Chapter 3

I told the driver the address, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. The ride home was a blur. When I pushed open the door to my apartment, a soft melody drifted from the living room.

Fannie was there, curled on my sofa, humming along to a song on the smart speaker. My apartment. My sofa. And in her hands, carefully cradled, was the ceramic mug I' d painstakingly painted for Aidan years ago. The one I' d kept in a locked cabinet, only bringing it out on his birthday.

She was sipping from it, a smudge of chocolate on her cheek, a faint trail of whipped cream on her chin. My heart seized in my chest, a cold, hard knot.

Karson was leaning over her, gently wiping the chocolate from her face with his thumb. Their heads were close, a picture of domestic bliss that screamed betrayal.

I simply put my bag down, the soft thump echoing in the sudden silence.

Then, I walked over, snatched the mug from her hand, and hurled it against the opposite wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering ceramic shards and leftover hot chocolate across the pristine white paint.

Fannie shrieked, scrambling behind Karson like a terrified child. Her eyes, wide and innocent, filled with tears.

Karson' s face darkened. "Clare! What the hell was that for?" he demanded, his voice laced with venom. "Are you crazy? She didn't do anything!"

"She's just a child, Clare!" he shouted, stepping between us, shielding Fannie with his body. "She hasn't eaten all day. I just brought her home because she had nowhere else to go!"

He waved a dismissive hand at the broken pieces. "And for this? A stupid, old mug? What does it matter?"

Fannie peeked out from behind him, her voice trembling. "I-I'm so sorry, Clare. I didn't know it was... special. I just saw it and thought it looked pretty. I can buy you another one. I promise!"

She then stumbled past Karson, snatching up her small backpack. "I-I'll go now," she whimpered, and then she was out the door, disappearing into the heavy rain that had just begun to fall. A dramatic exit. A perfect performance.

Karson glared at me, his face a mask of furious disappointment. "Are you happy now?" he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "She' s allergic to alcohol, and you just sent her out into that storm, upset and alone!"

He stalked towards the door, not even glancing back at me, not noticing the trembling in my hands, or the way my chest was suddenly tight with a familiar, suffocating pain. He just slammed the door shut, leaving me standing amidst the wreckage.

I walked over to the broken pieces of the mug, a single, larger shard containing the last remnants of the hot chocolate. I picked it up, ignoring the sharp edges, and brought it to my lips. It was cold, bitter.

I called the cleaning service. They' d be here in an hour.

Then, I walked to my bedroom, the silence of the apartment heavy around me, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.