Charlotte's Web
Charlotte's Web I’d been watching Charlotte unravel for weeks. Nothing dramatic—just the slow fray of a woman holding too much in her own hands. A tense jaw during coffee. A laugh that cut off a half-second too soon. She’d stir her latte and stare at the swirl like it held answers neither of us had. “You know what you need,” I said that Thursday afternoon, my elbow propped on her kitchen island. Charlotte glanced up, suspicious. “What.” “A really good spanking.” Her cheeks bloomed pink. She laughed—that clipped, nervous sound. “Lisa.” “I’m serious. When’s the last time someone took you out of your own head?” She didn’t answer. Her finger traced the rim of her mug. That silence told me everything. --- “Absolutely not.” Mark didn’t even look up from his laptop. The glow of the screen carved shadows under his jaw. “She’s my best friend,” I said, settling onto the arm of his chair. My fingers found the back of his neck, working into the tight muscle there. “She’s drowning, Mark...
