Speaker 1: The entryway was still warm from the late sun when
Speaker 1: I stepped inside, arms full of grocery bags and a
Speaker 1: thin film of summer sweat clinging behind my knees. With
Speaker 1: each trip up our apartment stairs, my mood lifted, the
Speaker 1: way it always did before. Our bi weekly game night
Speaker 1: banter cocktails, an evening of code names and laughter with
Speaker 1: our little tribe of friends. Game night had become our anchor,
Speaker 1: something to calender around, to count on. Marcus teased me
Speaker 1: for always over preparing, but to night, I smiled as
Speaker 1: I arranged everything just so. Snacks fanned across the credenza,
Speaker 1: the chess board set up on the patio table, wine
Speaker 1: chilling in the fridge. I crushed fresh mint for spritzes,
Speaker 1: rinsed ridged glasses, pressed the battered speaker into playing an
Speaker 1: old game night playlist we built over years of friendly
Speaker 1: competition and mock outrage at rule's lowering. The apartment had
Speaker 1: that lived in sit clean smell, not quite perfection, but
Speaker 1: welcoming rituals matter, I told myself, especially now with Marcus
Speaker 1: busier than ever. His jacket was still slung over the
Speaker 1: dining chair from the morning, sleeves inside out, and a
Speaker 1: navy blue tie, curled like a spent snake beside his
Speaker 1: half charged tablet. I putter around, sliding shoes into the
Speaker 1: entry closet, flicking off the bathroom light he always forgot.
Speaker 1: I checked my phone out of habit, stifling a little
Speaker 1: spark of hope. A text from Marcus saying, in the
Speaker 1: language of the past, almost done, save me some chips,
Speaker 1: I'll clean up if you beat me at chest to night. Instead,
Speaker 1: my phone buzzed with a short, dull vibration, Marcus caught
Speaker 1: up at work. Don't wait up to night. Sorry, see
Speaker 1: no Emoji's just that my stomach pinched. Lately, this kind
Speaker 1: of message was more common, so mundane. It should have
Speaker 1: rolled off me by now. I stared at the screen
Speaker 1: long enough for it to go dark. Was it just
Speaker 1: the newer count keeping him chained to the infernal office
Speaker 1: or was it something else? He wouldn't say. The first
Speaker 1: guests arrived, Devon with homemade guacamole, smiling his girlfriend Annie
Speaker 1: trailing him Jody, arms full of board games. There were hugs,
Speaker 1: shoes shed by the door, the clatter of bottle tops,
Speaker 1: the Marcus not here tonight. Questions flew early, friendly and expectant,
Speaker 1: big client, late meeting, I said, letting my voice go light.
Speaker 1: I warned him we'd apply a chess penalty if he
Speaker 1: bails again. Nobody seemed to question it aloud. Annie laughed,
Speaker 1: Jody winked, and the talk veered off toward the final
Speaker 1: season of some TV show and the merits of Jalapino
Speaker 1: Pineapple Salsa. I smiled, joined in and made drinks, but
Speaker 1: part of me hovered elsewhere, the picture window, the empty
Speaker 1: seat at the end of the table, Marcus's favorites unopened,
Speaker 1: in the fridge on the patio. I refilled glasses, made
Speaker 1: the rounds, lost three games in a row. I forced
Speaker 1: laughter at my own blunders, made excuses for Marcus. He'd
Speaker 1: have swept that round, too competitive for his own good.
Speaker 1: Until somebody said, tell Marcus, he can't work twenty four seven.
Speaker 1: He'll burn out at this rate. I'll pass it along
Speaker 1: my default response these days. The sun set slow and
Speaker 1: gold across our balcony. I drifted from group to group,
Speaker 1: but kept eyeing Marcus's side of the chessboard, the extra
Speaker 1: whiskey glass untouched. It felt like a staging area for
Speaker 1: a ritual he didn't remember any more. The little routines
Speaker 1: had started to pile up like closed books on a
Speaker 1: night stand, waiting for his call, setting aside his favorite snacks,
Speaker 1: covering for his absences with quick jokes, my mind roamed restless.
Speaker 1: Was he really buried in spreadsheets, conference calls, the graveyard
Speaker 1: shift of tech consulting. During a bathroom break, I sat
Speaker 1: on the edge of the tub, phone bright in my
Speaker 1: hand and scrolled Marcus's Instagram. Nothing recent, just routine posts.
Speaker 1: A blurry skyline, his lunch one afternoon, a screenshot of
Speaker 1: some code. No tags from the office, no smiling group
Speaker 1: dinners on Facebook, work acquaintances posted photos from a roof
Speaker 1: top happy hour. Marcus wasn't in them, but he'd tagged
Speaker 1: himself in the office. I locked the phone, my reflections
Speaker 1: swimming in the screen, pale and uncertain. Maybe the truth
Speaker 1: was simple, marriage just got busy. Maybe my anxiety was
Speaker 1: nothing more than loneliness filling the space's Marcus left behind,
Speaker 1: telling myself that I forced a return to the group,
Speaker 1: letting the tide of talk and laughter cover my doubts,
Speaker 1: at least for a little while. A week after game night,
Speaker 1: I was mindlessly slicing vegetables for a late lunch, when
Speaker 1: a memory bubbled up, something about the way Marcus always
Speaker 1: insisted on balance in our stir fries, in everything. When
Speaker 1: we first started dating, three months in breathing the city's
Speaker 1: autumn air and surviving on cheap rama and curiosity, it
Speaker 1: had felt like we'd cracked some private code. I can
Speaker 1: still picture it. Him slurping noodles chopsticks, poised, teasing me
Speaker 1: about my habit of checking my phone for clues about
Speaker 1: escape room puzzles. You're going to find something care clues everywhere,
Speaker 1: like a living detective. Maybe I'm just looking for ways
Speaker 1: to win, he pretended, mock horror against me. Unthinkable. I
Speaker 1: want us on the same side. Our chemistry was ridiculous, easy,
Speaker 1: a little absurd, a kind of shorthand nobody else quite
Speaker 1: got Knights melted into shared playlists, half written stories left
Speaker 1: open on my laptop, and Marcus's ridiculous annotated game nights
Speaker 1: scorecards papering our fridge. Our downtown apartment became the hub
Speaker 1: for everything. Birthday potlucks, karaoke with tipsy neighbors, lost cities,
Speaker 1: tournaments where the winner got control of the remote for
Speaker 1: the week. When we married, it felt less like an
Speaker 1: event and more like a continuation, the natural closing of
Speaker 1: one game the start of another. That first year, we
Speaker 1: were inseparable. Brunches, surprise post its, tucked under mugs, don't
Speaker 1: forget your my favorite quest, and always game night. Our
Speaker 1: friend group swore we made marriage look easy. Our families
Speaker 1: adored him, my little sister Zoe half in love with
Speaker 1: Marcus and seeking him out for every career crisis or
Speaker 1: break up. Professionally, we meshed, but didn't overlap. I worked
Speaker 1: from home, turning client emails into color, shape and brand
Speaker 1: strategies as a freelance graphic designer, a world that could
Speaker 1: be lonely but flexible. Marcus's technical brilliance shot him up
Speaker 1: the ladder at his consulting firm, bringing new cities, new clients,
Speaker 1: and more time zones than I wanted. For a while,
Speaker 1: his promotions felt like our shared victories, another excuse for
Speaker 1: champagne nights and matching silly socks. But lately work had
Speaker 1: turned into a riptide. My own freelance work had slowed.
Speaker 1: Some projects dropped off, leaving me wandering the two quiet
Speaker 1: apartment most days, putting off invoices, fussing with client mock ups.
Speaker 1: Out of boredom more than necessity. Meanwhile, Marcus was burning
Speaker 1: the candle at both ends. The new client a mysterious
Speaker 1: fintech algo thing, he explained, waving off details, demanded late
Speaker 1: night meetings and even the occasional overnight. The first time
Speaker 1: he missed game night, I didn't think much of it.
Speaker 1: The second time, I made excuses, blamed traffic, poured him
Speaker 1: a drink anyway when he staggered in close to midnight,
Speaker 1: still tense from zoom calls. When he skipped our friend
Speaker 1: Jeff's engagement party, claiming a vicious migron. I spent the
Speaker 1: night fielding disappointed looks and white lies. He hates letting
Speaker 1: people down. He's just overloaded, you know how it is.
Speaker 1: Maybe these absences would have felt entirely ordinary, but something
Speaker 1: about the way friends kept saying, you guys are the
Speaker 1: gold standard made my insides twist. Was that even still true?
Speaker 1: Or was I the only one left believe eaving it?
Speaker 1: There's a kind of trust that seeps into your bones
Speaker 1: so quietly you forget to notice it until a crack forms.
Speaker 1: I'd always believed Marcus and I were on the same side.
Speaker 1: Maybe that's why this ache more than annoyance kept nipping
Speaker 1: at the edge of my everyday life. The first time
Speaker 1: a sharp suspicion pierced me wasn't even dramatic. I'd finished
Speaker 1: an afternoon of barely billable revisions when Marcus wandered in
Speaker 1: later than planned, making up a plausible excuse a meeting
Speaker 1: ran over some crisis with a client server. He didn't
Speaker 1: meet my eyes when he set his keys on the counter,
Speaker 1: and when I asked, should I make you a plate?
Speaker 1: His answering smile was only half there. It's been a week,
Speaker 1: I ventured pouring him a drink. You okay, he shrugged.
