Cathleen traced the condensation on her water glass; the cold droplets were a contrast to the warmth that the first week had promised. A month at Xavier's vacation house—a gleaming fortress of solitude—and the walls between them only thickened. The staff bustled in the kitchen, their efficiency a silent reminder of Xavier's decision to put space where there might have been conversation, companionship, or something more.
"Your lunch, Mrs. Knight," the chef announced, placing a meticulously arranged salad before her.
She offered a tight-lipped smile, her gratitude genuine, if not for the food, then for the presence of another human being. "Thank you."
The chair opposite her remained empty, as it had for the past three weeks. Xavier's absence loomed larger than his brooding figure ever cou
