The Probability Shift

Losing it all

This second invitation had come out of the blue, merely a week after the first one, and had taken Kevin aback. Too much of a social life for him all of a sudden. He hurried out of the taxi. He was late and the festivities had started. His usual attire replaced by an ill-fitting tuxedo that Vanessa had picked out for him, he climbed the large stairs inside the venue. Glittering gowns and sharp suits flooded the grand ballroom while laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. Candelabras cast from the walls a warm, golden glow over the elegantly decorated space. He scanned the room for Vanessa, feeling a pang of guilt for having spent too much time on last-minute adjustments to their model. They should have come together, he saw that now, but couldn't while he obsessed deep in his calculations two hours ago.

As he made his way through the crowd, Kevin felt the usual unease of overpopulated areas dawn on him. The laughter seemed strained, the conversations hushed. People whispered behind their hands, their eyes darting nervously towards him, or so he felt anyway. Too many people, his agoraphobia was setting in, and where was Vanessa and her calming aura? His heart began to race as he pushed through the throng of guests, a growing sense of dread clawing at his insides.

"Excuse me," he muttered, brushing past a woman in a sequined dress who shot him an annoyed glance.

He reached the edge of the crowd, ready to gasp for much needed air from the deserted balcony, and froze, his breath catching in his throat. There, on the balcony's marble floor, lay Vanessa. Her once vibrant blue eyes stared lifelessly at the windows top, her elegant dress stained with dark crimson. A pool of blood spread beneath her, stark against the white marble.

Kevin's legs buckled as he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside her. The room seemed to close in behind him, the noise fading into a distant hum in contrast to the screams and agitation now raging in the ballroom. He reached out with trembling hands to touch her face, willing her to respond, but there was no sign of life.

"Vanessa..." His voice broke as he choked back a sob.

The onlookers recoiled slightly at his raw display of emotion. For Kevin, social norms and proprieties meant nothing now—his world had been shattered in an instant. He cradled Vanessa's head in his hands, rocking back and forth as tears streamed down his face.

"Call an ambulance!" someone shouted from behind him, but Kevin knew it was too late. The cold truth stared back at him through her unblinking eyes.

A security guard approached cautiously, placing a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Sir, we need to move you away from here."

Kevin shook his head violently. "No! I can't leave her!"

The guard hesitated before stepping back to give Kevin space. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people exchanged shocked glances and whispered theories about what had happened.

In those agonizing moments, Kevin's mind raced through memories—her laughter echoing in their apartment as they cooked together; her comforting presence beside him during late-night research sessions; her unwavering support when he doubted himself. All those moments felt like fleeting shadows now.

He clung to Vanessa's body until another figure approached—a detective who knelt beside him with professional detachment.

"Mr. Craft?" The detective's voice sounded calm but firm.

Kevin looked up through tear-blurred eyes and nodded numbly.

"We need you to step aside so we can investigate," the policeman continued gently but insistently.

Reluctantly, Kevin released his grip on Vanessa and allowed another officer to guide him away from the scene. He felt hollow inside—as if part of him had been ripped away and left bleeding on that cold balcony floor.

The detective surveyed the scene with methodical precision while paramedics arrived to confirm what everyone already knew: Vanessa was gone.

Kevin stood at a distance, his hands and shirt stained with drying blood. He was watching helplessly as they covered her body with a gray sheet—a finality that crushed whatever hope he might have clung to. His mind struggled to process what had happened; it felt surreal like he was trapped in some horrific nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.

As guests continued murmuring among themselves—some expressing shock while others speculated about motives—Kevin remained rooted in place like a statue carved from grief itself. He barely registered when another officer approached him again with questions around their relationship or potential enemies they might have had; all he could think about; was how empty life would be without Vanessa by his side.

In that moment of unbearable loss and confusion, one thing became clear: nothing would ever be the same for Kevin Craft—the man who had lost not just his wife but also his anchor in this chaotic world, his cipher in this incomprehensible society.