"Is that what you truly want, Shantel?"
His voice lingered in the air, and for a moment, she stood frozen—one hand on the door, the other clenched at her side.
Her back remained turned to him, but her breath hitched, just enough to betray that his question had hit deeper than he knew.
"I want to go home," she said again but in a softer tone this time.
Richard didn't press her. He merely reached for his coat, threw it over one arm, and walked past her, holding the door open and she followed without a word.
The drive to her place was quiet—way too quiet compared to their usual ride that was always filled with bickerings.
Richard's car glided down the dark streets, the city lights casting fleeting patterns across her face. He didn't speak, or even look at her but just kept his eyes on the road with hands steady on the wheel.
