Sad. Upset. Heartbroken. Betrayed.

Everyone of those emotions filtering through him. He thought they knew each other; he had wanted to get to know her. Everything about her. They had been talking in and outside of work for months and months and she couldn't even be honest about her age with him.

He found himself trying to make sense of his recent discovery. But in all honesty, he was struggling. They weren't together, not in any official sense, but his feelings for her had deepened in ways he hadn't anticipated. The warmth of their conversations, the playful banter, the subtle glances that felt charged with potential—all of it now seemed tinged with doubt. His mind kept going back to one thought; who was she?

Her deception lay like a shadow over everything he had begun to feel. It was a small detail, he reminded himself, yet it seemed to ripple out, distorting the way he viewed their moments together.

On one hand, he wanted to dismiss it as insignificant, chalk it up to the complexities of adult relationships. After all, they were both navigating uncharted waters, and perhaps she had her reasons for needing to present herself in a younger light. Maybe it was a protective instinct, a way to keep walls up around a tender heart. But that didn't stop the doubts creeping in.

At work, his mind would wander, floating between the mundane tasks at hand and the moments they had shared. He wondered if any of them were real.

The way she had spoken about her childhood, how her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions, all of that felt so real. Yet, there was an underlying hesitation, a nagging voice that whispered, "What else is she lying about?" He found himself constantly thinking about her, wanting to reach out, to reconnect, but held back by a swirl of confusion. He manifested that confusion by avoidance.

As he sat at his desk, the world around him faded into a blur, and his mind began flickering with the memories and moments they had shared. Each recollection played out vividly before him, a montage of laughter and light in stark contrast to the uncertainty that clouded his thoughts. He tried to make sense of everything, to find a thread that connected those fleeting yet profound interactions to the reality of who she was and what she meant to him.

He was transported to the first time he met her. He remembered the navy blue suit he wore that day—an attempt to please Diana, who had insisted he ditch the constant black attire that had become his comfort zone after Pauline.

"Your constant sulking is bringing down the office morale," she had chided, and so he opted for a lighter look, hoping it would show a brighter side of himself. It was during lunch, feeling slightly out of place in his new ensemble, when he spotted her across the room, absorbed in *Look Homeward, Angel.* A thought crossed his mind—"Who reads that during lunch?" The question lingered, teasing him with its absurdity, and he couldn't help but smile at the memory.

Of course, Liza does.

Watching her lose herself in the pages, a world of fiction enveloping her, he felt a strange mix of curiosity and admiration. There was something enchanting about her, an allure that transcended mere appearance. It was as if she held a secret, one that beckoned him closer, drawing him into the narrative she so loved. That moment, so seemingly ordinary, felt like the first brushstroke of a painting he had yet to finish.

"Hi, I'm Liza, Diana's new assistant."

She shook his hand and smiled.

It was that moment, as their hands touched, he felt an unexpected spark—a connection that hinted at that this could be more than just a professional relationship. But she lied. She shouldn't have been an assistant.

It wasn't long before his mind drifted to the first time she babysat for him.

Diana had suggested that Liza step in when his regular sitter canceled at the last minute. At first, he had considered using this as an excuse to avoid the evening's event altogether; with his usual sitter unavailable, the prospect of attending an awkward gathering was far less appealing than spending a cozy night at home with the kids. But that had all changed after the event when he walked into the house to find Liza sitting on the couch, the house quiet, and both girls peacefully asleep. But she wasn't the 26 year old assistant that he thought was watching his kids. The question who was she? repeated in his mind.

Her presence had filled the room with an unexpected warmth. She was relaxed, a soft smile playing on her lips as she waited for him, and he felt something in his chest tighten with a mix of appreciation and something deeper. The evening he had dreaded now felt like an unwelcome distraction from something that could be truly enjoyable.

He took a seat beside her, maybe a little bit closer than what would be appropriate between two coworkers with a reporting relationship. He found himself wanting to engage, to talk about everything and nothing, to peel back layers and discover who she really was. But he never really discovered who she was, was anything that she told him even remotely real?

