Jarv

in New York, but in the pent

0 AM because her "panic attack" had escalated into hy

t ask me

n't lo

h the floor-to-ceiling windows, i

stract art that meant nothin

redecorate" six months into our marriage be

to the mast

pillow was still on the ch

p, floral scent that failed to mask the underlyi

it on th

old me to "cl

" in my studio because the smell of t

my studio do

s lined the shelves.

om Grasse. Oud from a supplier

lls. They were memorie

throw t

an to

elvet, placing them into n

racting the only valuable thing

A notification fr

t Le Petit Chou with Mystery Blon

ked th

s timestampe

n't at th

-end patisserie on

ana a macaron. His han

He looked like a hu

, a physical fracture runn

utler, heavy b

oading dock," I said

act from the Solomon family w

ett returned, th

king exhausted bu

anding over the incinerator

black t

s Ivana?

osening his tie. "The doctor said she needs ab

I said. "The macaron

eeded sugar. Her blo

blood pressure? I must have

it. Stop being so jea

bag in my hand.

ums," I said. "And

d. "Jenna, don'

lutter," I said. "I'm removing

chute. The

na,

ped th

the dark throat

is jaw working. "We will talk about

hen counter and picke

ifting, trying to pivot back to the benevo

ut a gree

ace offerin

asked. "For accusing

sn't remember saying it. She was in a fugue s

he bigger person, Cor

," he said, thrusting it

im. I looked

. If I ate it, maybe he would leave me

macaron. I

it my tongu

t. N

hen,

meone had wrapped a barbed wire n

nd p

ett knew this. He used to carry my EpiP

cookie. I claw

ett frowned.

to my knees. The room began to spi

e said, confused. "

eam ripped from

osting hateful comm

an

ning to stone. I reached out a hand

lp

ward the hallway where Ivana was s

esit

, he looked at

his leg away

said. "Where is your pe

ran toward t

oward th

floor, my vis

lef

loor to comfort a woman u

e carpet, my fingernails b

The kitche

art was hammering a chaot

shaking violently, a

ick.

w cap of

't have the strength

d the needle into my thig

the only sou

it my system lik

rrible, ragged

ng down my face, listening to Corbe

st the internet. I'll ha

eelings while I fought

last thread of love I had