Lariette sat alone in a restaurant's private dining room. She clasped her hands weakly on her lap, shivering against the linen tablecloth. The cup of tea before her had gone cold, staying untouched.
Her eyes, once bright with anticipation just an hour ago, had now lost their luster. She stared blankly at the empty chair across from her, the same one where Mr. Eastwood had sat not long ago.
"...hic... hic!"
Lariette's throat burned from holding back the sobs, but tears still escaped from her reddened eyes, casting silent trails against her cheeks.
As she tightened her hands into fists, she felt the dull ache of her nails digging into her palms.
The air in the room was suffocating, heavy with the weight of everything he had just told her. As if she was strangled by an invisible force, she gasped for air, her chest heaving.
Ring! Ring!
