tal

a beat too long. "Divorce? Se

. It surprised me. I thought all that was gone. Buried. But some ghosts, it seemed, s

mall town, two bright kids from different worlds. He was the golden boy, charming and effortlessly brilliant

e me, call me "bookworm," but there was always a playful glint in his eyes.

nineteen, about to head off to different univers

d, my cheeks burning, "

"Love me, Krystal? Get the highest score on the national engineering exa

eyes burned, until my fingers cramped, until I slept for only a few hours each night. I

arkled under the television lights. He called me his "brilliant muse," his "partner in greatness." I felt li

gn intern had threatened to derail his burgeoning political career. My "genius" image, our "academic power couple" narrative, was the perfect shield. A

d me back to the present, gentle but firm.

ing echoes of the past. "And I'm not distant. I'm just

e last invisible threads. A sense

his eyes blazing, his face contorted with a fury I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

he demanded, his voice dangerousl

ar, slipped from my fingers, clatter

m, then landing on me with an intensity that use

is fists clenched at his sides. "Who