Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

my hands under the edge of the desk, pressing my fingertips into my palms so he would not see the ragged edges of my nails. My eyes kept drifting toward the window, the late August sunlight feeling almost too bright to look at.

Robert leaned forward, his gold ring catching the light as he tapped the paper again.

“You look exhausted,continue reading …