Speaker 1: I stood in the kitchen, hands working on autopilot as
Speaker 1: I sliced cheddar into neat rectangles, lining them beside a
Speaker 1: handful of crackers on the chip blue plate. Mark always
Speaker 1: called the ultimate snack tray. I checked the clock above
Speaker 1: the stove, ten sixteen, distinctly late for a Friday, but
Speaker 1: not onhud of his regular post work habiaur dray. The
Speaker 1: first cycle of anxiety always started here. This waiting. With
Speaker 1: most people its benign. They trained extra round stories that
Speaker 1: make the bar still impossible to leave. With Mark, it
Speaker 1: was ritual, no matter how late I get the texts
Speaker 1: heading home. Want anything, then the key would rattle in
Speaker 1: the lock and each out snack queen present and accounted for,
Speaker 1: or something equally stupid that only made tense if he'd
Speaker 1: logged fourteen hundred communal evenings together. No text yet, I
Speaker 1: put the phone thumbed through podcasts in search of a
Speaker 1: time filler. That's when the group chat was the lazykscade
Speaker 1: of inside jerks about Kyle's mustache tashes, revolutionary cheese straws,
Speaker 1: a new line. Guess Marks officially left us for dead
Speaker 1: from Jonas. Then he goes to it before we even
Speaker 1: ordered wings brewed, followed by an old gift of Mark,
Speaker 1: double fisting IPAs, grinning like a golden retriever. My eyes
Speaker 1: stuck there that gift boasted never Mark. I typed, he's
Speaker 1: probably stuck at the bar's back room, chatting up Garrett's
Speaker 1: wed client. Then deleted. Typed maybe he swung by the
Speaker 1: office big pitch this week. Deleted again. My thumb hovered
Speaker 1: above a coal icon, apulsive irritation and some other older fear. Instead,
Speaker 1: I slid to our share digital calendar, the graveyard of
Speaker 1: every heircut bill reminder, an anniversary place we threatened to revisit.
Speaker 1: There in Mark's distinct blockie lettering was tonight climb pitch,
Speaker 1: late oger, not happier at all. But the coffee table
Speaker 1: told another story. Mark's keys, both the office and apartment ring,
Speaker 1: lay beside the afternoon mail, along with his favorite windbreaker,
Speaker 1: still dusted with a flake of dried mud from last
Speaker 1: week end's ride. If he'd left, he'd have needed at
Speaker 1: least one ring. He was a creature of annoying backup
Speaker 1: pland spare keys in every bag, like glove pockets inside
Speaker 1: the hollow handlebar. But if he'd walked or called a
Speaker 1: car he'd have taken at least to grass about the
Speaker 1: lost points for relieving fortress unlocked soft stupid girl tiptoed
Speaker 1: up my spine. What am I really accusing him of
Speaker 1: being absent minded? Lying sleeping with summer. I pressed forefinger
Speaker 1: and thumb to either side of my nose, waiting for
Speaker 1: clarity that didn't come. I loved him, I still did,
Speaker 1: even as I started at his vacant chair, the snack
Speaker 1: plate sweating between us, the keys gunted in the TV's light,
Speaker 1: each tiny groove now an open question. But we were
Speaker 1: the team. Everyone called us that Lily and Mark, the designers,
Speaker 1: the cycling legends, the couple that actually makes he want
Speaker 1: to go home together after happy hour. I'd heard it
Speaker 1: thrown around enough times to almost just almost believe it
Speaker 1: was permanent. Most people, if they look at us, see
Speaker 1: the same general cut out. Two people who met at
Speaker 1: the Downtown Design Program's orientation stayed up late and locking
Speaker 1: Adobe short cuts brew bottom as French presses in Mark's
Speaker 1: rented attic room. The beginnings were a playlist of shed caffeine,
Speaker 1: mutual eye rolls of professor's notes, and that slightly neurotic
Speaker 1: refusal to ever finish a project before the last minute.
Speaker 1: Our first actual date was accidental dodging a portfolio review
Speaker 1: for Greasy eight at Mel's Dina. More chemistry and hollering
Speaker 1: across would close their romantic tension. We both swore back
Speaker 1: then to avoid the series tedious Adults stuff for as
Speaker 1: long as possible. We mid solemn vows over cheap kraft bier,
Speaker 1: no born jobs, no matching his and host towels, and
Speaker 1: absolutely no force. Eate nights, fast forward and routines are
Speaker 1: what we built anyway, just differently. Saturday mornings, the a
Speaker 1: day m rides along the river, racing our group or
Speaker 1: just each other, betting who could spot the most off
Speaker 1: brand logo designs half way to the city park. Weeknights,
Speaker 1: there were sketchwick wars, him wielding a six B pencil,
Speaker 1: me stroutedizing digital color swatches. Both of us determined our
Speaker 1: do the other's vake agency briefs, even our fights. Six
Speaker 1: it between passionate and logistical, whose turn for groceries, whether
Speaker 1: the red or blue sofa pared better with the mural
Speaker 1: we painted one hungover Sunday, our friend group orbited around us.