Speaker 1: Just a crazy client, you know how it is. I'll
Speaker 1: make it up to you this weekend. I tried to
Speaker 1: believe him, but later, as I folded the laundry in
Speaker 1: our closet, I caught myself tracing his side. Shirts hung
Speaker 1: in precise rows, no new sense, nothing conspicuous. I told
Speaker 1: myself to let it go. Marcus deserved the benefit of
Speaker 1: the doubt. I was being what nosy paranoid, stuck at
Speaker 1: home too much. The next day, Jody and I met
Speaker 1: for lunch at the Turkish cafe near her clinic. After
Speaker 1: the routine post work gossip. She asked, Marcus doing okay?
Speaker 1: I bumped into him last night down town, looked stressed.
Speaker 1: That caught me off guard. Last night where Sloan's. He
Speaker 1: was in and out, didn't really have time to chat,
Speaker 1: seemed to be picking up take out funny. He told
Speaker 1: me he was at a client dinner at La Femme,
Speaker 1: which was three neighborhoods east. Jody frowned, but only for
Speaker 1: a heartbeat. Maybe running late. Let's get you a pastry
Speaker 1: you need one. Back at home, I hovered by Marcus's
Speaker 1: closet again, almost willing something out of place to materialize.
Speaker 1: But the clothes, cologne, draws, of rolled up ties. Nothing
Speaker 1: screamed secret, not even a stray receipt. I folded a
Speaker 1: borrowed hoodie, told myself to stop. That night, Marcus was remote, distracted,
Speaker 1: barely making it through dinner before retreating to his laptop.
Speaker 1: He peered at his phone, lips pressed tight, and muttered
Speaker 1: about work out on the couch together. I brought up
Speaker 1: Sloane s like it was a passing thought. Jody says,
Speaker 1: you were there last night. He blanked for half a second,
Speaker 1: then smiled weakly. I probably was picked up food for
Speaker 1: the team. I think deadlines, you know, the drill. Nothing
Speaker 1: in his tone suggested a lie, but my doubts didn't budge.
Speaker 1: I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe so badly
Speaker 1: that I almost did. But then the pattern of strange
Speaker 1: details began to pile up. The next week, Marcus told
Speaker 1: me he'd missed dinner at our friends because he was
Speaker 1: working late in the downtown office. Later, while folding laundry,
Speaker 1: he described watching the city from the big windows by
Speaker 1: the park, but their corporate office didn't have park facing windows.
Speaker 1: I'd been there more than once, dropped off lunch, clinked
Speaker 1: plastic cups with his colleagues at standing desks. Moments like that,
Speaker 1: they didn't clang, they barely registered, just a hesitation, a
Speaker 1: hairline fracture, and a familiar anecdote. I told myself he
Speaker 1: was fried, mixing up which office, or maybe filling in
Speaker 1: a detail to keep the conversation moving. Days later, I
Speaker 1: ran into a mutual friend, Ethan, at Whole Foods. He
Speaker 1: asked if Marcus was okay. Said he'd left Tuesday's tech
Speaker 1: meet up early alone, looking exhausted. I nodded along, but
Speaker 1: Tuesday was the night, Marcus swore he'd worked late because
Speaker 1: his client in Berlin ran late. Berlin time was way ahead.
Speaker 1: Hard to square with some one baling on a local
Speaker 1: group just after sunset. When I pointed this out at home,
Speaker 1: just a casual did you leave Ethan's thing early? He said,
Speaker 1: you look wiped. Marcus flashed a quick forced grin more
Speaker 1: work after I barely even remember it, and then he
Speaker 1: slipped away into the bedroom, ending the conversation. Excuses started
Speaker 1: to ossof. The explanations, once so generous and boring, need
Speaker 1: more time on this project, sorry, were riddled with deflections
Speaker 1: and a growing impatience. I thought maybe these were just small,
Speaker 1: exhausted lies. People tell them all the time, But lines
Speaker 1: were blurring in a way I couldn't map. Then came
Speaker 1: the birthday party for Annie. Marcus had promised to go.
Speaker 1: He'd RSVP'd on the group text himself, but an hour
Speaker 1: before another message client crisis. Can't make it, babe, wish
Speaker 1: Annie happy birthday from me. I went anyway, gift in hand,
Speaker 1: gritting my teeth. When friends asked where s Marcus, the
Speaker 1: energy was different, people glancing away, offering polite laughter when
Speaker 1: I said he lives in his inbox. After midnight, Devon
Speaker 1: sidled up during cake I saw Marcus's car outside Sloan's
Speaker 1: again to night. Maybe his office does happy hour there, maybe,
Speaker 1: but I filed that away this time, Devon added softly,
Speaker 1: looked like he was there a while, not just a
Speaker 1: quicken and doubt. I left the party early, feigning tiredness.
Speaker 1: My skin prickled, like I just lost the thread of
Speaker 1: a big puzzle whose solution hid in plain sight. For
Speaker 1: the first time in years, I checked our shared credit
Speaker 1: card transactions. Marcus normally let me handle the budgeting, but
Speaker 1: lately he'd started asking, almost nervously about any weird or
Speaker 1: duplicate charges. I'd brushed it off as stress. Now, though
Speaker 1: a pattern emerged, new charges at bars and restaurants. Marcus
Speaker 1: had never mentioned flowers build to small shops in neighborhoods.
Speaker 1: We didn't frequent ride shares at odd hours when no
Speaker 1: work address was listed. The purchases weren't bigger enough to
Speaker 1: raise alarms. A few meals here and there, the occasional
Speaker 1: boutique hotel charge only Marcus could explain away as sight
Speaker 1: visits for a travel tech project. I'd have written it
Speaker 1: off as business hustle. But when I asked Marcus off
Speaker 1: hand about some thirty dollars flower shop charge, he tensed
Speaker 1: it's a gift for a client launch, he said, too brisk,
Speaker 1: already checking his watch. I meant to tell you, please,
Speaker 1: don't stress about the cards. I've been swamped keeping receipts straight.
Speaker 1: Little things in our friend group began to shift as well,
Speaker 1: the once open circle closing around some unspoken tension. At dinners,
Speaker 1: conversation changed topics whenever Marcus came up. Jody usually blunt
Speaker 1: grew quiet if I so much as mentioned our game
Speaker 1: night's schedule. Even Annie and Devon, two of Marcus's biggest fans,
Speaker 1: began showing up less, always suddenly busy or pared off.
Speaker 1: When I couldn't sleep, I lay alone in our bed,
Speaker 1: listening to the city's late hum, replaying conversations for clues.
Speaker 1: I started mentally compiling lists, lunch receipts, evening absences, new
Speaker 1: passwords on Marcus's phone. He started sleeping with the phone
Speaker 1: under his pillow, brushing me off with stories about two
Speaker 1: factor authentication and night owl hackers targeting their firm, as
Speaker 1: if I didn't know how cybersecurity actually worked. I tried
Speaker 1: to initiate sex one Saturday night, tracing my hand beneath
Speaker 1: his shirt, but Marcus, gentle and apologetic, said, Babe, I'm exhausted,
Speaker 1: it's just deadlines, rain check. He rolled away, promising a
Speaker 1: lazy morning in, but woke before dawn the next day
Speaker 1: to work. A few days later, I was digging through
Speaker 1: his office bag, hoping to find my misplaced headphones. Instead,
Speaker 1: in one side pocket, I found a match book, sleek
Speaker 1: black mat the kind every new in place tosses out,
Speaker 1: with the embossed logo of Sloans that restaurant, again tucked inside,
Speaker 1: and lipstick stain in a warm red, pressed into its center.
Speaker 1: It could have been nothing, some woman's napkin. Maybe it
Speaker 1: wasn't even Marcus's. But in that moment, clutching the soft scrap,
Speaker 1: I felt the bottom drop out. I pressed the napkin
Speaker 1: into a book and left the match book beside Marcus's keys.
Speaker 1: That evening, over dinner, I tried to keep my tone.
Speaker 1: Even you seem stressed lately. Anything I can do? His
Speaker 1: answer came quick, defensive, No, it's just a rough patch
Speaker 1: at work. He only glanced at the match book before
Speaker 1: tucking it into his pocket. I didn't accuse him any further.
Speaker 1: That night, I lay awake, zeroing in on every pattern
Speaker 1: the mist calls, the new severity to his temper, the
Speaker 1: way he recoiled if I reached for his phone. I
Speaker 1: started quietly tracking his work calendar, cross referencing it with
Speaker 1: his supposed travel, comparing location histories in our shared apps
Speaker 1: for safety, something we both set up years ago on
Speaker 1: a whim. The evidence didn't quite add up, but the
Speaker 1: shape of the gap became harder to ignore. Unable to
Speaker 1: hold it all to myself, I met Jody for coffee.
Speaker 1: My voice pitched low. Jody, I think something s going
Speaker 1: on with Marcus, not just work stuff. I don't want
Speaker 1: to be crazy, but she squeezed my hand, eyes darting care.
Speaker 1: I love you, but you know how easy it is
Speaker 1: to read too much into chaos, especially with your jobs.
Speaker 1: Maybe he's just overwhelmed. I'd believe that if I didn't
Speaker 1: keep bumping into things he can't explain. Have you told
Speaker 1: Marcus any of this bits he clams up. I end
Speaker 1: up backing off. She leaned closer, Look, don't jump to conclusions. Okay,
Speaker 1: maybe pay closer attention, but don't let yourself spiral. You
Speaker 1: guys are solid. I wanted to believe her, But the
Speaker 1: more I watched the gaps widen, the more I questioned
Speaker 1: if I'd already missed something crucial. Whenever I tried to
Speaker 1: shake myself out of it, I pictured the lipster kred napkin,
Speaker 1: the match book's little metallic gleam, the feeling that I
Speaker 1: was always looking for headphones and finding pieces that didn't
Speaker 1: belong to us. One night, Marcus came home early and
Speaker 1: almost forgotten treat. He offered to make dinner, strumming on
Speaker 1: an old playlist, his moves easy practiced. He made an effort.
