"Are there any weapons in the office?"
"No."
"Anyone else involved?"
"No."
The questions continue to come methodically, stripped of judgment and emotion. Dates. Titles. Professional relationship. Termination of care. All of it gets unwrapped until my entire relationship with Blue is no longer protected.
I answer each one carefully, choosing language that places the weight squarely on my shoulders.
Shirley stays silent behind her desk, hands clasped tightly.
The older officer watches my face as I speak, not interrupting, letting the details accumulate. When I finish, he closes the notebook. He says, "You've been cooperative. That matters."
I don't respond.
He shifts his stance. "At this point, we're going to ask you to accompany us downtown to provide a formal statement."
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down and nod.
The younger officer glances at his partner, then back at me. "For everyone's safety, we're going to place you in cuffs during transport."
Panic tightens in my chest. I choke out, "I understand."
Shirley inhales sharply. "Is that necessary?"
The older officer looks at her. "Procedure."
I turn slightly, offering my wrists without being asked. Cold metal closes around them, heavy and restricting. They click into place, and my stomach spins faster.
The younger officer steps forward. "You can gather personal items if you need to."
"I don't. My wallet is in my pocket."
They guide me toward the door, and I catch my reflection in the glass wall of the office. The man staring back looks intact. Professional. Unbroken. I wonder how long that illusion will last, and all the years I thought I'd never lose my ethical high ground mock me.
We move through the hallway. Doors crack open. Faces appear, then vanish. Whispers trail behind us, too soft to decipher, and sharp enough to cut anyway.
The elevator ride is silent.
When the doors open to the lobby, my heart drops.
Blue stands near the reception desk, a small paper bag clutched to her chest, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She's smiling, already stepping toward me. Her gaze drops to my wrists, and her beautiful smile collapses.
"Red?" she says, confusion snapping into panic.
The officers tighten their grip, steering me forward.
"Go home," I order.
"Red? What's going on? Why do you have him in cuffs?" she shrieks.
"Ma'am, step away," the younger officer advises.
The security officer swings the door open to the street, and sunlight floods in, cruel and indifferent. I step outside, and Blue follows as the moment fractures into something none of us can put back together.
She drops the bag. The sound shouldn't be loud, but it lands in my chest like an impact, with paper tearing, and cookies scattering across the concrete. And I see it all in fragments—the way one rolls and bumps into my shoe, the absurdity of it, the normalcy of something baked with care breaking apart on the ground of my ruined life.