Speaker 1: If only for the snacks or marks boarder line, excessive
Speaker 1: laugh and I love that. I love being the design couple,
Speaker 1: the ones always pitching new games and hashtagging rides. I
Speaker 1: believed stubbornly we could coast on wit and mutual ambition.
Speaker 1: Mark was loyal to these traditions. He resented any break
Speaker 1: in our calendar, specially missing friends. When work ran long,
Speaker 1: he fred about letting down the cycle league. I always
Speaker 1: joked his skip his own funeral if it overlapped with
Speaker 1: group bolling night. Money was tolerable, not glamb but after
Speaker 1: the first few years, we each polled agency salaries that
Speaker 1: paid our share of city rent and the outreat. Mark
Speaker 1: and I split big groceries but kept personal vemos Easier
Speaker 1: than debating who funded last Friday's pizza. He'd rid me
Speaker 1: about my indie perfume habit. I'd poke fund at his
Speaker 1: endless micro transaction charges for rare vaunts. It wasn't secrecy,
Speaker 1: just simplicity, or so I thought. That difference was my
Speaker 1: mother's legacy. After my dad left all silence and taped
Speaker 1: thin explanations, she had folded in on herself and spooling
Speaker 1: only years later that she should have seen it coming.
Speaker 1: I inherited that taste for vigilance, not paranoia, just to
Speaker 1: low grade a tim into the way rooms go quiet,
Speaker 1: why shoes are arranged just sir. Mark knew this, even
Speaker 1: reassured me once over breakfast. I'd rather get caught telling
Speaker 1: you too much and hiding. Were not your mom and
Speaker 1: dad marked it hide a little inside work. Mostly when
Speaker 1: a client pittulumed, he'd spin into nervous fidgeting, spreadsheeting, moodia playlists,
Speaker 1: muttering about deliverables in his sleep. I'd be the one
Speaker 1: nudging him away from his drafting pad with chocolate or
Speaker 1: best support spouse memes. Last year, when he nearly lost
Speaker 1: a big brand, he'd apologized made up with a dozen roses,
Speaker 1: not my style, but sincere then we'd gone up with
Speaker 1: the group, and I told myself again that everything was fine.
Speaker 1: What I always trusted was his routine oers. He hated
Speaker 1: missing dinners, pre write coffee, our Friday debriefs. Even the
Speaker 1: worst deadline wouldn't keep him from group happy hour to night.
Speaker 1: Then keys on the table, no texts and a group chat.
Speaker 1: That thought he was missing felt like new territory. Maybe
Speaker 1: it was nothing. Maybe I was waiting for something to
Speaker 1: be wrong, and that in itself was the problem. The
Speaker 1: following night, I climbed into bed lone walkside and rumbled
Speaker 1: the lemon lavender Lushian still in the air, and tried
Speaker 1: to make sense of it. Saturday slid heavily into Sunday morning.
Speaker 1: Before he arrived, leather briefcase slung over one's shoulder, tied loose.
Speaker 1: He looked tired, but not the haphazard tired of an
Speaker 1: adman on a deadline. Moore pulled in werehearsed. He offered
Speaker 1: a wad smile, the sort you give a neighbor, not
Speaker 1: a wife, long one, I tested, searching his face. He
Speaker 1: peeled his blazer off, not meeting my eyes. Yeah. The
Speaker 1: pitch ran over, endless, back and forth over the newer brand.
Speaker 1: They wouldn't let it go. He busied himself with his phone,
Speaker 1: which client I asked, curious but soft Anne Venture. He
Speaker 1: said they were reorganizing their whole launch for the fall.
Speaker 1: A blip of memory flash a glance at the client
Speaker 1: roster last week, and an ane Venturer was old news.
Speaker 1: He'd finished their banner sweet months ago, so Adventure again.
Speaker 1: He looked up and for the briefest instant and certainty
Speaker 1: crossed his face. Yeah, they're having issues legacy staff. Ye
Speaker 1: know how it is. He turned toward the bathroom conversation,
Speaker 1: closed his fingers tracing the screen. When he left his
Speaker 1: gym back in the hall, I bent to scoop laundry.
Speaker 1: A new floral detergent swept up from the mess, headier
Speaker 1: than the industry stuff I bought in bulk, not ours upgrade.