Speaker 1: Over the next few days, organized brunch, remembered the little
Speaker 1: jokes that used to be ours, even let me pick
Speaker 1: the movie over his usual grumbling. It was almost right,
Speaker 1: It nearly worked. That was when he suggested we finally
Speaker 1: go out, just the two of us, a dinner date
Speaker 1: like in old times. I accepted equal parts hope and weariness.
Speaker 1: At the new Peruvian Place, Marcus was attentive, a little nervous, maybe,
Speaker 1: but trying between courses. He put down his fork. I
Speaker 1: know I've been off lately. I want to be straight
Speaker 1: with you. His eyes were steady, almost too steady. There's
Speaker 1: something I haven't told you. I've been working on a surprise.
Speaker 1: If it pans out well, I'm hoping to buy into
Speaker 1: a gaming cafe with Vijay from work. Sloane s is
Speaker 1: the owner's spot. We've been negotiating late. Had to keep
Speaker 1: things under wraps in case it fell through. He squeezed
Speaker 1: my hand a bit sheepish. I didn't want to say
Speaker 1: anything until I was sure. It's why I've been so scattered.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, care, I don't want any more secrets. My
Speaker 1: cheeks burned with embarrassment, relief, and guilt. Was I really
Speaker 1: turning into some cliche? Had I driven wedges over? A
Speaker 1: simple silence meant to surprise me? Marcus slipped into showman mode,
Speaker 1: sketching potential floor plans on a napkin, describing Neon lit
Speaker 1: game shelves, Sunday D and D brunches pub trivia. When
Speaker 1: it's finalized, I'll bring you in as consultant graphics menu.
Speaker 1: Whatever you want won't be ours without you. His voice
Speaker 1: was genuine. That night, we laughed, drank too much wine,
Speaker 1: came home late and tipsy, back in bed. The old
Speaker 1: easy intimacy returned, at least for the moment. The next week,
Speaker 1: everything seemed dialed back to normal. Marcus was present, making coffee,
Speaker 1: teasing me about my failed pancake flips, stealing my socks,
Speaker 1: disappearing to the office less. I allowed myself to believe
Speaker 1: that his distance had been about anxiety, not betrayal. We
Speaker 1: played games again, hosted a smaller group for a spontaneous
Speaker 1: Thursday night, losing badly at code names and not caring.
Speaker 1: One rain soaked evening over a shared bottle of reasling,
Speaker 1: I was finally letting myself relax again, just us feet
Speaker 1: tangled beneath the blanket when Marcus mentioned a detail about
Speaker 1: his supposed gaming cafe plans. Vijay's cousin does the accounting.
Speaker 1: We actually met her last month at Sloan's, hammering out projections,
Speaker 1: only that didn't fit. Marcus had earlier mentioned the cousin
Speaker 1: lived abroad. I went cold, but he pivoted the conversation,
Speaker 1: making me doubt whether I'd remembered correctly. The next morning,
Speaker 1: as I was prepping for a client call, my phone
Speaker 1: pinged with an anonymous message. The sender was a number
Speaker 1: I didn't recognize. No words, just a single photo attachment,
Speaker 1: Marcus at Sloane's, seated across the table from a woman
Speaker 1: with glossy brown hair. Her face was angled away, but
Speaker 1: Marcus's was unmistakable. His hand reached toward hers, fingers grazing,
Speaker 1: unmistakably intimate. I dropped the phone. The relief from the
Speaker 1: previous night shattered so fast it almost seemed funny. For
Speaker 1: a long time, I stood in the kitchen, the hum
Speaker 1: of the fridge the only sound, staring at the image,
Speaker 1: until the screen timed out and the darkness showed just
Speaker 1: my own stunned reflection. I didn't know which was worse,
Speaker 1: realizing I'd been lied to, or realizing that I'd want
Speaker 1: so badly not to see it. I could taste old
Speaker 1: mint on my tongue and realized, absurdly that I hadn't
Speaker 1: brushed my teeth yet. I've been carrying Marcus in my
Speaker 1: blood stream for so long, waiting for answers, hoping for comfort,
Speaker 1: that every small act now felt exposed. The phone vibrated again,
Speaker 1: this time with a true text notification devon, something about
Speaker 1: returning a serving platter from game night. I ignored it,
Speaker 1: my mind tunneling back to the still image, Marcus's sleeve
Speaker 1: rolled to the elbow, the glint of his wedding rings
Speaker 1: slicing diagonally across a wine glass, the woman's finger tips
Speaker 1: touching his like an incomplete circuit. The urge to call
Speaker 1: him seized me hard. I almost gave in, just to
Speaker 1: hear him talk, to potentially trip over whatever story he'd invent,
Speaker 1: to test where the panic would crack his voice. Instead,
Speaker 1: I wrote one tight, measured text, when you get a minute,
Speaker 1: can you call? No reply. I lasted ten fifteen minutes
Speaker 1: roaming the kitchen in circles, nudging unwashed mugs with my foot,
Speaker 1: before I set my phone face downe and forced myself
Speaker 1: to shower. Standing under the water, I tried to construct
Speaker 1: an explanation where nothing hurt. Perhaps Devon had taken the
Speaker 1: picture sent anonymously to prank me. Maybe it was a misunderstanding,
Speaker 1: a new client, a harmless inside joke, Marcus's hopeful business
Speaker 1: investment in action. But those hands, that unforced closeness. There
Speaker 1: was an ease in his posture that I recognized because
Speaker 1: it used to be reserved for me. By noon, I
Speaker 1: gave up any hope that Marcus would answer on his own. Instead,
Speaker 1: I texted Jody just three words, can you talk? Her
Speaker 1: reply pinged back immediately on break call me. I dialed
Speaker 1: with hands that trembled faintly, more from uncertainty than outright fear.
Speaker 1: Jody picked up with her usual warmth, Hey, love, rough mourning,
Speaker 1: But I didn't have the energy for preamble. I got
Speaker 1: a message, I said, quietly, with a picture of Marcus
Speaker 1: at Sloane's with a woman. There was a hiss as
Speaker 1: she sucked in her breath. Shit, are you okay? He's
Speaker 1: he looks comfortable? Not business? Why? Jody spoke carefully, each
Speaker 1: word chosen like a chess piece. Do you know who
Speaker 1: she is? No? Dark hair, maybe late twenties. The details
Speaker 1: spilled out, the touch of his hand, the empty seat
Speaker 1: at home, the sense of some illicit gravity pulling him
Speaker 1: away from me. Jody's voice lowered care This isn't just
Speaker 1: about a photo. You've had doubts Awhile now I hated
Speaker 1: the word doubts. It sounded contagious. He just explained it all.
Speaker 1: Jode said he was planning a surprise the cafe thing.
Speaker 1: You believe him? I did last night? I did a beat.
Speaker 1: Want me to ask around quietly, not yet, let me,
Speaker 1: let me try coming at its sideways. We said our
Speaker 1: good byes, promises of cake and walks and support. I
Speaker 1: hung up, feeling no better, only more alive to the
Speaker 1: electric static, tracing the edges of every minute. That afternoon,
Speaker 1: I opened Marcus's work calendar. He'd shared it ages ago,
Speaker 1: for scheduling vacations, dinners, all the little logistics that married
Speaker 1: people accumulate. It had become a kind of comfort, seeing
Speaker 1: the blocks of meetings, guessing when he'd come home, plotting
Speaker 1: surprised take out runs when his call ran late. Now
Speaker 1: the calendar was patchy, private events marked as hold, random initials,
Speaker 1: blocks that simply said client. I cross checked these with
Speaker 1: messages in our shared Google drive, a spreadsheet of expenses
Speaker 1: for the supposed cafe project. Nothing recent, nothing connecting sloans
Speaker 1: to any one but Marcus himself. The only message about
Speaker 1: Vijay was a thread from six weeks ago, mostly Marcus
Speaker 1: complaining about shipping costs for some imported board games. The
Speaker 1: fact simply refused to settle. I pulled up joint credit
Speaker 1: statements again, now combing for tags to sloane s, to hotels,
Speaker 1: to lift, I made a new list, dates, times, places,
Speaker 1: columns for said did charged, explained it looked like the
Speaker 1: world's most depressing puzzle. After a half hour, I had
Speaker 1: three perfect overlaps between hotel charges and late meetings. A
Speaker 1: ride's share at midnight from Sloan's to a hotel down town.
Speaker 1: Another the following week at dawn back to our block.
Speaker 1: Marcus's signature beneath the ride charge, which he'd never bothered
Speaker 1: to hide by using a different card. If he was
Speaker 1: covering up, it was with the clumsy arrogance of some
Speaker 1: one who never expected to be found out. I stared
Speaker 1: at my own columns for so long that my vision blurred.
Speaker 1: For the rest of the afternoon, I forced myself into
Speaker 1: work mock ups for a real estate client color palace.
Speaker 1: I knew they wouldn't choose, but the energy felt borrowed,
Speaker 1: wrung from some harsher reservoir. That night, when Marcus got home,
Speaker 1: he found me on the sofa, the TV blaring, but
Speaker 1: my mind elsewhere. I didn't confront him. I watched how
Speaker 1: he approached, how he asked what was for dinner without
Speaker 1: touching me, how his phone as always remained in his
Speaker 1: hand after he set down his keys, he dropped a
Speaker 1: soft kiss on my forehead, almost automatic. You okay, look tired,
Speaker 1: I smiled tightly. Just client head egges you, he shrugged.
