Rachel opened the door and was met by nothing but the distant sound of traffic from far below. She put her bag by the front door, then unzipped her chest, unclipped the arteries, capillaries, and veins before dumping her heart on the side table.
She walked straight for the kitchen, poured herself a large glass of wine, then downed half of it and refilled the glass. Next, she took out her phone and checked for messages from Steve. She didn’t really expect to see anything from him, but after the day she’d had, she’d hoped.
It had been a brutal day in the office, with clients demanding more than she could deliver in the time frame they’d given her. Instead of helping, her colleagues had thrown her under the bus and smiled about it. So, she slouched into the sofa, turned on the television and buried herself in escapist trash.
Half a bottle later she was drowsy and had almost managed to forget about the torture that would be the next few weeks, when she heard a sound from the front door. Cautiously, she rose from the sofa and padded to the front door.
Standing in the hallway was Steve, ‘I got the earlier flight,’ he beamed – his chest cracked open, his heart in his hands and hers now beating away in its place.