Speaker 1: A laundry game, I joked, but his replied woe grabbed
Speaker 1: some at the agency mine ran out fell awkwardly. That Sunday,
Speaker 1: I nursed a soft paranoia at the breakfast bar vemo
Speaker 1: lap half open beside my cereal. Many couples split household bills,
Speaker 1: the rest just tidily dissolvento merged accounts, but we'd always
Speaker 1: been casual. The shared feed made it easy to tease
Speaker 1: him about lunch blurges on my own monthly splurge of bloom,
Speaker 1: this time two days pass a fifty four dollars charge
Speaker 1: the Hideaway beauty cafe. I hadn't heard of paym and
Speaker 1: split with ah L. I tried to justify maybe a
Speaker 1: client lunch, but Mark always insisted on billing Backwark meals
Speaker 1: not the right location for agency meetings either. Besides, he
Speaker 1: was out of town that day. For a heartbeat, it
Speaker 1: felt like a balancing at him, a connecting too many
Speaker 1: dots or not enough. I drew invisible lines between nothing
Speaker 1: and everything. If I asked, would that make it real?
Speaker 1: Would he laugh at me? Or edge closer to the truth?
Speaker 1: Or am I letting my mother's go as tell me
Speaker 1: how to trust again? The next week, details pricked me
Speaker 1: in the quite as corners cycling jersey spun through my hands.
Speaker 1: On Thursday, laundry duty among our regular rotation of neon
Speaker 1: and branding, I found something newer, women's cut, narrower at
Speaker 1: the waist, slightly shorter sleeves, and familiar logo, not ma size,
Speaker 1: not my preferred brand. For a heartbeat, I wondered if
Speaker 1: it was a race freebe I'd forgotten. Even so, why
Speaker 1: in Mark's pile, I called to him, holding it up?
Speaker 1: You trying out woman's gear or now rethinking your style?
Speaker 1: He snickered to, just a touch defensive. Oh that's a
Speaker 1: group's sample. I picked it up from the shop for
Speaker 1: next week and figured you or Tasha would want to
Speaker 1: try it on they threw it in free The words
Speaker 1: bumped past each other, plausible in theory, but not quite
Speaker 1: in the texture. He'd never been the gear fetcher. Mark
Speaker 1: was two self absorbed during pre ride weekends. To handle
Speaker 1: surprises for any one, I made my face neutral, folding
Speaker 1: the jersey and stashing it away from my own pile,
Speaker 1: recording mentally quietly. Social rhythms started stretching. Thin. Invitations arrived
Speaker 1: for Sunday brunches, new art openings, river riads, even karaoke marks,
Speaker 1: please favor it, I rvp'd, but Mark Stummolt just sloumd
Speaker 1: with dead lines. Promise I'll make the next one. But
Speaker 1: when Monday rolled around, the next one never came. Friends
Speaker 1: noticed at the edges he's still under the gun. Or
Speaker 1: tell Mark he can at least show up for the
Speaker 1: last round. I said, I'd try, not sure if I
Speaker 1: could convince him, or if I wanted to. One morning,
Speaker 1: Sarah ping me after brunch, you guys okay. I nearly
Speaker 1: told her the whole story, but texted back, he's just
Speaker 1: in grime mode, you know, Mark. A few days later
Speaker 1: I pushed again, Hey, art shows tonight, I'm meeting Tash
Speaker 1: and Joan is at Old City Gallery come after work.
Speaker 1: He glanced at his phone, expression distant, then shook his head.
Speaker 1: I'd love to, but we've got a Monday presentation. Agencies
Speaker 1: staying late, pizza at the office. One more rounovate. It's
Speaker 1: a familiar excuse, but this time instinct moved first. As
Speaker 1: the night ticked on and my group's photos brightened my feed,
Speaker 1: I scrolled through stories for distraction. There shaky pan across
Speaker 1: the river at sunset buck leaning against one of the
Speaker 1: battered city benches. The call away in bartep matching marks,
Speaker 1: notable because he was supposed to be eating pizza unto
Speaker 1: fuorescent agency lights. No one near a river at seven
Speaker 1: twelve p m. The next morning, sipping coffee over the
Speaker 1: time's crosswort, I tried to slip it in, feigning casual.
Speaker 1: Some one spotted a bike with her collars set up
Speaker 1: at the riverside park last night. Did you make it
Speaker 1: out the pre deadline? Mack blinked half a bead of confusion,
Speaker 1: then an unnecessary tightness. No, must have been some one else.
Speaker 1: I was buried at the office, didn't leave until after midnight.
Speaker 1: I let the silence bloom. He tucked his head into
Speaker 1: the paper. That same week, tripping for digital receipts, I
Speaker 1: found another odd vemo split concert tickets one hundred twenty
Speaker 1: dollars partial payment from meel the name again floating just
Speaker 1: beneath consciousness. Not one of our friends or regular traces,
Speaker 1: certainly not in the brunch rotation. Another folded receipt in
Speaker 1: Mark's jacket. Two entrees at the high end cafe. One
Speaker 1: on a Saturday morning. He told me he was catching
Speaker 1: up on Freelan's work. My stomach flickered a rotation. I'd
Speaker 1: not received flowers in months, but found two folded florist's
Speaker 1: receipts tucked into the back of our home mail stack.