Then, in a moment of boldness, he asked her about her age. He doesn't know why it slipped out but it did.

"Are you sure you're 26?"

Sometimes she didn't seem to be in her 20s. Her life stories and references always seemed to skew older but he had pushed it to the back of his mind. Who would pretend to be 20 years younger get than there real age?

Looking back, the answer to the simple question could have shifted where they were right now, entirely.

But things were different then, she had a boyfriend, and he had whatever Radha was. And he still thought she was 26.

He had started going out with Radha to get his mind off of Liza and her boyfriend, Josh.

Before his thoughts could present themselves, the next memory faded into view.

She looked absolutely stunning at the opera house. The memory of zipping her dress replayed in his mind like a distant song—he could still feel her warm skin against his fingertips as he fastened the zipper, a fleeting moment that felt so intimate yet was so painfully overshadowed by the reality of the night. By the reality of where they stood right now. God, who was she? And why did he care so much?

She had drifted toward Josh, her laughter sparkling like champagne bubbles as they shared inside jokes he could only guess at. He had spent the rest of the evening watching them from a distance, the bittersweet taste of jealousy.

Liza had been the one he wanted to twirl on the dance floor, the one whose laughter he longed to hear—but instead, he was left to navigate through a haze of memories that morphed into a vivid ache within him.

All he could think of was Liza. Did he feel better that she was no longer 20 some years younger than him? Did he feel god awful because she had lied to him from the beginning?

He was haunted by memories of Liza, a ghost that always seemed to be just out of reach?

He eventually dumped Radha when he had found out that Liza was in the hospital, something about dropping off a Citi Bike for Diana. The details had been fuzzy; he had only been half-listening when Diana had mentioned it. His thoughts had immediately went to if Liza was okay.

When he got to the hospital, a wave of urgency swelled within him. There was a part of him that HAD to see her, just hearing that she was okay, wasn't enough.

He wondered if he had glanced at her hospital bracelet, he would have seen her birthday, known her real age but he hadn't. He hadn't even considered it. Because. Who lies about there real age?

Those moments spent deliberating over details now felt like lost opportunities.

He had been too distracted by the way she was sprawled on the hospital bed, asking him to tuck in her toes because they were cold. Remembering the feeling of pulling the blanket and the way his heart fluttered when he did, made him feel funny inside. Was anything even real? The massive disconnect between his brain and his heart drove him to the brink of madness, leaving him in a tumult of emotions.

Then came the party at Pound Ridge. He vividly remembered the moment his daughters ran to hug her, a spontaneous display of affection they hadn't shown toward Radha or even Pauline in a long time. Their small forms darted through the crowd, excitement radiating from them, arms outstretched like they were rushing toward a safe harbor. He marveled at their unfiltered joy, the way their little faces lit up at the sight of Liza, and suddenly, he understood: her presence was something extraordinary. She was not just a babysitter; she was a beacon for his daughters—a bridge to happiness and warmth he hadn't realized they were missing. Did his daughters like Liza, the 26 year old assistant or Liza, 40-something, divorced, from New Jersey? Did it matter?

His mind brought forth the memory of the concert they went to after the Hampton's book fair. They stood dangerously close to one another, their bodies almost touching, the physical proximity igniting a current of awareness that thrummed between them. As she animatedly recounted the story of her babysitter's prom. It was fascinating, and he found himself leaning in a little closer, both drawn in by her enthusiasm and an inexplicable need to bridge the small distance that remained between them.

He could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, the almost fragile way she navigated those recollections. Suddenly, it was like everything just clicked in his mind. It made him come to the conclusion that she had been talking about her prom and not her babysitter's.

One by one, more memories resurfaced. He started recounting more opportunities where she could have told him; she should have told him. Times when she could have been honest with him. But she wasn't.

The more the memories replayed in his mind, the further he felt from understanding why she had lied.

Why had she felt like she couldn't trust him? They had shared moments—or at least, he thought they had. Now, these moments were laced with a hint of bitterness.

He felt betrayed; his heart slowly shattering as his mind raced to find answers to questions he didn't even know how to ask.

Who is Liza Miller?