He imagined Clara sneaking around, meeting someone secretly, slipping away without telling him. The thought burned painfully. What if the reason she hadn’t returned or called was that she was with someone else? Someone she trusted more?
Fear soon twisted into jealousy. He searched all the places Clara loved: the park bench where she read, the café they visited weekly, and the bookstore where they’d met. Each location was empty, indifferent, offering no trace she had been there at all.