POV: Chase
The scratches heal within a week but the damage to our carefully constructed domestic bliss doesn't heal at all, just festers beneath surface civility until the inevitable explosion happens exactly two weeks after France, exactly when we're both pretending everything is manageable despite evidence to the contrary.
It starts with Vivian's new film role. Philippe's sequel, the one my investment made possible, the one that was supposed to prove blacklist didn't destroy her career permanently. She's been reading the revised script for days, making notes, preparing for production that starts next month.
"The character is too close to reality," she says one evening while we're maintaining careful distance in the living room, both working separately but in shared space. "Philippe wrote me as myself. The actress who destroyed a wedding. The woman contaminated by loving cursed man. The villain who chose proximity over safety. It's transparent."