Speaker 1: Scrolling through his phone, same glad to Morrow's Friday. I
Speaker 1: noted how he avoided looking at me for too long. Maybe,
Speaker 1: I told myself we were simply becoming one of those silent,
Speaker 1: coasting couples who could manage a whole dinner in parallel universes,
Speaker 1: only brushing together occasionally for warmth. When we went to bed,
Speaker 1: I curled toward him, trying to coax a response, but
Speaker 1: he mummed a sleepy night. Rolling away, his phone vibrated
Speaker 1: twice after he'd turned off the light. He didn't check it,
Speaker 1: at least not until he thought I was asleep. It
Speaker 1: was late, well past midnight, and we were both locked
Speaker 1: in our separate darknesses. I listened to the minute scrape
Speaker 1: of his thumb across the glass. I identified the rhythm tap, pause, tap,
Speaker 1: long slide, his responding to slack face. In the morning,
Speaker 1: he was up before me, already dressed by the time
Speaker 1: I shuffled into the kitchen. There was coffee made, but
Speaker 1: he didn't pour me a cup. Running late meeting at
Speaker 1: eight downtown, I asked at sloane S. He laughed, his
Speaker 1: eyes flicking up so fast I almost missed the panic.
Speaker 1: There no actual office to day. I cataloged the reaction,
Speaker 1: slotting it in next to the others. O K text
Speaker 1: me if you're late. He nodded, already out the door.
Speaker 1: By the time I found my mug. By noon, I'd
Speaker 1: run out of pretense. I needed more. I sent Devon
Speaker 1: a message casual as possible. Hey, any fun plans at
Speaker 1: sloane Es tonight? Marcus raves about that place? Should I
Speaker 1: try it solo some time? His reply was quick but polite,
Speaker 1: not to night, but you'd love the meres. Marcus seems
Speaker 1: to know the staff pretty well these days, You too
Speaker 1: should go together. It read like a gentle warning, or
Speaker 1: maybe a pointed invitation for me to connect dots that
Speaker 1: nobody else wanted to spell out. Later, I checked Marcus's emil.
Speaker 1: He'd left his tablet on the coffee table open, almost
Speaker 1: daring me. The temptation made me feel sick, invading the
Speaker 1: one space that in better days I'd have protected as
Speaker 1: fiercely as my own. I logged into his inbox. Most
Speaker 1: of what I found were work, threads bland, tedious, nothing
Speaker 1: out of the ordinary, but then near the bottom drafts
Speaker 1: a handful of emils never scent, some titled ray next
Speaker 1: week's trip, others blank. I opened one half, expecting nothing.
Speaker 1: The message was empty, but the autosave contained a single link,
Speaker 1: a whatsap chap back up. I followed the trail, heart
Speaker 1: pounding so hard it drowned out all logic. The back
Speaker 1: up required his pin, which I didn't know. I let
Speaker 1: the tablets sleep, shoving it aside like a hot stone.
Speaker 1: When the door buzzed a rare midday package, I nearly screamed.
Speaker 1: It was Annie, holding a set of plates wrapped in
Speaker 1: a dish towel. She hovered awkwardly. Didn't mean to intrude,
Speaker 1: want me to come in? I did, strangely. I made
Speaker 1: us both coffee and let the conversation drift to neutral
Speaker 1: topics recipes, workgripes, Devon's new obsession with disc golf. But
Speaker 1: after a few minutes, Annie fidgeted, finally blurting, care is
Speaker 1: Marcus okay? He seemed tense lately. I stared into my mug.
Speaker 1: I don't know, That's what I keep trying to figure out.
Speaker 1: She bit her lip, then reached across the small stretch
Speaker 1: of granite countertop. I hope I'm not out of line.
Speaker 1: Devon said he's seen Marcus at Sloan's a bunch, not
Speaker 1: like in a group, usually just him and one other person.
Speaker 1: Her eyes held mine, gentle but searching. I nodded, voice brittle. Yeah,
Speaker 1: I've been hearing that too. Do you think he'd tell
Speaker 1: you if something was up? The question hung heavily, I
Speaker 1: used to. We both went quiet. Eventually she left, giving
Speaker 1: my shoulder a soft squeeze, the kind reserved for injuries
Speaker 1: that haven't yet surfaced. That evening, Marcus was chatty, almost rehearsed,
Speaker 1: guiding the conversation toward his fantasy cafe, even pulling up
Speaker 1: menu mock ups as he scrolled. A Whatsap notification blinked
Speaker 1: at the top of his screen, just an initial L
Speaker 1: with a winking emoji and a photo attachment. He swiped
Speaker 1: the alert away, locking the foe in one practiced move.
Speaker 1: I asked much too lightly, got a new group chat going.
Speaker 1: He grinned the face of the man. I married team banter.
Speaker 1: We're trying to outmeme each other. Sorry, I'll put it away,
Speaker 1: but I watched his fingers tense, the humor felt staged.
Speaker 1: Every gesture measured out, no warmth spiraling back from him
Speaker 1: to me. Can I see? I asked, on impulse, determined
Speaker 1: to bulldoze through the invisible wall. He shrugged, holding out
Speaker 1: the phone, but the screen was blank. Notifications vanished, nothing
Speaker 1: exciting promise. I handed it back. You used to love
Speaker 1: roping me into your group chats. What changed? Marcus exhaled,
Speaker 1: as though trying to let the tension out with the air.
Speaker 1: Nothing's changed. I'm just stressed, care all this side project's stuff,
Speaker 1: keeping up at work, trying not to screw things up.
Speaker 1: Don't make this into something it is. I let it go,
Speaker 1: or protend I did. Hours later, after he'd gone to bed,
Speaker 1: I found myself tiptoeing into our closet, searching pockets, checking
Speaker 1: coat linings. It felt tawdry, wrong, but I couldn't stop.
Speaker 1: Nothing no receipts, no scribbled love notes, just the ordinary
Speaker 1: detritus of Marcus's life, pens, folded napkins, spare change. In
Speaker 1: the morning, I texted Zoe, my sister, Think Marcus would
Speaker 1: ever really lie to me? She called instantly, what's going on?
Speaker 1: I tried to laugh it off, minimizing as much as
Speaker 1: I could. Nothing, just little things. Has he said anything
Speaker 1: to you lately? Zoe was silent for a moment. Then
Speaker 1: he's just seemed tired. Honestly, he blew off my last text.
Speaker 1: I figured he was overwhelmed at work. He's still good
Speaker 1: to you, right. I couldn't say yes or no, so
Speaker 1: I just changed the subject. When we hung up, the
Speaker 1: relief was as shallow as a paper cup. I tried
Speaker 1: to press on, pretended to work, took extra long runs,
Speaker 1: cleaned until my arm's hurt, but the phone with the
Speaker 1: photo loomed. Alexis's lipstick napkin pressed between book pages like
Speaker 1: a secret rose. One afternoon, while Marcus was at a
Speaker 1: supposed late strategy meeting, I walked to Sloan's. I sat
Speaker 1: at the bar, ordered coffee, watched the rhythm of staff
Speaker 1: and guests. The bartender, a young woman with a tiny
Speaker 1: scar at her eyebrow and an easy laugh, greeted me
Speaker 1: waiting for someone, She asked, just curious about the place.
Speaker 1: My husband keeps raving about it, Marcus Broder, maybe you
Speaker 1: know him, she paused, recognition in her eyes, but whether
Speaker 1: it was real or politeness. I couldn't tell. Yeah, he's
Speaker 1: in sometimes, usually with work people. Quiet guy. She moved
Speaker 1: off to refill a caraf I tried another tack, hoping
Speaker 1: for anything revealing. I used to be more up on
Speaker 1: his work crew. Haven't gotten to swing by until now.
Speaker 1: She smiled, looking past me toward the door. He seems busy,
Speaker 1: always on the phone. But hey, they tip well. She
Speaker 1: poured me another splash. You sure you're OK? I managed
Speaker 1: another tight smile, just bored, honestly needed a change of scenery.
Speaker 1: As I sipped coffee, I scanned the crowd for a brunette,
Speaker 1: a sign of l but the bar was filled with
Speaker 1: afterwork couples, small groups, laughing, nobody obviously waiting for Marcus.
Speaker 1: Eventually I left, pulse thudding, no closer to clarity, but
Speaker 1: unable to stop the needling itch for more proof. That night,
Speaker 1: Marcus was late again. I let him in, with the
Speaker 1: TV off, the apartment dark except for the street light
Speaker 1: drifting through the blinds. Long day. He said, everything go
Speaker 1: o K, He paused, hanging up his jacket. Yeah, just
Speaker 1: meetings we ordered in, nothing exciting. He left his phone
Speaker 1: in his pocket this time, I'm not trusting it to
Speaker 1: the coffee table. Something in the way he scanned our apartment,
Speaker 1: searching for disorder, made me think he's checking for the
Speaker 1: pieces I might put together. We went to bed apart
Speaker 1: that night in heart, if not in body. I lay
Speaker 1: awake listening to him breathe, cataloging the endless churn between us.
Speaker 1: The following morning, after he left for work, I returned
Speaker 1: to his tablet, this time more determined. I dug through
Speaker 1: saved photos, cloud drives, even app folders I barely recognized.
Speaker 1: Eventually I landed on a single shared note labeled cafe Prospects.
Speaker 1: Among the neat bullet points, restaurant addresses, draft profit margins,
Speaker 1: a reminder Lisa confirm new reservation sloans Thurs eight p m. Lisa,
Speaker 1: I said the name aloud, rolling it over my tongue
Speaker 1: like a bitter pill. The handwriting was Marcus's, the date
Speaker 1: for the next night. That evening, when he came home,
Speaker 1: I pressed harder, Do you want me to help with
Speaker 1: any of these plans? Or is it all still confidential?
Speaker 1: He fidgeted, unbuttoning his cuff. Let's talk next week. Nothing's finalized.
