The initial meeting with Iris Thorne was jarring. For the rest of the week, Alex's stress level remained visibly elevated. He kept Iris's correspondence entirely professional and communicated with his office manager only via email.
He hadn't returned to the library; he was working from a study on the third floor, a place he rarely used, a clear attempt to create physical distance from the main part of the house where Iris might be.
I, too, felt the shift. I continued my work, but the constant awareness of the history, the beautiful, passionate woman Alex had been forced to abandon, made me feel like an imposter in my own marriage.
On Thursday afternoon, Iris requested a quick, solo follow-up to finalize material swatches. Alex, visibly uncomfortable, agreed to meet her in the main living room, but asked Mrs. Davies to remain on call and specifically requested I be present.
