DOMENICO

The lobby was too bright.

The lights overhead were harsh, unforgiving white and sterile, like a hospital corridor. Every polished surface reflected too much: marble floors, glass walls, chrome edges. There was nowhere for shadows to hide, nowhere for me to tuck the things I had just said, the things I had admitted without trying to soften them.

The concierge looked up when we stepped inside.

Then he looked away just as quickly.

He had seen that look before. On men who walked in whole and left fractured. On women who were not crying yet but would be the moment they were alone. On couples who did not touch...