Speaker 1: I could have called him out. I could have mentioned
Speaker 1: it over dinner or when he next absently kissed my hair.
Speaker 1: But what would I say? Am I rifling your receipts
Speaker 1: because I don't trust you? Or because you've suddenly become inexplicable?
Speaker 1: Am I losing my grip? Or testing to see if
Speaker 1: you have? Sarah finally forced my hand. We met up
Speaker 1: at the New Coffee Bar, a glass cube of reclaimed
Speaker 1: wood and articinal film. I ordered a cinema lattes, then
Speaker 1: let my complaints trickle out careful and complete Marks old
Speaker 1: heeinnines and miss coles. Lately, I don't know. Maybe I'm
Speaker 1: just bugging him at the wrong time. Sarah, who had
Speaker 1: known Mock nearly as long as I had, frowned after
Speaker 1: a long swaller, saw him here last week. Actually he
Speaker 1: was with someone I assumed work, but he looked pretty
Speaker 1: intense new higher. She had the shot bob neon cycling cap.
Speaker 1: I almost set high, but it looked serious. Last week.
Speaker 1: I tried to keep my voice level. He told me
Speaker 1: he was at the agency that morning. She shrugged, and sure,
Speaker 1: maybe I'm mixing up days. I chewed the inside of
Speaker 1: my lip, pouring all my focus into peeling the label
Speaker 1: off my cup. Even the words looked intense, spun around
Speaker 1: my brain and distorted echo shapes. By then everything felt off.
Speaker 1: If he was cheating, wouldn't I know? Or was I
Speaker 1: merely seeing patterns shadows that weren't there. But Mark's lies
Speaker 1: weren't bake, not yet. They were bends and coves, small
Speaker 1: changes in routine, gentle rerouting of the way Allahs fit together,
Speaker 1: and through it all, I didn't accuse him, couldn't. Instead,
Speaker 1: I grew vigilant, not paranoid, just a hypertendive, like every
Speaker 1: atom in the room could rearrange itself to give me
Speaker 1: an answer if I just waited long enough. After all this,
Speaker 1: after nearly two weeks suspended in the crowded hush of
Speaker 1: my own apartment, waking up at every fourboard creek, I caved.
Speaker 1: I sat marked down in the kitchen Saturday afternoon rain,
Speaker 1: taking down the white windows, and asked, can we talk?
Speaker 1: He leaned in, wore, he pinched across his mouth. Yeah,
Speaker 1: is everything all right? Visibly I wavered, but I pressed.
Speaker 1: He've been all over the place, missing rides, skipping brunch.
Speaker 1: Everyone's asking after you. Is work bad? Or are you
Speaker 1: just over all of it? He exhaled, rubbing his temples.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry. I should have told you walks crazy, But
Speaker 1: that's not the hull story. I took on extra freelance.
Speaker 1: Fran she's well, she's dealing with some personal staff, and
Speaker 1: I offered to cover some of her workloads so she
Speaker 1: could get through it. Anna, I repeated, the name, jogged
Speaker 1: a memory and new Coaker he'd mentioned in passing, but
Speaker 1: I'd never met. It's all above board. I swear she's newish,
Speaker 1: a little frazzled. Her mom's sick, and she's behind on
Speaker 1: a few big projects. Half the agency's pitching in. He
Speaker 1: slid his phone across the table, opening a string of emails, schedules, attachments,
Speaker 1: bland but friendly, see all project notes and files. A
Speaker 1: couple of emojis. But that's just her style. I nodded,
Speaker 1: embarrassed now at how easily the tension in my chest released.
Speaker 1: Mark couldn't fake this, could he? I'm sorry? I doubted it,
Speaker 1: I started, but he cut me off. No, you're right
Speaker 1: to ask. I'll do better. I promised to stop bringing
Speaker 1: work home. We could use a reset. He laid his
Speaker 1: palm across mine, Ralph warm, familiar. How long since we
Speaker 1: had a week in just for us? He ordered to
Speaker 1: take out, picked a dummrong com and for the night
Speaker 1: the wolver we set. Mark was gentle, unhurried, the winds
Speaker 1: in his forehead smoothing out. I let myself re let
Speaker 1: my suspicion dissolve like a stack of salt. I told
Speaker 1: myself my fears were just echoes of a broken childhood,
Speaker 1: proof only of my own un finished business. By Sunday night,
Speaker 1: after our little couple's get away to boutique in two
Speaker 1: towns over marck surprise. I felt like I had been
Speaker 1: handed my old relationship back. I watched him sleep, cheeks
Speaker 1: rosy under the lamp light, and tried not to make
Speaker 1: eye contact with the debts lined up in the shabbyond
Speaker 1: our bed. Then, Monday morning, as I saw to the mail,
Speaker 1: a fat ivory envelopes slid loose, addressed to Mark and
Speaker 1: careful looping print, I flicked it up and scanning instinctively
Speaker 1: inside a short handriton, thanks Mark, can't wait for our
Speaker 1: next getaway. They only an initial, oh mantic intimate, nothing
Speaker 1: like the professional sign off of a grief stricken colleague.