Speaker 1: Who's Lisa? I asked, risking the collision, he stopped moving entirely,
Speaker 1: eyes flickering in calculation. Lisa Vijay's wife's cousin. She's helping
Speaker 1: with a counting. Why oh, bartender at Sloane's said, she
Speaker 1: sees you with a brunette a lot? Is it her?
Speaker 1: His irritation flared fast and sharp. Why are you quizzing
Speaker 1: the staff care? I told you, I'm just trying to
Speaker 1: buy into something that matters to me. I retreated, more
Speaker 1: shaken by the anger than the lie. The truth suddenly
Speaker 1: felt massive, a shadow on the wall, growing every time
Speaker 1: I looked away. I stared at the match book again
Speaker 1: late that night, turning it over until the silvery imprint
Speaker 1: of Sloane's logo shimmered in the lamp light. I wanted
Speaker 1: to ask Marcus point blank what was really going on,
Speaker 1: but part of me feared what hollow peace might be
Speaker 1: left if I did. The next morning, I woke early,
Speaker 1: unable to sleep for the storm inside my ribs. Marcus
Speaker 1: grunted from bed, Can you turn off the alarm? I
Speaker 1: need another half hour. I left him sleeping, feet cold
Speaker 1: on the tile, the city outside gray and humming. I
Speaker 1: went back to my columns, added Lisa to the possible
Speaker 1: associates list, cross referenced her with every date, every expense,
Speaker 1: every Sloan's charge. Somewhere around lunch, the phone buzzed again,
Speaker 1: this time a blocked number, no text, just a photo.
Speaker 1: Marcus again at Sloan's, now laughing, his hand on the
Speaker 1: woman's wrist, her face in proful Lisa. Probably the angle
Speaker 1: was different, a little more intimate, the two of them
Speaker 1: bracketed away from the world. I swiped through messages, looking
Speaker 1: for another clue, but there was nothing, only the tight,
Speaker 1: breathless feeling of inevitable ability. My suspicion had become certainty,
Speaker 1: but I couldn't yet bring myself to shatter what remained,
Speaker 1: not until I saw the whole picture. I called Jody,
Speaker 1: voice shaky, it's her, it's Lisa. He's still lying. There
Speaker 1: was a pause, a careful silence, and then her voice,
Speaker 1: still gentle, but edged. Do you want me to talk
Speaker 1: to Devon or Annie, maybe see if any one's actually
Speaker 1: seen them together for the first time. I nodded, even
Speaker 1: though she couldn't see me. Yes, please, I need to
Speaker 1: know I'm not losing my mind. Jody agreed, promising to
Speaker 1: be careful You're not crazy, she said, even if you
Speaker 1: want to be wrong. That evening, as dusk fell, I
Speaker 1: sat on the edge of our bed, Marcus downstairs loudly
Speaker 1: making dinner, as if noise could replace conversation, turning the
Speaker 1: chest piece he always favored between my fingers. I checked
Speaker 1: our bank ap for the hundredth time. Another sloan's charge,
Speaker 1: another euber receipt, down town to east Side. By the
Speaker 1: time he called me for dinner, my appetite had vanished.
Speaker 1: I watched him work in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up,
Speaker 1: chopping onions with unnecessary force. I wanted to ask him
Speaker 1: where he'd learned to cut onions like that. He'd hated
Speaker 1: the smell until years ago. He watched me. Let me
Speaker 1: teach him. Now it was muscle memory, the only sameness left.
Speaker 1: He took my silence as approval, sliding a bowl of
Speaker 1: pasta to me. We okay, he asked, too casual? Are we?
Speaker 1: I counted, my eyes, never leaving his face. He sat
Speaker 1: down across from me, searching my expression. I know I've
Speaker 1: been distant. I'm sorry. There's just stuff I have to
Speaker 1: work through. You'll see it all soon. The promise sounded
Speaker 1: like another lie, cloaked in apology. I picked at my meal,
Speaker 1: the food cooling, the rooms shrinking around our ritual. We
Speaker 1: ate in the quiet that comes before something breaks. Later,
Speaker 1: when we cleared the table together, Marcus's phone vibrated twice,
Speaker 1: both times showing the same l I watched him freeze,
Speaker 1: then dismissed the screen, sliding the phone into his back pocket.
Speaker 1: I couldn't keep pretending. As he started the dishwasher, I
Speaker 1: said softly, Marcus, if there's some one else, just say it. Please,
Speaker 1: don't make me keep guessing. He dropped a plate glass,
Speaker 1: shattering and cursed. For a moment, he looked at me,
Speaker 1: eyes clouded, mouth opened like he wanted to deny everything,
Speaker 1: But he just shook his head, bent to sweep the shards,
Speaker 1: retreating into a silence even thicker than before. Upstairs, I
Speaker 1: shut the bathroom door and pressed my forehead to the tile.
Speaker 1: The image of him, face slack with fear or calculation,
Speaker 1: or maybe just exhaustion, would not leave me. I wanted
Speaker 1: the game over, wanted only the truth, whatever damage it brought.
Speaker 1: Jody called that night. Devon says he's Dean Marcus with
Speaker 1: Lisa outside Sloan's three times never work people always just
Speaker 1: the two of them, he says. It didn't look professional.
Speaker 1: I thanked her, then called Zoe, desperate for some ballast.
Speaker 1: My sister listened, barely breathing, then whispered, what are you
Speaker 1: going to do? I don't know, I admitted, but I
Speaker 1: think I have to stop pretending I don't know any more.
Speaker 1: My chest felt tight, hollow. A chess board knocked to
Speaker 1: the floor, pieces scattering. The meaning of every move suddenly
Speaker 1: violently changed. That was the week everything else accelerated. Friends
Speaker 1: who'd once closed ranks started looking me in the eye again,
Speaker 1: offering help, a couch, a place to vent. Annie messaged me.
Speaker 1: If you want details, I'll tell you, but I'm always
Speaker 1: here regardless, I wrote her back, tell me. She called
Speaker 1: me at nine. He's been meeting Lisa at that hotel
Speaker 1: by the river. Devon saw them last week, arm in arm.
Speaker 1: I only didn't say anything because I thought maybe the
Speaker 1: gaming cafe thing was real. But this isn't right. I'm sorry, Care.
Speaker 1: I thanked her. The thanks were pointless, but what else
Speaker 1: could I say? After that? It was as if the
Speaker 1: city conspired to hand me proof. The receipts from our
Speaker 1: card lined up perfectly with Lisa's public social posts. A
Speaker 1: snap from a Sloane's dessert, her check in at the
Speaker 1: Riverside Hotel, tagged just minutes after Marcus's own euber ride ended. There,
Speaker 1: every gossom, a bit I chalked up to paranoia, wove
Speaker 1: itself into a tapestry so comprehensible I almost laughed at
Speaker 1: my own ignorance. I found myself checking Marcus's tablet again,
Speaker 1: desperate and numb all at once. I looked for messages,
Speaker 1: finding nothing overt until I dug into an app. Had
Speaker 1: never noticed before, some encryptid message client used for business
Speaker 1: inside a slew of in jokes, teases, playful, dare use,
Speaker 1: never filthy, always just shy of documentary evidence. Wish I
Speaker 1: could meet later, but my wife in tonight fun last night,
Speaker 1: your trouble, Lisa, far too much intimacy for business. My
Speaker 1: hands shook reading his parting, see you Thursday, same time.
Speaker 1: Maybe I'll finally beat you at chess. The punctuation was
Speaker 1: Marcus's he never could resist a game metaphor. All the
Speaker 1: small events shoehorned into work or side projects aligned. The
Speaker 1: overnights were always weekends. Lisa was traveling his quick tempers,
Speaker 1: the new attentiveness that came in awkward waves, the little
Speaker 1: gifts for the team that matched Lisa's favorite things. My
Speaker 1: stomach curdled. I forced myself not to wretch. When Marcus
Speaker 1: finally came home that night, I watched him try to
Speaker 1: summon the ghost of our old connection. He was bringing
Speaker 1: home dinner, cheerful, so carefully, not overreaching, that it was
Speaker 1: almost plausible. I played along, observing the wincing hope in
Speaker 1: his eyes, the way he kept glancing between me and
Speaker 1: his phone. Unable to relax, I realized, staring at him,
Speaker 1: that denial wasn't cowardice any more. It was the endgame,
Speaker 1: stretched as thin as he could make it before the
Speaker 1: truth fell out. I excused myself early that night, retreating
Speaker 1: to bed, swearing to myself I would confront him soon,
Speaker 1: but I hesitated, afraid of what waited. At the end
Speaker 1: of my questions, The answers were there. It was the
Speaker 1: after that terrified me, the end of this version of us,
Speaker 1: the end of game nights and inside jokes and belief
Speaker 1: in the same story. Still, the truth demanded more than
Speaker 1: my fear. The next morning, it rained, the whole city
Speaker 1: slick with water, traffic horns, the promise of a storm.
Speaker 1: Marcus texted to say he be home later. Back to
Speaker 1: back meetings, nothing fun. I'll try not to wake you
Speaker 1: instead of worrying. I dressed with intention, the shirt Marcus liked,
Speaker 1: make up, sharp hair, pinned back. I was no longer
Speaker 1: hunting for clues. I was brace myself for war. I
Speaker 1: gathered my evidence, the anonymised photo credit statements, Lisa's posts,
Speaker 1: the in jokes from their chat, records of every dinner,
Speaker 1: each unexplained hotel charge, all the tiny, deniable wounds. I
Speaker 1: placed the lipstick stained napkin on the table. I lined
Speaker 1: up dates and receipts. I found the text chain, unspooling
Speaker 1: Marcus's excuses, his own written trail of alibis and wishes.
