An Office "Coincidence"
I'd forgotten Emma's kindergarten health report. On impulse, I dropped it off at Ethan's office midday. The receptionist recognized me. "Lily? Ethan's in a meeting. Sophia's office seems empty—you can wait inside?" She gestured inward. I pushed open Ethan's door. He wasn't there. Papers and blueprints cluttered his desk. My eyes locked on the corner. Two white porcelain coffee cups.
Lipstick smudged clearly on both rims—one my familiar coral pink, the other a bolder wine red. My heart skipped a beat. Beside them lay a small silver lip balm, cap off, the tube a rich berry hue. I recognized the brand—expensive. Sophia had used it at the café once. My throat tightened. The office air conditioning blasted cold, yet heat surged to my temples. I set down the flimsy report; the paper landed silently, utterly insignificant.
"Stop Imagining Things"
That evening, ironing his shirt, I couldn't resist. "I stopped by your office today with Emma's report... saw your and Sophia's cups together," I kept my tone light. "You've been having private meetings lately?" He was scrolling through industry news on his phone and frowned. "What are you implying?" His voice sharpened. "She's my partner.
Grabbing coffee to discuss work is normal. Lily," he set the phone down, weary and impatient. "The company's under huge pressure. Can't you stop imagining things at home?" Steam billowed from the iron, damp and hot on my face. My grip tightened on the collar. "Just asking," I pressed the iron down hard; steam hissed, spreading a wet stain on the fabric. He said nothing more. Only the iron's rhythmic sizzle filled the room.
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I'd forgotten Emma's kindergarten health report. On impulse, I dropped it off at Ethan's office midday. The receptionist recognized me. "Lily? Ethan's in a meeting. Sophia's office seems empty—you can wait inside?" She gestured inward. I pushed open Ethan's door. He wasn't there. Papers and blueprints cluttered his desk. My eyes locked on the corner. Two white porcelain coffee cups.
Lipstick smudged clearly on both rims—one my familiar coral pink, the other a bolder wine red. My heart skipped a beat. Beside them lay a small silver lip balm, cap off, the tube a rich berry hue. I recognized the brand—expensive. Sophia had used it at the café once. My throat tightened. The office air conditioning blasted cold, yet heat surged to my temples. I set down the flimsy report; the paper landed silently, utterly insignificant.
"Stop Imagining Things"
That evening, ironing his shirt, I couldn't resist. "I stopped by your office today with Emma's report... saw your and Sophia's cups together," I kept my tone light. "You've been having private meetings lately?" He was scrolling through industry news on his phone and frowned. "What are you implying?" His voice sharpened. "She's my partner.
Grabbing coffee to discuss work is normal. Lily," he set the phone down, weary and impatient. "The company's under huge pressure. Can't you stop imagining things at home?" Steam billowed from the iron, damp and hot on my face. My grip tightened on the collar. "Just asking," I pressed the iron down hard; steam hissed, spreading a wet stain on the fabric. He said nothing more. Only the iron's rhythmic sizzle filled the room.
NEXT >>
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