Speaker 1: Time slowed, clasped inward, the groove of his key in
Speaker 1: the door, the edges of the snack plate, every story
Speaker 1: since last Friday, reshaping themselves. I ransacked the weekend's comfort,
Speaker 1: holding up each memory, the brief phone calls, marked, small,
Speaker 1: hesitant jokes. Checking his watch when we cut across the
Speaker 1: bautic lobby. Did he check for her messages or mine?
Speaker 1: I sat abruptly, hot jack khmurring in the silent kitchen.
Speaker 1: Suddenly the line between caution and certainty wasn't quite so fine.
Speaker 1: But I couldn't wouldn't go in swinging, Not yet. This
Speaker 1: had to be real, not just fear. I dug deeper, careful, systematic.
Speaker 1: Now I toddled through Venmo again the wayh our reseats
Speaker 1: painted a time line, brunches, late lunches, concert tickets mapped
Speaker 1: out over months, sometimes round them, sometimes faced exact weeks
Speaker 1: apart of pattern, as deliberate as a scheduled affair. Determined
Speaker 1: to know, not just guess, I wrote quietly to the
Speaker 1: concert venue where Markett supposedly stayed late for a work deliverable.
Speaker 1: I made up a lost and found story to ask
Speaker 1: about the tickets. Day later the reply Marx Carter had
Speaker 1: purchased two VIP passes used on a night. He texted
Speaker 1: me from the office. They checked in at seven fifty
Speaker 1: seven p m. I faced the threshold, finally of knowing.
Speaker 1: I plodded my next move, nothing reckless, nothing that could
Speaker 1: be spun with a quick lie. I convinced myself I'd
Speaker 1: have forgotten my scarf at Mark's agency and arrived after hours,
Speaker 1: palms sweating in my jacket pockets. The office was nearly
Speaker 1: deserve it. Light time in my green, bright stale air,
Speaker 1: perfumed with spent owner. At Mark's desk, half covered by
Speaker 1: project notebooks was a sketchbook I had never seen before.
Speaker 1: The covers were knitited within and bike tire grooves filled
Speaker 1: with rough local sketches, entwined with cursor half flirtitious notes
Speaker 1: in the margin's I recognized his hand, a small curtoon
Speaker 1: of Mark and a woman riding in front, the woman's
Speaker 1: hay wild beneath a cycling cap drawn in a style
Speaker 1: that wasn't mine. Later that week I eyed him over breakfast.
Speaker 1: Mark munching toad claimed he'd never tried the riverside cafe,
Speaker 1: the same whose receipt I'd found folded in his pocket
Speaker 1: the week before. He seemed bolder, almost taunt him, fae.
Speaker 1: I was done socializing, my suspicion something foundational had cracked.
Speaker 1: I brought in serrh my anchor over burritos. I spelled
Speaker 1: it out, listing receipts, venue's days. He'd vanished behind a
Speaker 1: screen of work. She was quiet for a stretch, then
Speaker 1: keyed around on her phone, scrolling through friends of friends.
Speaker 1: Anna learned. She offered showing me a cycling groups tag
Speaker 1: shots slick helmet neon jerseys like confident Grin. A fellow
Speaker 1: agency designer, nearly single. Mutual friends called her intensely creative
Speaker 1: amuse for anyone with wheels most damming. She filled the
Speaker 1: frame beside Mark in a half dozen cycling event photos
Speaker 1: over the last eight months, her gloved hand ghosting behind
Speaker 1: his back the last domino one evening after a weekend
Speaker 1: apart a voicemail from the local bike shop. Hi, just
Speaker 1: confirming the custom water bottle's order for Mark and Anna
Speaker 1: anniversary logo let us know when to pick up cold clarity,
Speaker 1: years of inside jokes reduced to a receipt initials engraved.
