Mag-log inEvelyn He reached for the fork. His hand shook slightly. He took a bite, chewed slowly, like he’d forgotten how. Swallowed. Took another bite. He looked so distant like his mind was completely somewhere else. He got through maybe half before he stopped, set the fork down, pushed the plate away slightly.Then he looked up at me. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there but real. “Thank you,” he said quietly. I nodded and sat down beside him again. We didn’t talk. The house settled around us, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the tick of a clock somewhere I couldn’t see. The photos of his mother watched from every wall, her smile frozen in time, forever young in some, forever proud in others. I found myself staring at him. At the way the dim light caught the edges of his tattoos. The bird across his ribs, wings spread mid-flight. The words in script wrapping his collarbone, something in Spanish I couldn’t quite read. The line
Evelyn Days passed and I hadn’t heard from Theo. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a glimpse of him at the campaign office when I’d stopped by to drop off documents Alfred had forgotten. It was unusual. He’d been present at every meeting, every event, every strategy session since he’d started. Always, efficient, always there with his clipboard and that focused attention . Now he was just gone. At first, I told myself it didn’t matter. That I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. That whatever had flickered between us at Clara’s birthday party was nothing, a moment of weakness I needed to forget. But the silence gnawed at me anyway. Made me check my phone more than I should have. Made me wonder. I was trying to avoid him and stopped taking his calls and text thinking that way, whatever spark between us would die down before we could resume working together again. I tried calling him on the third day. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Then went to voicemail. I didn’t leave
Evelyn I was married to Alfred for twenty-two years, and I had never seen him walk through that door the way he did that day. He came in looking tired. Worn out. Exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that settles into a man’s bones and shows in the slump of his shoulders, the way his tie hung loose around his neck, the lines deepening around his eyes. And for a second, I felt this sharp jolt of satisfaction knowing I was finally making him feel a fraction of the heat and pain he’d made me feel all those years. But then some part of me twisted with regret, with pity even, watching him drag himself through the door like a man who’d already lost. It was pathetic, really. How quickly satisfaction could curdle into something uglier. He came home earlier than expected, which was strange. With everything going on, the scandal still bleeding across every news outlet, donors pulling out, his campaign hemorrhaging support by the hour, I’d expected him to stay out longer. Dealing with meetin
The campaign office was chaos. Alfred stood in the center of the room, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, phone pressed to his ear while three different staffers tried to talk to him at once. Papers scattered across the conference table. Laptops open everywhere. Everyone moving too fast, talking too loud, the panic spreading through the room faster than anyone could contain it. Lawson paced near the window, his own phone glued to his ear, his free hand gesturing wildly as he barked orders at someone on the other end. When he hung up, he turned to Alfred with a look that could’ve stripped paint. “I can’t believe you let yourself get caught like this,” Lawson said. Alfred shot him a look. “I didn’t let myself get caught. I was set up.” “Set up or not, you were in bed with her. You were naked. You were smiling. The photos don’t lie, Alfred.” “The photos are out of context.” “There is no context that makes this okay!” Lawson’s voice rose, cutting through the noise in the room. Everyo
EvelynI woke up to screaming.Nathan’s voice, loud and raw, cutting through the walls from downstairs. I sat up, disoriented, trying to place what was happening. The clock on the nightstand read 7:43 a.m. Alfred’s side of the bed was already empty, the sheets thrown back in a hurry.More screaming. Angrier now. Words I couldn’t quite make out but the tone was unmistakable. Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.I got out of bed and pulled on a robe, my pulse already picking up before I even knew what was wrong. My feet hit the cold floor and I moved quickly toward the door, tying the robe around my waist as I went.When I got to the top of the stairs, I could make out the words.“How could you do this? How could you be this fucking stupid?”Alfred’s voice, quieter, trying to calm him down. “Nathan, listen to me…”“No! I’m done listening to you!”I walked down the stairs and found them in the living room. Nathan standing in the middle of the room, his phone clutched in his hand, his face red w
Evelyn The pool water was cold against my skin but I didn’t care. It was past noon and the sun was brutal, beating down on the estate with the kind of heat that made everything feel slower, heavier, the air thick enough to choke on. I floated on my back, eyes closed, letting the water hold me while my mind ran circles around itself, looping through the same thoughts over and over until they blurred together into something that felt less like thinking and more like drowning. My phone buzzed on the lounge chair beside the pool. I pulled myself out of the water, dripping wet, my skin immediately prickling in the heat, and grabbed the towel I’d left folded on the chair. The phone was still buzzing. Unknown number. I wrapped the towel around myself and answered. “Hello?” “It’s done.” Diana’s voice. Breathless. Excited. The kind of excitement that came from doing something dangerous and getting away with







