31 days of pretend

The scent of expensive coffee mingled with the faint, sharp tang of anxiety in Mandy Lawrence's opulent New York apartment. For three years, this vast, luxurious space had been her sanctuary and her gilded cage. On her desk, a framed wedding photo sat, capturing a moment of forced smiles and a dream she alone held. It was a cruel irony that the man beside her in the picture, Greg, now the very subject of her restless thoughts, was on his way here. A sudden, jarring ring of the doorbell shattered the quiet, each chime echoing the frantic beat of her own heart. Greg was here. Her stomach churned, a knot of dread and a flicker of desperate hope tightening within her. She moved towards the door, her reflection in the polished marble floor showing a woman outwardly composed, inwardly trembling.