Speaker 1: My body alternated between cold and wildfiree heat. I rifle
Speaker 1: repeatedly through his desk, waking the night to invent plausible explanations,
Speaker 1: not just to protect myself, but to protect our story
Speaker 1: from the stark betrayal. This wasn't stress, nor ghost in
Speaker 1: the calendar, nor some misunderstood Pal. This was a deliberate rewriting,
Speaker 1: an adult deception, crafted with the same obsessive attention Mark
Speaker 1: once reserved for typefaces and ride routes. I was angry now,
Speaker 1: not just scared. Anna had become the scent piece of
Speaker 1: entirely distinct routines, cafes, concerts, hidden sketchbooks, commemorative orders. I
Speaker 1: saw and jagged relief, our whole relationship being replaced in chapters,
Speaker 1: each carefully managed lime or humiliating, because I wanted so
Speaker 1: badly to believe him. But I wasn't done yet, not
Speaker 1: until I had every last fact in the open, not
Speaker 1: until I was absolutely sure of the direction, every line
Speaker 1: of my life was suddenly pointing. The confrontation would come
Speaker 1: not as a side note, not as another nervous, half
Speaker 1: joking question, but direct and ignorable, as final, as a
Speaker 1: helmet snap before Riegy, no will blow up the map
Speaker 1: You've written a thousand times before. It took a full
Speaker 1: day after Sarah's confirmation for the surge of clarity to
Speaker 1: wash through. I still kept expecting something else, some perfectly
Speaker 1: sensible truth, to leap out, make the last month's pattern harmless.
Speaker 1: Each time my brain offered a distant hope, even as
Speaker 1: my hand stout deeper demail in boxes. Old event invites
Speaker 1: the social media trails all modern couple's leave behind, like
Speaker 1: tied tracks and mud. That night Mark called to say
Speaker 1: he'd be laid again stand with Keedden's pushing through late reviews,
Speaker 1: get some sleep. But I lay in our bed, listening
Speaker 1: to the old pipes and the walls, the steady thump
Speaker 1: of water in the neighbor's apartment, the drone of the fridge,
Speaker 1: wondering if he was even in the city, if he'd
Speaker 1: good night to Anna crawl into her sheets, or if
Speaker 1: their fare was all back seats and hotels, string of
Speaker 1: escapes from the routines heat sworn he loved. I texted Tasha,
Speaker 1: one of our Rye group regulars, just to hear some
Speaker 1: one else's voice. She messaged back in seconds you up
Speaker 1: for the city loop tomorrow? Need my wing woman? I replied, absolutely,
Speaker 1: seven thirty u K eager for any human ritual that
Speaker 1: still made sense. When I got up the next morning,
Speaker 1: Mark's pillow was untouched, his phone charger was missing, as
Speaker 1: was his windbreaker. At the time, I fixated on these
Speaker 1: physical absences as if they could be talied into a
Speaker 1: calculation that might adopt you. Just working laid on the riot,
Speaker 1: the city was laid out in half light, and even
Speaker 1: my legs felt heavy, my lungs never quite full. I
Speaker 1: trailed Tasha spinning through the familiar greenways that cut toward downtown.
Speaker 1: At the mid rd stop under the bridge, ire usual
Speaker 1: debrief a new addition to the group. Benny squatted to
Speaker 1: grab his water bottle and eyed me sideways. Hey, havn't
Speaker 1: seen Mark him for ever? Is he on hiatus? Tasha
Speaker 1: paused a glance, flicking from me to the others, but
Speaker 1: didn't save me. He's just work swampt, I replied, making
Speaker 1: my face carefully neutral. Then he grunted, pushing off on
Speaker 1: his pedals. Tasha lingered, propped on her saddle, and finally
Speaker 1: ethane low voice. Are you guys good? I froze, helmet, strapped,
Speaker 1: stamp at my chin. A succession of Anz's tumbling through
Speaker 1: my mind. The practiced everything's fine was right there, but
Speaker 1: it felt like stepping into someone else's shoes. Instead, I shrugged,
Speaker 1: staring out at the river and said nothing until we
Speaker 1: clipped into head home. Mark's absence, once unremarkable, had become
Speaker 1: so visible at each friend. Prodding at the gap only
Speaker 1: stretched it wider. Either time I carried my back inside,
Speaker 1: my phone buzzed a calendar reminder for anniversary planning the hideaway.
Speaker 1: Mark's label not mine. Our real anniversary was six weeks out.
Speaker 1: Were we supposed to be planning something or had he
Speaker 1: recycled the event for some other routine. I stared at
Speaker 1: the calendar a long while, tracing my finger along the dates,
Speaker 1: searching for Overlapnow that was almost a reflex. I dug
Speaker 1: backward into demo cross checking with the transactions linked to
Speaker 1: a al and public events at the hideaway, some weekends
Speaker 1: where Mark claimed early morning rights their wor cafe purchases.
