Emma:
The walk to the humanities building was the longest of my life. Cornelius’s arm was a solid, unfamiliar weight, a constant reminder of the lie I was living. Every step was a betrayal, every glance from a passing student a potential accusation. He was a good actor, I’d give him that. He didn’t chatter or try to fill the silence. He just walked, his presence a steady, unwavering shield. It was exactly what I’d asked for, and it was suffocating.
We reached the heavy oak doors of the building, and I instinctively pulled away, my hand falling from his arm. “This is me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. “Boundaries,” he reminded me gently. “Right. I have office hours. I’ll see you at the department meeting.”
“Right.” I gave him
