The Silhouette of Us
Clara whispered, her voice a low, melodic murmur that barely carried in the quiet room.
"I'm not analyzing, Clara. I'm appreciating," Jillian said, the low baritone voice carrying a raw, gravelly gravity. Jillian’s hands came up, steady and large, wrapping securely around Clara's waist to pull her flush against the chest. "For a year, I kept waiting for the servers to blink. For a lawyer to call. For a ledger entry to show a deficit. But there is nothing left to balance."