Speaker 1: At times we were both supposedly home and within minutes
Speaker 1: complimentary receipts for riyjer pickups, tracking halfway cross town. That night,
Speaker 1: I waited up in the living room the silent, dared
Speaker 1: for him to come home. When he did, just after midnight,
Speaker 1: he blinked at the lamp light and stilted silence. Everything okay,
Speaker 1: he asked, And it was easier, so much easier to
Speaker 1: not to feign sleepiness than to demand answers. They wasn't
Speaker 1: prepared to force out. But when he showered, I pulled
Speaker 1: through his briefcase under the kitchen table. In the inside pocket,
Speaker 1: stuck between his sketch pads was a fly for a
Speaker 1: modern nachow titled double exposure opening last Thursday. The scribbled
Speaker 1: note on the back remembered the shadows Bay like a
Speaker 1: game only the two of them played. I searched our
Speaker 1: shared photos. Mark hadn't taken a photo of us at
Speaker 1: galery since last fall. Days blowed, then split between sudden,
Speaker 1: sharp conviction and while routing. Maybe it was all platonic.
Speaker 1: Maybe Anna was just broken and clinging. Maybe Mak's code
Speaker 1: dependency were creative. Muses looked like Cromant's to outsiders. Even so,
Speaker 1: the lies, the omissions of the orchestrated secrecy, they weighed
Speaker 1: on everything. Meals became quieter. On video calls with friends,
Speaker 1: I kept Mark on the periphery, background noise, or away
Speaker 1: from the kitchen. Sarah's name let up on my phone
Speaker 1: more than ever now, but I never hit call. Midweek,
Speaker 1: I came home to Mark's byke missing his helmet gone too.
Speaker 1: He texted late ride decompressing, adding a red bay kemoji,
Speaker 1: as if femojis now filled the part of his soul
Speaker 1: that used to be occupied by me. I opened the
Speaker 1: fridge to grub leftovers and found a brand paper bag
Speaker 1: labeled Mark plus Anna Don't touch freeventic black Marker. The
Speaker 1: hot struck a OAF I didn't want to register. I
Speaker 1: almost opened it, but stopped myself before proof would make
Speaker 1: me spiral. I snapped a picture, though thumb shaking. That night,
Speaker 1: I reapered every careless decision, every moment i'd ignored, a
Speaker 1: slide from intimacy to distance. The night we'd argued about
Speaker 1: my nagging of the laundry, the way Mark flinched at
Speaker 1: discussions of the future, the number of weekends he'd begged
Speaker 1: off rides. Then come home radian and oddly, almost apologetic.
Speaker 1: I wanted to corner him, wanted it almost violently. But
Speaker 1: the next morning, Mark said an early alarm, made coffee
Speaker 1: and handed me a thermis. As I blinked, awake, big day,
Speaker 1: he said, voice even smile, not quite meeting his eyes.
Speaker 1: He kissed my forehead, lingering a few uncertain seconds for
Speaker 1: a while. Instant. I wanted to believe him, to believe
Speaker 1: in this quiet routine, more than I wanted the truth.
Speaker 1: I went into work that morning with a restlessness. I
Speaker 1: couldn't shake my edits didn't lend right. I sent them anyway.
Speaker 1: My od director Clara raised and I brought up my
Speaker 1: slip short attention. You're sick, she asked at the printer.
Speaker 1: You're never off your game. I shrugged, just life stuff,
Speaker 1: She snapped her gum, sympathetic but not prying. Hang in delivered.
Speaker 1: I lost pitch of fumes fan obraumen. But you two
Speaker 1: always seem like you have it figured out. Her words
Speaker 1: stung kindly but stumb. I left workouly, feigning a headache,
Speaker 1: and detro to the agency branch where Mark worked. The
Speaker 1: lobby was bright empty. I paused at the desk, rehearsed
Speaker 1: a line about forgetting muscarf The front desk intenna guy
Speaker 1: I only half recognized from ZIM holiday parties grined, Oh, hey,
Speaker 1: Mark's wife, you just miss him. He left with Anna
Speaker 1: and her crazy bucase for some cool down. He'll probably
Speaker 1: be back with the late shift. You want to leave
Speaker 1: something for him, then, no thanks, I managed. He didn't
Speaker 1: mention any flowers. The inturne just nodded, then turned back
Speaker 1: to his screen. I walked back to the street, the
Speaker 1: fluorescent after image of the office faint behind my eyes. Outside,
Speaker 1: I googled Anna laurremper case. Of course, she had a
Speaker 1: public instagram full of sun bleitch polaroids, blurr cycling shops,
Speaker 1: cheeky captions. In the latest pose, Mark's smiling face was
Speaker 1: tagged near a cafe display a caption best post, rye carbs,
Speaker 1: best company, the time Sam blind up with a ride.
Speaker 1: He told me he'd done alone, just needed to clear
Speaker 1: my head. My laugh standing there in a coal breeze
Speaker 1: was brittle, more bark than music. That night, after Marc
Speaker 1: clan he was working late again. I sat cross legged
Speaker 1: before our closet, organizing his gear. I found the jersey again.
