Jonathan's eyes darted to the screen. Panic flickered in his gaze. He instinctively tried to pull back, to create distance.
But Anna clung tighter, her voice trembling into the microphone. "Jonathan... thank you..."
He froze. Trapped.
Finally, he awkwardly patted her back, refusing to look in my direction.
I stood up.
Under the weight of a thousand complicated stares—pity, mockery, curiosity—I turned and walked toward the exit.
The restroom door swung shut behind me.
My knees gave out.
Leaning over the marble sink, I splashed ice-cold water on my face, again and again, trying to numb the skin. Trying to numb the heart.
The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes, but no tears fell.
They refused to surface. Instead, they crystallized in my throat—jagged shards of ice stabbing me from the inside.
Voices drifted in from the corridor.
"...didn't expect Mr. Gilbert to have a thing for the innocent type like Anna."
"Director Kaufman is a cautionary tale. Five years of her life, and she ended up sewing the wedding dress for another woman."
"I heard that ring cost eighty grand! Was that company money?"
"Shh! Keep it down..."
The footsteps faded.
I stared at my reflection and let out a short, hollow laugh.