Bella you’re going to look, you know you are.
Still, she fights back while drawing deeply from the mug. I’m not, I’m not. She checks her bank accounts. Deletes spam.
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