between his toes. Now, that memory was sitting on a stranger’s desk between a stapler and a pencil cup.
The woman standing beside me was Maya, my new project assistant. She was younger than me, with warm eyes, flawless makeup, and an effortless smile that suggested she had never known a day of true grief in her life.
The worst part was how innocent she looked. She wasn’t hiding anything. She wasn’t shifting nervously or avoiding my gaze. She reached for the frame with a tenderness that made my stomach
