Ethan
I woke up with the uncomfortable feeling of having slept in a bed that did not belong to me.
The mattress was firm, the sheets too neat, without the familiar smell that Clara had left for years in our room. I blinked, confused, staring at the white ceiling of the guest room. For a moment I thought that I had drunk too much at the event, that perhaps I had decided to sleep here so as not to wake her up when I returned late.
Then the memories returned, slowly, like fragments of a poorly edited film.
The suitcases, her firm voice. The word I never thought I would hear from her lips.
Divorce...
I sat up abruptly, running a hand through my hair. My head felt heavy, but not because of the alcohol or stress about yesterday, but because of disbelief. Clara never did scenes. Clara never
