The idyll in Emily's life couldn't last, and she knew it, but she didn't realize that this hurricane would blow everything she knew and loved into the air so soon.

As soon as Emily and Sebastian arrived at work together, which they rarely did, Mina, Emily's assistant, now in her former position since Sebastian had promoted Emily, notified them that one of the paintings was missing. Unfortunately for Emily, it was the "Moonlight Bridge" painting. She often imagined that when she and Sebastian were married, the painting would be the centerpiece of their home, a reminder that they had made it past the millimeter. 

Late evening enveloped the gallery in a soft twilight. After closing time, the staff had long since dispersed, and only the lamps above the exhibits continued to flicker with warm light, casting elongated shadows on the floor. Emily and Sebastian were alone. He stood at the window with a glass of red wine, staring tensely at the deserted street. She was at the booth where the missing painting used to hang, her hands clenched into fists and her voice shaking with restrained emotion.

- You don't even want to discuss it? - she asked, breaking the silence. - We're losing something important, and you're silent, as if it doesn't concern you.

Sebastian turned around, a flicker of irritation in his gaze, but he hid it behind his usual mask of calm.

- I'll handle it. It's under control.

Emily took a step forward, her voice firmer.

- No, Sebastian. It's not just "under control." It's us. It's about us! I'm not asking for an account, I'm asking for honesty. I think you're hiding something, and that's the worst of it.

- You don't understand," he cut off, looking away. - Some things are not for strangers' ears!

The word "outsiders" hit harder than the scream.

- Strangers...? - she whispered. - After everything that had happened between us?

A heavy pause hung in the air. Somewhere in the depths of the gallery, the thermostat clicked, but the silence between them sounded louder than any alarm. Sebastian didn't answer. He simply set his glass on the windowsill and walked slowly away without looking at her.

Emily remained standing, unable to move. All the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. Something about him was foreign in that moment-cold, closed off, unreachable.

From then on, a silent, painful coldness had settled between them. No shouting, no explanations-just detached glances, unspoken words, and that one millimeter, like the one in their favorite painting, that was turning more and more into an abyss.