Clara
By the time we reached the estate, the story had already multiplied across a dozen outlets, each one running some variation of the same cropped photograph, the same breathless speculation about old sparks and lingering handshakes. I sat in the back of the car scrolling through headline after headline, my stomach twisting tighter with each one, while Sebastian sat beside me scrolling through his own phone with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"I'm so sorry," I said finally, unable to bear the silence any longer. "I don't know what happened in that moment. I wasn't trying to—"
"Clara." Sebastian's voice was gentle, cutting off my spiraling apology before it could gather more momentum. "Stop. You don't owe me an apology for a handshake photograph taken out of context by people wh
