Eight Years Of Shredding Her Lies

Summary

I’ve shredded seven of Elena’s passports.

Every time she booked a flight to Vancouver, I would find the blue booklet the night before and feed it into the cross-cut shredder in my home office. Seven years. Seven expedited replacements.

On the eighth time, she just sat there on the velvet sofa, watching me grip the shears. She didn’t move. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me with a hollow, terrifying pity and said, "You know why I have to go."

Of course, I knew. Her "One Who Got Away" was in Vancouver. Oliver.