Bloody Ink A Wifes Phone Now

Alex took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mara. I’ve been distant. I didn’t realize… I thought you were okay with me working late.”

The ink, once a weapon of expression, became a mirror reflecting their mutual pain. Alex picked up the phone, gently turning it over. The ink was stubborn; it had seeped into the tiny cracks. He placed it on a towel and fetched a soft cloth, beginning to wipe away the worst of the stain. bloody ink a wifes phone

A sudden, impulsive thought snapped through her: “If he won’t notice the messages, maybe I’ll make him notice this.” The irrational part of her mind rationalized that the ink would be a visual metaphor—a splash of color to highlight the emptiness she felt. Alex took a deep breath

Alex’s fingers hovered over the phone, then slid away. “I’m busy, Mara. I’ll get to it later.” He muttered, his gaze never leaving the numbers. I didn’t realize… I thought you were okay

She unscrewed the cap, watched the ink pool into a dark puddle. In the dim light, the ink looked almost like blood—thick, glossy, unforgiving.

“Did you see the message I left you?” she asked, her voice a little sharper than usual.

“It’s not ruined beyond repair,” he said, more to himself than to Mara. “We can fix it. We can fix us, too.”