The Silent Wife
I knock on the door, heart pounding like it always does when I’m about to see him.
“Come in,” Justin’s voice calls—cool, smooth, and frustratingly calm.
I take a deep breath and walk in, holding the folder tightly. “Here’s the report you requested, sir.”
He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps typing, his expression unreadable.
“You’re late,” he says without missing a beat.
I clench my jaw. “There was a delay at the printer—”
“No excuses, Joanna. Just do better next time.”
Ouch. Professional and cold. As always.
I nod, ignoring the sting in my chest. “Yes, sir.”
I turn to leave, gripping the doorknob—just one more second and I’ll be out of this weird tension-fille
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