When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

The lobby spun around me—faces blurring, lights smearing into streaks. I blinked, fighting to pull things back into focus.

Through the haze, I saw him.

Not looking at me.

He was cupping Genevieve’s face in both hands, tilting her chin gently toward the light like she was made of glass.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, voice low and tender. “Here? Does it hurt here?”

“It hurts, Steven,” she whispered, sounding fragile. “It hurts so much.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Behind him, the receptionist stood transfixed, eyes wide. When she finally moved, it wasn’t toward the bleeding woman leaning against the table.

It was toward the couple.

“Are you blind?” Steven snapped at her when he saw her hesitation. “Can’t you see she’s hurt? Get an ice pack. Now.”

The girl jumped, nodding frantically. “Y-yes, sir,” she stammered, and bolted for the back room.

Blood trickled down my neck, seeping into the collar of my blouse. It felt sticky and warm for a moment, then cold as the lobby’s air chewed through my adrenaline.