The words whispered against her lips. And Cora didn’t move.

She waited. For Frazer.

The thought that she shouldn’t do this barely existed in Frazer’s mind anymore. She shouldn’t, sure, but she couldn’t not. Not with Cora this close, with her fingers biting into Frazer’s skin, with their breath mingling between them.

Even though she shouldn’t, even though it was wrong, Frazer closed the gap.

It was barely a movement. The gap barely existed.

Cora’s lips parted and pressed against her own. She sighed.

Or Frazer did. One of them sighed—Frazer couldn’t tell who.

Cora tasted of something forbidden, something unknown. Something that Frazer shouldn’t have on her lips. Cora’s tongue brushed hers, soft and sweet and everything. Cora’s hand fell to Frazer’s shoulders, and Frazer tangled her hands in Cora’s hair, suddenly desperate to have her closer. Fingers ran over Frazer’s chest, along her sides. They clutched at her shirt and pulled her closer.

A hum filled the air.

A slight jolt.

The elevator moved.

Cora pulled away. Cool air swirled in the space between them.

This time, Cora’s eyes were closed, and when they opened, Cora stared at her.

Frazer couldn’t read the expression. Wasn’t aware of anything except that suddenly, Cora was standing and Frazer was following suit. When the doors opened, Cora disappeared past the woman in overalls staring at them with a toolbox in hand. Cora walked away without a backwards glance and left Frazer to make an excuse to the woman who had just freed them.

* * *

What did Cora regret most?

Frazer probably thought Cora would answer “that night.” But what she really wanted to tell Frazer she regretted most? Her marriage.

But that was something too terrible to say. Those words should never be voiced. Instead, they should be locked away, put in a box, and ignored—never shown to the light.

Because Cora wasn’t someone who cheated. She wasn’t someone who had affairs. But ever so slowly, the facts were building up against her. They were stacking higher, and bit by bit, moment by moment, she was becoming that person.

That night, over cooling spaghetti and even cooler words, Alec looked at her and asked her if she liked the therapist.

“She seems nice.”

Alec gave a nod, his fork twirling. “She’s the best.”

Only ever the best. “Good.”

The pasta was like dust in her mouth. The dent on the table was covered by a table runner she’d found. It may as well have burnt a hole through it. She chewed. Sipped water. She swallowed. It sat heavily in her stomach, for something that had started so light.

“I was thinking.” Cora said. “Maybe we should have our parents over for dinner again.”