Speaker 1: For the first time in months, I felt the part
Speaker 1: of myself that had always defined our marriage, not the forgiving,
Speaker 1: not the peacekeeper, but the strategist, the unflinching observer. I
Speaker 1: called Jody, just to hear her voice, steady me to night.
Speaker 1: I told her, I'm ending it to night. And when
Speaker 1: the hour came, rain slashing sideways against the windows, city
Speaker 1: lights flickering faint blue beyond our patio. I waited not
Speaker 1: for answers any more, but for the moment when Marcus
Speaker 1: would have to face the board with all the pieces revealed,
Speaker 1: and know that the next move was finally, irreversibly mine.
Speaker 1: Marcus arrived home later than planned. The rain had let up,
Speaker 1: only just, leaving a mist on the balcony glass and
Speaker 1: fat drops clinging to my hair from where I'd stood
Speaker 1: outside to steady my breath. I was still in the kitchen,
Speaker 1: laying out the chessboard, pieces assembled as if for a
Speaker 1: real match, that old compulsion for ritual holding me together
Speaker 1: for a moment longer. My phone was tucked under a napkin,
Speaker 1: the lipstick stained one laid flat. The match book sat
Speaker 1: beside Marcus's coffee mug, and a stack of printed receipts,
Speaker 1: chat transcripts, and photographs in a neat pile anchored by
Speaker 1: the king chest piece he always fiddled with. The apartment's
Speaker 1: lights were low, quieter than usual, no music. Dinner sat
Speaker 1: untouched on the stove. When he came in, Marcus shook
Speaker 1: droplets from his umbrella and met my eyes with a tired,
Speaker 1: cautious smile. You're up. He hesitated in the doorway, reading
Speaker 1: the air. His messenger bag thumped gently against the counter
Speaker 1: as he shrugged it off. I watched him pause, scan
Speaker 1: the table, then flick his eyes to me, searching for
Speaker 1: the narrative to step into, gaging whether I knew. He
Speaker 1: started to step forward but stopped. I didn't smile back.
Speaker 1: I couldn't remember how game night, he joked, voiced, thin
Speaker 1: with fatigue, trying to offer up a start to walk
Speaker 1: the old, familiar groove. He hung his soaking jacket on
Speaker 1: the chair, back gaze lingering on the chest pieces. Sit down, Marcus,
Speaker 1: I said, flat level. My voice almost startled me in
Speaker 1: its steadiness. We need to talk. He hesitated, masked, slipping
Speaker 1: for just an instant, enough for me to see the wariness,
Speaker 1: the calculation. Then he straightened, nodded, and took the seat opposite,
Speaker 1: hands folded together like a nervous student about to plead
Speaker 1: his case. My hands shook, so I pressed my fingers
Speaker 1: to the cool glass of my water, anchoring myself. I
Speaker 1: stayed silent, watching each emotion flicker across his face. Defensiveness,
Speaker 1: then something a little wild, then a fatigue I recognized
Speaker 1: from every one of the last few weeks. He waited
Speaker 1: for my opening move. I pushed the stack forward, exposing
Speaker 1: the printed photos Marcus and Lisa at Sloan's, both laughing.
Speaker 1: His hand curled around us across the table, receipts from
Speaker 1: the boutique hotel, flower shops, slips, Euba logs, the napkin.
Speaker 1: Now a confrontation instead of a curiosity. He didn't reach
Speaker 1: for them immediately. For a moment, he simply looked, maybe
Speaker 1: tried to detach, as if this were a client's problem
Speaker 1: instead of his own life. His mouth opened closed. When
Speaker 1: he finally spoke, his voice had that brittle, tired edge.
Speaker 1: I'd started to hate. What is this? He reached with
Speaker 1: two fingers, thumb trembling when he touched the photo. Where
Speaker 1: did you get these? A thread of panic ran beneath
Speaker 1: the surf, the desperate hope that a good answer might
Speaker 1: still exist. I met his eyes, forced myself not to blink.
Speaker 1: I know about Lisa, I said, and my voice didn't waver.
Speaker 1: About Sloans, the hotels, the messages. I know it isn't
Speaker 1: just business. Don't lie to me again. He recoiled, then
Speaker 1: pushed back from the table and stood up, hands on
Speaker 1: his hips, pacing toward the windows before turning sharply back.
Speaker 1: This is insane care, he snapped, voice rougher, louder than
Speaker 1: he meant. Y'w what's spying on my life? Going through
Speaker 1: my stuff? Snooping through my phone. I didn't answer his question,
Speaker 1: just let the silence do its own work. I watched
Speaker 1: his anger build a cover against the inevitable. His glare
Speaker 1: bounced off the objects on the table, refusing to settle.
Speaker 1: After a pause, I said, quietly, you want to talk
Speaker 1: about violation, let's talk about lies. He folded all at once,
Speaker 1: like a tent collapsed by wind. His hands dropped to
Speaker 1: his sides. You're making this more dramatic than it is,
Speaker 1: he mumbled, almost to himself. It was nothing care, just
Speaker 1: after work, drinks, a little flirting, nothing actually, he stopped.
Speaker 1: Our eyes, locked, his lips, pulling thin. I shook my head,
Speaker 1: gestures small, contained, don't there's no point pretending something in
Speaker 1: my voice in the evidence finally landed. Marcus sank back
Speaker 1: into his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled, Fine,
Speaker 1: you want honesty. Yes, I've been seeing her. I said
Speaker 1: it was work. I lied. I'm sorry, but it started
Speaker 1: as nothing, just someone to vent to it got out
Speaker 1: of control. He looked up, eyes rimmed red. Maybe from
Speaker 1: the rain, maybe not. You were always so put together.
Speaker 1: After a while, I felt shut out, like I was
Speaker 1: barely keeping up with everything, work, you, everyone's expectations. With
Speaker 1: her Lisa, I didn't have to be any one s rock.
Speaker 1: I listened, numb, the words landing like ice chips. I
Speaker 1: wanted to shout to list every betrayal every night i'd
Speaker 1: lain awake, blaming myself for his disconnection. Instead, I asked
Speaker 1: when how long he winced, looking at his hands. A
Speaker 1: couple months, maybe longer. I'm not even sure any more.
Speaker 1: After that night at Sloane's the first I guess I
Speaker 1: should have ended it, but I was out of my
Speaker 1: depth and your plans for the cafe. He flinched. That
Speaker 1: was real at first. Then I used it to cover
Speaker 1: when you started asking questions. I'm so sorry. I hated
Speaker 1: lying to you. I hated myself for lying. I thought
Speaker 1: I could control it, end it before it mattered, before
Speaker 1: it mattered. My voice cracked. There one place, the only
Speaker 1: allowance I gave myself for a beat. The room stilled.
Speaker 1: Water dripped softly from his coat to the floor. He
Speaker 1: almost looked grateful for the concrete sound, something mundane. Then
Speaker 1: guilt overtook him. He pressed his face into his hands.
Speaker 1: I was lonely, he said, voice muffled. Work was hell.
Speaker 1: You seemed so far away no matter what I did.
Speaker 1: I wasn't trying to replace you. God, I don't want
Speaker 1: to lose you. Care. I just it wasn't supposed to happen.
Speaker 1: It's over, It's done. How do I believe that? His
Speaker 1: silence answered. The confrontation hung between us, raw and heavy,
Speaker 1: more real than anything we'd said in weeks. My hands
Speaker 1: trembled again, but this time I let them show, palms
Speaker 1: open on the table. The chess board sat between us,
Speaker 1: pieces scattered, a silent record of the games we d
Speaker 1: once played as equals. He started to speak, then caught himself.
Speaker 1: For a long while, neither of us said anything. The
Speaker 1: only sound was the hum of traffic outside and a
Speaker 1: dishwasher cycle left unfinished. I thought i'd feel angry, but
Speaker 1: mostly I just felt impossibly tired. The work of doubt
Speaker 1: was done. All that remained was the aftermath. After a minute,
Speaker 1: Marcus stood rubbing the back of his neck, eyes pleading
Speaker 1: for some way out, some mercy or explanation that wouldn't arrive.
Speaker 1: He leaned on the back of the chair, staring at
Speaker 1: the floor. Do you want me to leave? He asked.
Speaker 1: I stared at him, this man I'd shared everything with,
Speaker 1: the one who once made late night noodles and left
Speaker 1: post it notes, now a stranger with slumped shoulders and
Speaker 1: nothing left to offer but shame. Yes, I said, not unkindly,
Speaker 1: pack a bag and go to night. He didn't protest,
Speaker 1: didn't make a clumsy plea for forgiveness. He just nodded, defeated,
Speaker 1: hands shaking a little as he climbed the stairs to
Speaker 1: our bedroom. The apartment was silent except for the soft
Speaker 1: thud of drawers opening and closing. I braced myself against
Speaker 1: the counter, the cold of the granite under my arms
Speaker 1: a minor anchor, while my mind reeled and reeled. After
Speaker 1: a while, he returned, small overnight bag in hand and
Speaker 1: jacket on. Eyes rimmed with regret. He paused by the door.
Speaker 1: But I couldn't bring myself to speak. First, I'm sorry,
Speaker 1: he whispered, voice breaking. Finally, you didn't deserve any of this.
Speaker 1: There was nothing left to say. I turned away, unable
Speaker 1: to hold his gaze, and listened as the door closed
Speaker 1: quietly behind him. For a long time, I didn't move.
