“Otherwise, Scott won’t be in the mood to paint with me later!”
Their skewed logic was maddening.
“I’m fine, really. You’re making it seem like I have to be upset!”
I had no desire to watch their performance any longer. I left the room and resolved to move out as soon as I could.
In the afternoon, I saw Hannah’s new post on social media.
The caption read, “Like a Painting.”
The photo showed Scott deeply focused on a painting in his studio. It was a side profile of Hannah, with the inscription “A Lifetime with You.”
That studio had always been off-limits to me.
Yet, Hannah had free rein to wander inside.
The difference was simply a matter of love and indifference.
It’s laughable how I had deceived myself for so long.
It’s both pitiful and tragic.
I rushed to the police department's archive room to check the files.
Scott sent a message.
“What are you up to? When will you be back?”
I had left my phone outside the archive room and hadn’t seen it.
“How about steak for dinner tonight? The non-spicy kind.”
“Lillian, the gardenia has withered. What should I do?”
…
Just an afternoon away from my phone, and Scott had sent a barrage of messages as if he was catching up on years’ worth of missed texts.