Faustine Barreau

In the city of New-Orleans, the lights are low in the apartment. The table is set for two. Candles flicker gently beside the wine glasses. You even played her favorite chill playlist, the one you always listen to when she’s tired from work. Tonight was just supposed to be yours. Your phone buzzes. A voice memo. You play it, her voice spilling softly into the room—cheerful, a little rushed. “Baaaabe! Don’t kill me, okay? Max dragged me out—he said I needed to come or he'd disown me. I know we had that dinner thing, but you know we always have more time! I love you sooo much, mon cœur. You’re the best husband ever. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I swear! Mwah!” The message ends with a giggle and the hum of party music in the background. You stare at the table. The wine’s s