"I... am here..." Elaine replied hesitantly, voice softer than its usual forged steel rasp, staying rooted firm in the chair like ancient oak weathering a gale, her broad frame unyielding despite the flicker of raw hurt flashing quick in those eyes.
"For me?" I asked sharp and probing, good eye narrowing sceptical through the persistent healing haze, searching her face minutely for the lie.
The polished political mask she'd worn ironclad since our wedding vows bound us in golden chains neither craved nor chose.
"Yes," she said simple and stark, holding my gaze steady unbreaking, no evasion or artifice now, just raw, stripped honesty that unnerved me deeper than her cruellest barbs ever had, peeling back layers I wasn't ready to face.
"You don't have to," I pressed blunt and weary, turning my face fully to the carved bedpost now—a snarling griffin frozen mid-roar in rich mahogany grain—to hide the stinging bloom behind my ribs, deeper and fiercer than any arena bruise.
