a P

rop into my camera roll. It was a small, physical piece of evidence, captured with the rig

he camera app and

. My bio still proudly declared: *Lead Architect at Vanguard Design*. The last photo on my feed was from the night of t

t standing in this bathroom was violently cruel. Hudson h

d selected *Story*. A 24-hour disappearing post. It was the perfect flare to shoot

the bait. It had to sound exactly like the medicat

ls are getting worse! My little Volvo is crying tonight.* I added a pat

my profile picture, and then it was live. I had th

o the pocket of my silk pajama pants, and unlocked

oard, wearing his wire-rimmed reading glasses, a stack of legal briefs resting on his la

ce. He patted the empty space on the mattress beside him, a gesture

my facial muscles to relax. I walked over, climbed onto the

ainst his side. He pressed a dry, lingering kiss to the crown of my head.

hing through my mouth to avo

take a quick shower," he announced, tossing the papers onto the ni

avy frosted glass door slid shut. A few seconds later,

ier was up. The c

et, my palms suddenly slick with sweat. My hear

r the paper airplane icon in the

message from a user

ack coffee and argue with me over load-bearing walls. Seeing his name was a physic

nt exactly two minutes ago: *

y cheek before I could stop it. Someone w

three pulsing dots appeared

ra. He's deliberately cutti

y throat. My thumb fr

r his own good. He saw the ge

t to leave, you have to ask him for the keys to m

laid it bare. I quickly typed back, my fingers

a domestic violence shelter. The client's abusive hus

typed out by a third party shattered the last fragile pane of denial in my mind. Th

n flashed. Aiden had se

shimmering bl

other things, go to his closet. Check

tly shut off. The sudden silenc

elete Chat', and confirmed. I shoved the phone under my pillow, threw myself

wil