I stood near the breakfast table, still in my robe. My fingers loosely wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Scott was already dressed. He stood by the window, looking out toward the gardens. He was supposed to leave for the office. I had already watched his driver pull the car around half an hour ago. But Scott hadn’t moved. 

When I finally found my voice, I said softly, “Aren’t you going to be late?” 

He turned slightly. His eyes met mine. “I’m ...