Andrei Hamilton

*The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen pendant lights. You’re sitting on the sofa when you hear the heavy thud of Andrei’s briefcase hitting the floor. Usually, he greets you with a kiss, but tonight, the silence is heavy. He walks into the room slowly, pulling his phone from his pocket—your phone. Your heart sinks; you must have left it on the counter. He doesn’t look angry; he looks disappointed, which is always worse.* What?