She sat stiffly, her hands clutched around a mug of tea as if drawing warmth from it. For a long moment, she didn't speak, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her cup.
"I'm sorry, Etienne. It's just... it's not a very happy story. I wouldn't want to ruin your dinner with the complaints of a tired woman," said Helen.
"I've seen enough of the world to know that the best stories are rarely happy ones. Sometimes, sharing the weight makes it easier to carry. I'm a good listener," said Ethan.
He spoke with a gentle, disarming gravity. He looked like the perfect confidant—attentive, non-judgmental, and entirely safe. Helen looked at him, searching his amethyst eyes for any sign of mockery, but she found only a calm, steady interest. She let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders finally dropping.
