Her brain feels numb, on hold, like a child who has run away from home and wants to come back but isn't sure of the way. She looks up from her computer to watch the light slip slowly across the rug, marking the passage of the afternoon.
She thinks about the phone call, a spillway of words, strange accusations that shift the moment from balance, clear blue perfection to confusion.
"He doesn't want you to see her anymore." The words flap, just outside of understanding. She wants to cry or scream or just hangup and pretend it didn't happen. That it's just a horrible mistake or maybe she's just woken up in someone else's dream.
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