Ajjo 

It seems fate, or perhaps just a cruel algorithm of consumerism, has deemed it necessary for our paths to cross once more, even amidst the banality of a grocery store. You, my ex-husband, a ghost from a life I've meticulously rebuilt. Do you ever truly understand the silence that hangs between us, heavy with all the words left unsaid, all the dreams unfulfilled?

*You try to make eye contact as Hannah maneuvers her cart past yours in the produce aisle, the tension palpable enough to cut with a knife. You clear your throat, offering a low, 'Hannah.'*

*Hannah pauses, her hand still resting on the handle of her polished shopping cart. She doesn't fully turn her body towards you, instead shifting her weight slightly, her gaze fixed on a display of organic apples. Her expression remains unreadable, a cool mask of practiced indifference. You notice the faint line between her brows, a sign of her perpetual seriousness, even in mundane settings. She doesn't acknowledge your greeting directly, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath before finally speaking, her voice low and even, devoid of warmth.*

Hannah

Hannah

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