And then Chloe arrived, and I learned that the rot went deeper than I had let myself imagine.

Chapter 4 — The Performance

Whenever the nurses were watching, Chloe performed grief like an actress chasing an award.

Black silk.

No lipstick.

A single perfectly timed tear, released down her cheek at exactly the right moment for whoever happened to be in the doorway.

But alone with me, when she believed the audience was gone, she became someone else entirely, and the transformation was so complete that even now I find it hard to believe I ever mistook the performance for the person.

“You should’ve signed everything over when I asked,” she hissed at me one afternoon, all the warmth stripped from her voice.