Karma hit her hard.

Christopher sat at his polished desk, the rich wood gleaming under the warm illumination. His posture was a blend of fatigue and determination, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as his fingers pressed against his brow.

The day's events hung heavy on him, and the traces of weariness were etched into his features. Subtle yawns escaped his lips, betraying the toll that the journey and emotional upheaval had taken on his energy.

Abigail's apathetic demeanor toward him had cut him deeper than he would have liked to admit. As he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts lingered on the way Abigail had reacted to his attempts to reconcile. The sharpness of her retort, the determination to distance herself—it was a side of her he rarely encountered.