Speaker 1: I listened to the storm outside pick up again, felt
Speaker 1: the empty weight of space where his body usually was,
Speaker 1: and let myself sag down to the floor. I pressed
Speaker 1: my fingers into the gap between the tiles, the shock
Speaker 1: of real cold, and let the first tears come, silent
Speaker 1: and almost surprised at their own arrival. I messaged Jody,
Speaker 1: sparing the barest details. He's gone. I'm ok. Then placed
Speaker 1: my phone faced on and stilled myself, letting exhaustion win
Speaker 1: over analysis. I could see each piece of evidence still
Speaker 1: spread across the table, mute, now useless. My eyes drifted
Speaker 1: over our home, as though seeing it through new glass. Later,
Speaker 1: I texted Annie and Devon in the group chat, telling
Speaker 1: them not to worry that I needed some quiet, declining
Speaker 1: their offers to come by. Zoey called, but I let
Speaker 1: it ring out, the sound both a comfort and a torment.
Speaker 1: Every tap of a message, every ring marked the shape
Speaker 1: of the life that had just collapsed inward. I made
Speaker 1: my way upstairs, the apartment, echoing with the sense of
Speaker 1: recent absence. Marcus's side of the bed was already neat
Speaker 1: he'd taken his pillow, his old hoodie, and some spare charges.
Speaker 1: I crawled on to his side, breathing in whatever warmth
Speaker 1: lingered around me. City lights pressed blue and watery through
Speaker 1: the curtains. The bed felt broader than before, a strange
Speaker 1: new topography for grief. I wrapped myself in his half
Speaker 1: of the quilt, staring up at the shadows, sleep coming slowly,
Speaker 1: punctuated only by the hollow drum of rain. It wasn't freedom,
Speaker 1: not yet, just the beginning silence after an ending. The
Speaker 1: next day, the apartment was marked by absence, draws Ajar,
Speaker 1: the entry chair bare without his coat, a single coffee
Speaker 1: mug sitting clean by the sink. I spent the morning
Speaker 1: running down the mechanical to do list, opening our joint
Speaker 1: banking site, and marking the accounts for separation, Pausing our
Speaker 1: shared utilities, locking down my own passwords, each step strung
Speaker 1: less than I expected, the practical work easier than the
Speaker 1: emotional untangling. Marcus's Emil arrived mid afternoon, a long apology
Speaker 1: full of the expected. I never wanted to hurt you.
Speaker 1: I don't deserve your forgiveness. I'll tell your family myself.
Speaker 1: He volunteered to move out, to make arrangements for his things,
Speaker 1: to face whatever we needed. I read it once, then again,
Speaker 1: then left it unread. There was nothing restorative in any
Speaker 1: of his sentences. I declined calls from friends and Zoe again.
Speaker 1: The idea of comfort felt impossible, the necessary conversations too
Speaker 1: heavy to contemplate. The only sound for hours was the
Speaker 1: lazy drum of rain on the windows and the crossed
Speaker 1: and traffic far below. As sunset bled through the clouds,
Speaker 1: I drifted from room to room, picking up stray reminders,
Speaker 1: a crumpled posted, an empty glass, the chess piece Markus
Speaker 1: used to idle with. I packed a box with his
Speaker 1: forgotten things, stacking it by the door. The physical shape
Speaker 1: of a life edited by necessity. Before bed, I texted,
Speaker 1: Marcus needs space. We'll circle back about your stuff when
Speaker 1: I'm ready. Don't contact my friends or family until then.
Speaker 1: I blocked his number, letting the finality settle. That night,
Speaker 1: sleep came in uneven spells, anchored by the strange fullness
Speaker 1: of Marcus's side of the bed occupied by me for
Speaker 1: the first time, like proof that the boundaries had shifted.
Speaker 1: I hugged the quilt tighter and told myself this was
Speaker 1: still home. It rained on and off for the rest
Speaker 1: of the week, the city refusing to move on my behalf.
Speaker 1: I barely left the apartment except for groceries and coffee runs.
Speaker 1: Friends dropped off meals at the door and texted without expectation.
Speaker 1: One evening, near dusk, I found myself on the balcony.
Speaker 1: Rain beaded on the glass again, the city lights smeared
Speaker 1: and indistinct. I clutched the old king chest piece, tracing
Speaker 1: the groove markers had worn with years of anxious gamesmanship. Inside.
Speaker 1: Marcus's email still lingered in my inbox and read since
Speaker 1: the day he scent it. My thumb hovered, then pressed
Speaker 1: and held delete permanent final. The cursor blinked, then the
Speaker 1: message was gone. I felt the absence almost physically, a
Speaker 1: slackening in my chest. A pebble dropped into still water.
Speaker 1: I stayed on the balcony until the street lights glowed
Speaker 1: yellow and the city's noise softened with the rising darkness.
Speaker 1: I squeezed the chest piece once, then closed my hand around,
Speaker 1: just feeling its weight for the first time since everything
Speaker 1: broke open. I inhaled and let the breath settle deep
Speaker 1: allowed the quiet back in the view beyond the railing
Speaker 1: was smeared with water and gold light. I leaned forward,
Speaker 1: hands steady, the future unmarked, the apartment behind me, silent
Speaker 1: but mine. When I finally went inside, I felt myself tired, raw,
Speaker 1: but whole in a way I hadn't been for a
Speaker 1: long time. At some point in that quiet, after deleting
Speaker 1: Marcus's emil, I went to the kitchen for water and
Speaker 1: realized I hadn't eaten a real meal in two days.
Speaker 1: My body felt thin and foreign beneath my robe, adrift, aimless,
Speaker 1: like I was haunting a version of my own life.
Speaker 1: I spent half an hour pulling together a sorry excuse
Speaker 1: for dinner, toast a few fridge left overs. I carried
Speaker 1: the plate to the window, sat in the dim city glow,
Speaker 1: chewing robotically, letting the thunder roll through me. The apartment
Speaker 1: seemed bigger with Marcus gone, as if his density had
Speaker 1: compressed time and space, and now every echo stretched farther.
Speaker 1: The days blurred. The pile of his boxed up things
Speaker 1: by the door shrank as I gradually tucked away what
Speaker 1: little was left, a pair of cufflinks, a water bottle
Speaker 1: with his sticker, the tangle of spare charging cords he
Speaker 1: always managed to lose. Some days, I showered late and
Speaker 1: stayed in pajamas. Texts came in from friends urging me
Speaker 1: to let them in to vent to get air. I
Speaker 1: thanked them and replied out of obligation, not out of want.
Speaker 1: The city itself seemed to breathe differently, each rain storm
Speaker 1: a half hearted cleansing, the downtown buildings receding behind streaked glass.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I caught a scent, a whiff of Marcus's cedar
Speaker 1: aftershave on a jacket i'd missed, or the faint ghost
Speaker 1: of his cologne on the quilt, and for a moment
Speaker 1: was tempted to preserve it, to bottle it into memory
Speaker 1: as proof there had once been love. Instead, I stripped
Speaker 1: the bed, changed the pillow cases, forced a briskness to
Speaker 1: my motions that bordered on islands. I expected Marcus's absence
Speaker 1: to spark talk. Our friend group, always buzzing, shifted into
Speaker 1: a careful limbo. Nobody addressed it directly, but invitations slowed,
Speaker 1: and the group texts, usually rowdy, lapsed into longer silences.
Speaker 1: I could read in the careful phrasing of their check ins,
Speaker 1: the places where Annie and Jody and Devon were comparing notes,
Speaker 1: deciding how best to avoid taking sides. While assuming I
Speaker 1: already knew everything. Only Zoe, my sister, ignored the protocol.
Speaker 1: She called three times, leaving voicemails I wasn't ready to hear.
Speaker 1: The consequences of Marcus's exit were immediate and blunt. Our accounts,
Speaker 1: joint credit savings bills all required splitting. I called the
Speaker 1: power company, the landlord. Customer service lines that asked for
Speaker 1: both account holders pressed too. I emailed our building's property
Speaker 1: manager about a new fob code for the front door
Speaker 1: and field. It is wary. Are you sure you don't
Speaker 1: want to give Marcus access for now? I assured him,
Speaker 1: voice flat, he won't need it. With each step, anger
Speaker 1: and relief mingled. Sometimes I almost smiled at how straightforward
Speaker 1: the practical ending of a marriage could be compared to
Speaker 1: the heart's unraveling. The one thing I couldn't bring myself
Speaker 1: to address was the chest set. It remained on the
Speaker 1: dining table, half played, king toppled, and one pawn caught
Speaker 1: between two squares. Maybe it was petty, but each time
Speaker 1: I moved to clean up, I paused, feeling something unfinished there,
Speaker 1: our private shorthand court mid game, too heavy to reset.
Speaker 1: A pang of vindictiveness crept up that first weekend as
Speaker 1: texts from Marcus trickled in, each increasingly subdued, each apology,
Speaker 1: tinney and formulaic. I'm giving you space, but I want
Speaker 1: a help with packing. Let me know if you need anything.
Speaker 1: I resisted replying even to practical requests, afraid if I
Speaker 1: so much as typed a line back, I'd open the
Speaker 1: door to more explanations, more circular regret. The urge to
Speaker 1: our ask ugly detailed questions was strong. How many times
Speaker 1: did you ever mean to confess? Was anything about our
Speaker 1: last months together? Real? But I let the questions wither
Speaker 1: in the notes up on my phone, refusing to use
Speaker 1: them as currency. My sleep unraveled. I'd wake up at
Speaker 1: three a m. The city's light, a dim wash over
Speaker 1: the rug, unfamiliar silence pressing on my skin. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: caught myself listening for Marcus's late return even now, a
Speaker 1: phantom expectation that persisted despite reason from Devon. Quietly came
Speaker 1: a text after a few days, saw Marcus picking up
Speaker 1: stuff at Leasa's just want you to know I'm here
Speaker 1: if you ever want to talk, no judgment. I stared
Speaker 1: at the screen, thumb hovering. My first urge was fury
Speaker 1: at the message, its prying, its confirmation of things I'd
Speaker 1: never wanted named. The second urge was only exhaustion, the
Speaker 1: fatigue of being some one the world wanted updates from.
