He was late. Or maybe he was exactly on time to watch her leave. Then, the doors swung open.
A single tear tracked through Clara’s makeup. The entertainment of the world, the bright lights, and the grand dramas of the stage behind them paled in comparison to the quiet, heartbreaking truth hanging in the air.
Clara stepped out, pulling a crimson wool scarf tight around her neck. She stopped when she saw him. For a long, agonizing beat, the city's ambient noise—the screech of taxi brakes, the distant chatter of theatergoers, the hum of the electronic billboards—faded into nothing. There was only the sound of their breathing and the heavy space between them.
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