"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. I can imagine it very well, Sir. That's right. Thank you again, Sir. Have a good evening."

Abigail hung up and was suddenly seized by doubt. Had she made the right choice in passing on what Carmen had told her to her superior? He had been quite annoyed to be disturbed at this hour of the night, but he had still listened to her and assured her that he would pass on the information. Now, it was out of her hands. Ironically, it had been one of the main points of the discussion: she did not have the necessary rank to participate in the investigation. Since Carmen's call, she had not managed to fall back asleep and had started collecting all possible information about a certain Staan Fleruci. Unfortunately, her position in law enforcement had not helped her much as the man seemed not to exist at all. No social media accounts, no listing in the directory, no mention in any registry... At this stage, he seemed more like a ghost. Nevertheless, she had wanted to pass on what little she had found to her superior, just in case.

Now relieved of the call, she took the opportunity to tidy up the mess from her phone search. Without sorting anything, letters and magazines were back on the table, and then she went to get something to sweep up the porcelain pieces. In a bitter allegory, the ashtray that her former partner had given her, displaying an engraving of their initials, had broken in its center, splitting the heart in two and definitively separating them. As she threw the debris into the trash, her gaze shifted to a frame hanging on the wall, where two women embraced with big smiles. The photo taken when Abigail celebrated her twentieth birthday showed her and her sister both so happy that no one could have guessed the events of the weeks following the snapshot. With a smile, she addressed the wooden frame, joking about the symbolism of the broken gift.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Abigail had started talking to the photo after her sister's death to help her grieve. Well aware that she was only conversing with a glossy piece of paper, she obviously did not expect a response, but it gave her the feeling of maintaining the bond that connected them. Years had passed, and the need had become a habit. Often, she missed her sister, who had always been her ally and adviser. With the workload of the previous weeks and her recent reflections on a possible resignation, Abigail felt the absence of her presence more than ever since her death. So, a meager consolation, she confided her frustration, sorrow, and the loss of interest in her job to her. Sharing her problems lightened her heart, relaxed her to the point of making her yawn. Then, with a final wink, Abigail wished a good night to the face of the deceased and went to bed.