The hallway outside Professor Elias Hawthorne’s office was dim and quiet, the kind of late-evening silence that only existed in the graduate wing of the humanities building after nine p.m. Most students had gone home hours ago. Sophia lingered at the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her wedding ring felt heavier than usual tonight.
She was twenty-eight, married for four years to a man who loved her but never quite saw her anymore. Tonight she told him she had to stay late for office hours. A necessary lie.
Professor Hawthorne had emailed her earlier that day: Come by at 8:30. We’ll go over your thesis chapter in detail. The message was professional. The way his eyes had lingered on her during seminar last week was anything but.
Sophia knocked twice.
“Enter.” His voice was de