Speaker 1: I replied, simply, thanks not to night. The first time
Speaker 1: I left the apartment for something that wasn't routine, Jody
Speaker 1: met me at a cafe on a drizzly gray Saturday.
Speaker 1: I wore sunglasses even though the sky was pewter, and
Speaker 1: she hugged me with the caution of some one afraid
Speaker 1: to break a fragile thing. After an endless silence, she said,
Speaker 1: you seem steadier. I'm angry. I admitted you should be.
Speaker 1: We didn't talk about Marcus directly. Jody told me about work,
Speaker 1: about a new dog, about Annie's failed soufle night. I
Speaker 1: contributed nothing, but when we parted she pressed a small
Speaker 1: box into my hands. You need a new game for
Speaker 1: nights by yourself, she said, inside a deck of cards, Taro,
Speaker 1: not poker, but the gesture was enough to sting a
Speaker 1: laugh from my chest. Walking home through the rain, I
Speaker 1: understood in a small clear way how survival is stitched
Speaker 1: from embarrassment, kindness, small embarrassments, practicalities. The awareness that every
Speaker 1: one knew our friends, Marcus's colleagues, possibly even Lisa, was
Speaker 1: a low level ache beneath the surface, the ordinary thing
Speaker 1: strung opening the fridge to find the hot sauce. He
Speaker 1: liked folding his towel by habit, clicking through old game
Speaker 1: night score cards popping up in cloud reminders. But the
Speaker 1: deeper cost, the part I had not counted on, was
Speaker 1: how every memory now split into before and after, Even
Speaker 1: mundane recollections rewrote themselves under this new light. I'd remember
Speaker 1: a time I'd called Marcus from a design conference, how
Speaker 1: excited he'd sounded, how he'd coached me through my prep
Speaker 1: for a tricky pitch. Now a sharp voice pierced even that.
Speaker 1: Was he already lying? Then? Had he compartmentalized us so easily?
Speaker 1: On Sunday afternoon, as I did laundry, Marcus's number flashed
Speaker 1: on my phone, an attempted call, not a message. I
Speaker 1: let it ring out, then checked voicemail hours later, stealing myself.
Speaker 1: His voice was thin, hoarse. Caroline I'm so sorry. I
Speaker 1: know you want space, but I can't stop thinking about
Speaker 1: what I did. If you'll let me, i'll tell your
Speaker 1: family myself. I'll do anything to fix what I can.
Speaker 1: You're the best person I know. I know I broke everything.
Speaker 1: I'll get my stuff when you're ready. I'm sorry, no
Speaker 1: attempt at manipulation, just the barest shape of a broken man.
Speaker 1: I deleted it after one listen. Night brought more rain,
Speaker 1: the dull, persistent hush of water ceaseless against the glass.
Speaker 1: I tried reading, but every paragraph blurred. I sipped bourbon,
Speaker 1: Marcus's favorite, shouldering the habit, if only to insist the
Speaker 1: house was mine, now rituals unchanged by his absence. A
Speaker 1: knock startled me from my drift. I peered through the
Speaker 1: peep hole where it might be Marcus, but it was
Speaker 1: Annie on the landing umbrella, leaking puddles. She handed me
Speaker 1: a tupperware of soup, met my eyes, and when I
Speaker 1: invited her in, simply stood in the entry, not pushing,
Speaker 1: just breathing quietly with me for a little while. Before leaving.
Speaker 1: She said, it will get less sharp, you'll see. I
Speaker 1: believed her, only in the fleeting way of someone still raw.
Speaker 1: Late at night, with the city quieter than usual, I
Speaker 1: sorted Marcus's remaining things into two piles. What would be
Speaker 1: boxed up for him and what I could let dissolve quietly,
Speaker 1: half empty shampoo bottles, notes with only half planned to dos,
Speaker 1: old receipts for game night pizzas. I caught myself humming
Speaker 1: the game night playlist, pausing when the chorus rolled around
Speaker 1: to one of our wedding songs. I switched off the music,
Speaker 1: breathing through the urge to shatter the speaker on the floor,
Speaker 1: and set the volume to zero instead. The following morning,
Speaker 1: opening my email to send out invoices, I caught sight
Speaker 1: again of the blocked folder where Marcus's last apology sat
Speaker 1: marked and read, since I'd banished him from reaching out again.
Speaker 1: For a while, I hovered thumb pressed to the mouse,
Speaker 1: undecided if I should open it for curiosity's sake or
Speaker 1: let it sit inert. Finally I deleted the email. No
Speaker 1: more games of evidence, no more pausing his words for
Speaker 1: a story that would never cohere. With that, a strange,
Speaker 1: uneasy quiet arrived. I handled what needed handling, itemizing the
Speaker 1: utility bills, scheduling the final meeting at our bank, I
Speaker 1: sent Marcus a single curt message, your remaining things are
Speaker 1: boxed by the lobby. Pick them up this week. I
Speaker 1: won't be here, and then silenced the thread, marking it unread,
Speaker 1: refusing to check if he'd replied. After dropping the key
Speaker 1: cards to the lobby box, I ducked out for a walk,
Speaker 1: letting the city crowd swallow me. There was a weird
Speaker 1: freedom in anonymity. Nobody here expected a smile or required explanation.
Speaker 1: I lingered by the bookstore where we used to schedule
Speaker 1: date nights, and didn't go in. I passed Sloan's, the
Speaker 1: restaurant at the center of everything, and didn't look through
Speaker 1: the windows. It was as if the borders of my
Speaker 1: world had shrunk, then slowly begun in fragile inches to
Speaker 1: expand again. Jody texted later, asking if I wanted to
Speaker 1: come over for movie night, just girls, no question, no
Speaker 1: chess allowed. I almost typed yes, but instead I set
Speaker 1: my phone faced on and watched the city from my balcony,
Speaker 1: fingers tight around the chest piece i'd claimed as my
Speaker 1: own relic. The apartment behind me glowed gentle, as if
Speaker 1: waiting for me. To declare it inhabited again. That night's
Speaker 1: sleep returned fitful but undisturbed by expectation. In dreams, there
Speaker 1: were no games, only silence. Each time I woke, I
Speaker 1: felt the loss anew, but didn't reach for my phone,
Speaker 1: didn't fixate on what Marcus was doing or who he
Speaker 1: was with. After so many weeks trapped in dread, the
Speaker 1: absence of curiosity was a comfort. I received a single
Speaker 1: email from Marcus short Leaden, asking if i'd listened to
Speaker 1: him in person one more time, just for closure for
Speaker 1: both of us. I stared at it for a minute,
Speaker 1: breathing slowly, counting the heart beats between possible futures. Then
Speaker 1: I deleted it, letting the final strand unspool. The stuff
Speaker 1: uff no longer matted, the receipts, the napkin, the match book,
Speaker 1: all artifacts of a story no longer mine to puzzle over.
Speaker 1: I put them in an unused serial box and carried
Speaker 1: it carefully to the trash shoot on the top floor.
Speaker 1: I stood for a moment, feeling the weight before release,
Speaker 1: then tipped the box in. The sound of the drop
Speaker 1: was a small, hollow echo, a punctuation mark that ended
Speaker 1: nothing grandly, just with finality In the return to my apartment,
Speaker 1: hands emptied, I let the breath come easier. I rejoined
Speaker 1: the ordinary world, replied to Zoe's text with a simple
Speaker 1: I'm okay to day, I promise, answered Jody's call, scheduled
Speaker 1: lunch for the week end. Each yes created just a
Speaker 1: sliver more distance from the world I'd lost, and a
Speaker 1: little bit more space in the one that remained. Later,
Speaker 1: I sat at the table, gazing at the chess pieces,
Speaker 1: now slightly re arranged by my own restless hands. I
Speaker 1: gathered them up, sorted each one into its felted nook
Speaker 1: in the box, pausing only when my fingers found the
Speaker 1: king worn smooth, the paint slightly chipped from years of
Speaker 1: Marcus's anxious fiddling. I held it a moment longer, turning
Speaker 1: it over and over, feeling the old shape settle against
Speaker 1: my palm. I set the chest set on a high shelf,
Speaker 1: not hidden, not thrown out, simply placed out of the way,
Speaker 1: as though it might one day be returned to use
Speaker 1: by someone with steadier hands. I cleaned the table, wiped
Speaker 1: away the ghostly outline where sun and dust had marked
Speaker 1: out each piece's territory. Then in deliberate, conscious motion. I
Speaker 1: grabbed my jacket, locked the door, and stepped outside into
Speaker 1: the city's evening. The rain finally gone, the sky pale
Speaker 1: and tender at the edges with promise. Back on the balcony,
Speaker 1: I sank into the deck chair, knees pulled to my chest,
Speaker 1: the king chest piece nestled between my palms. The city
Speaker 1: hummed below, window squares blinking with quiet stories of other lives.
Speaker 1: I looked down one last time, my phone, no new messages,
Speaker 1: just my own reflection, steady but not impassive, above the noise,
Speaker 1: above the ache, above even the memory of what I'd lost.
Speaker 1: I found a space inside myself, not yet touched by
Speaker 1: betrayal or resignation, just a gentle, growing resolve that the
Speaker 1: next move, whatever it was, would be mine. And for
Speaker 1: the first time in a long fractured season, I let
Speaker 1: that sense of steadiness fill me. Dusk coming on rain
Speaker 1: smoothed glass, the city unwinding beneath my feet, the future blank,
Speaker 1: uncertain perhaps, but finally quietly my own