Hazel sat dead center, flanked by Thomas and his mother. They looked like the perfect family.
"Isn't this inappropriate?" I turned to Thomas, silently pleading for him to remember his role. To set a boundary.
His brow furrowed. "Just take it, Elise. Hazel is hungry."
So I raised the phone. Maintained the facade of the virtuous wife. My finger trembled on the shutter.
The image froze on the screen: Hazel's head tilted, resting intimately on Thomas's shoulder.
As I handed the phone back, I saw it.
His palm. Pressed possessively against the small of her back.
I had always believed that as a professor at A University, Thomas Gilbert would have boundaries. Integrity.
The man before me felt like a stranger.
Earlier, a student had approached me, eager to discuss new material science findings. Hazel had cut in with a sneer. "Are you stupid? The Professor's wife is just a housewife. What would she know about that?"
Three years ago, I was a specially appointed professor at that same university. Many of the students in this room had once attended my lectures.
Not a single one spoke up for me.
Thomas had merely smiled, tacitly allowing the ridicule.