Clara
I tried to work, I really did… But it was impossible.
The magazines were still open on my desk, the gifts kept arriving, the flowers kept perfuming the office. And yet… My attention kept returning to that same damn box.
I don't know why, but for a moment I felt a pang of fear, a fear that something else would arrive, something that would make me feel bad.
All because of that box… I watched it from across the office, closed, silent, harmless.
And yet I felt like it had managed to destroy all the peace I had brought with me from Boston.
I sighed, trying to concentrate on some reports, but it didn't work. I reread the same paragraph three times, without understanding a single word.
My mind was still trapped in those photographs, those clippings, those images of a life I couldn't
