She enters the women’s restroom and leans against the black stone sink, closing her eyes tightly. Seraphina takes a few deep breaths, as if she had suddenly lost her sense of direction.
She turns on the faucet and lets the cold water run over her trembling wrists, trying to calm her racing pulse.
Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open.
Maeve Donnelly appears in the mirror, her bohemian beauty masked by a sharp expression. She’s wearing a maroon suit, and her dark hair is pulled back in a careless bun.
Maeve closes the door with deliberate slowness.
“I didn’t know the board of directors was so interested in street photography, Mrs. Chapman,” she remarks with disdain.
Seraphina keeps her hands resting on the marble without turning around.
“Am I not allowed to be interested in art?” Seraphina replies.
“Lying doesn’t suit you at all. You knew Nerissa would be here.”
Maeve walks slowly over to stand beside her, facing the mirror.
“Whether I knew it or not is none of your business, Maeve.”
The photographer lets out a humorless smile.
“It’s my business because I’m the one who picks up the pieces of Nerissa every time you decide to play the perfect wife again.”
Seraphina presses her lips together and remains silent for a few seconds, feeling the weight of her own decisions on her shoulders.
“You don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on between us,” Seraphina snaps.
“Of course I do,” Maeve replies, crossing her arms. “Because I’m the one who knows how she comes home after suffering another rejection. I know how she stopped eating when you decided not to fight for her. I know how I’ve found her staring at her phone as if you were going to appear and save her life.”
Seraphina swallows hard.
“I never meant to hurt her.”
“And yet you do it to her constantly,” Maeve asserts. “Manchester is full of rich women who are bored in their country homes and seek clandestine thrills to feel alive. But Nerissa isn’t entertainment for your fucking existential crises.”
Seraphina forces herself to hold her gaze as she opens her mouth, incredulous.
“What I feel for her isn’t a game.”
“Well, prove it,” Maeve insists, taking a step closer. “Because from the outside, it looks like you only love her when you can keep her hidden.”
Seraphina feels the heat of shame rising up her neck.
“It’s not that simple,” she whispers.
“Of course not. You have children. And a husband who seems to truly love you. A wonderful life built on status, stability, and money. I get it.” Maeve watches her, unflinching. “But Nerissa has a life, too. And you’re tearing hers apart while you expect her to settle for the crumbs.”
Seraphina looks away toward the mirror and, for a second, sees herself exactly as she feels: exhausted, scared, and terribly alone.
Maeve barely softens her expression.
“She’s head over heels in love with you. And it pisses me off how much you’re hurting her.”
“I’m in love with her, too,” Seraphina confesses.
But Maeve shakes her head.
