Franci
The penthouse was a tomb. Silent, dark, and suffocatingly empty. It was exactly as I'd left it, but the air was stale with the ghost of her. I didn't turn on the lights. I walked through the darkness to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared out at the city. Across the street, the lights of the gallery had been extinguished.
/1/116098/coverbig.jpg?v=ab66ff2b71260387a23f1727c5359e7e&imageMogr2/format/webp)