Sticky

The late afternoon sunlight pierced through Genevieve’s thin curtains, dust motes swirling like ghosts in the stale air. Her apartment was nothing like the penthouse she once shared with Nicholas. There were no marble floors or gleaming chandeliers. Just peeling wallpaper, a cracked mirror, and a half-empty wine glass on the floor beside the couch.

Genevieve stared at her reflection in that mirror, tracing the faint lines around her eyes. Therapy, she thought bitterly. They said it would help.

The court had ordered it after the divorce hearings. She’s entitled to weekly sessions and mandatory progress reports. They called it emotional rehabilitation, but she called it punishment.

Her therapist, Dr. Brant, kept using phrases like "closure" and "self-accountability." Genevieve would nod, smile, and pretend she cared. But every word slid right off her, because she didn’t want to close anything. She didn’t want to heal. She wanted Nicholas back at all costs.

He was the only man who had ev