"Nick… please help me. My zip's stuck again," Kate called from inside her dressing room, her voice slightly desperate.
This was the thirtieth dress she had tried on that morning, and none seemed to sit right. It wasn't her figure — her body was still toned, slim, almost runway-perfect. But somehow, nothing hugged the way she wanted. The frustration clung to her more tightly than the fabric itself. She signed, stepped out of the dress,and tossed it on the growing pile of rejected outfits.
Nick said nothing.
He stood by the large floor-to-ceiling window in their master bedroom, a glass of untouched espresso cooling in his hand. Fully dressed in a charcoal-grey three-piece suit with subtle silver pinstripes, his eyes were locked on the skyline, but his mind was far away. The anonymous message from the night before still echoed in his thoughts.
His silence lingered.