Speaker 1: Its bright magender stripe and branded tag confirmed it wasn't
Speaker 1: standard issue and certainly not a shop by sample. I
Speaker 1: checked online specialty order mid range women's sizing, only available
Speaker 1: through two local back outfitters. Quiet as a whisper, I
Speaker 1: called the first, sharpest Anna, asking about a recent pick up.
Speaker 1: After a bit of back and forth, the owner mentioned
Speaker 1: she'd collected her remarked last week, looking forward to the match.
Speaker 1: Set for the next event. He even complimented your husband's
Speaker 1: good taste. How many people I wonder already knew or
Speaker 1: guess what I was only just letting myself at me.
Speaker 1: Each new fragment built upon the last, latching into my
Speaker 1: nerves there was a concerted labor to pretending outwardly that
Speaker 1: nothing had changed with Sarah. More details leaked out enough
Speaker 1: that she ordered us drinks at last call, squeezed my
Speaker 1: hand and promised, you are not crazy. He's at least
Speaker 1: lying whatever else. By Friday, exhaustion, eclipse most other feeling,
Speaker 1: I moved like some one rehearsing daily life from a list.
Speaker 1: Mark texted you coming to the weekend ride if not
Speaker 1: my peel off with Anna and Jonas for the advanced loop.
Speaker 1: I tucked out a race, then sent a fun I
Speaker 1: have worked to catch up. In the privacy of the apartment,
Speaker 1: I went deeper, searching digital dust, old calender, remind us
Speaker 1: split bills with another track like the beats of a
Speaker 1: secret rhythm, pedals, pastries, performances annotated in the group chaff,
Speaker 1: Mark laughing at his side jokes, but in d M's nothing,
Speaker 1: he was careful, never letting us slip cross the wrong thread.
Speaker 1: The pain was a slow burn, never quite consuming me.
Speaker 1: Sharpest on the ordinary evenings, when Mark's voice in the
Speaker 1: other room was so familiar but also unmistakably the sound
Speaker 1: of some one living two lives of ponts. Saturday our
Speaker 1: usual four loops and brunched with the ride crew. I
Speaker 1: found myself double lot to the apartment, almost afraid to
Speaker 1: see the world where Mark's cheating had already settled in.
Speaker 1: From our window, I spotted the familiar swell of color
Speaker 1: as the group rode by Mark's bright blue helmet beside
Speaker 1: Anna's neon, their laughter blending with the others. Nobody looked up.
Speaker 1: The next knock at the door came from Vedicks, an
Speaker 1: envelope addressed to Mark and Anna confirming bike shop delivery
Speaker 1: care instructions for matching bottles. I signed numbly, then sliced
Speaker 1: it open. Inside was an invoice and a note to
Speaker 1: your anniversary logo is going to look incredible with your colors,
Speaker 1: see you at the next grand Fondo, A cartoon heart,
Speaker 1: two stick sucklests together. I held the paper in shaking hands, then,
Speaker 1: as if caught being foolish, hid it under a pile
Speaker 1: of marks old magazines. The old me would have photographed it,
Speaker 1: sent it to Sarah with a string of fire emojis
Speaker 1: and broken hearts. The new me, worn thin and weary,
Speaker 1: pocketed it like a secret bullet Sunday. The mail included
Speaker 1: a reward program, certificate for the same riverside cave and points.
Speaker 1: Congratulations for Mark plus guest, thank you for your continued loyalty.
Speaker 1: I began to see them everywhere, reach fragment, another shot,
Speaker 1: each one fitting more neatly into private brutal missake. My
Speaker 1: bones ache from holding it in. By Monday, I stopped pretending.
Speaker 1: I wanted every inch of certainty I could get. After
Speaker 1: Mark left Fern's presentation, Pep, I pulled out his sketch
Speaker 1: books again. This time at the back were strips of
Speaker 1: color studies, two shades of teal circled annotated hers, a
Speaker 1: heart in the margin. Not a client note, not a friend's.
Speaker 1: There were tiny chons, cartoons over woman's pronotail waving under
Speaker 1: a helmet, and lines like digging your pace More. Every week,
Speaker 1: each page bold or new was marked with this shorthn
Speaker 1: that now excluded me. Paranoia had become almost its own company.
Speaker 1: I googled the concert tickets, both checked in Mark's credit card,
Speaker 1: affirming the charge. I messaged the box office with my
Speaker 1: lost wallet, ploy the friendly staff of confirmed attendants from
Speaker 1: Mark and Anna. Not a client, not a group. When
Speaker 1: I finally called Seren poured out she asked, only, what
Speaker 1: are you going to do? I'm not sure, I said,
Speaker 1: but only I couldn't hold myself in this limbo not
Speaker 1: much longer. The next day I faked a sick day instead.
Speaker 1: I leaved by Anna's apartment after confirming her address from
Speaker 1: tad cycling posts. I left nothing traceable, only watched through
Speaker 1: rainslick windows. As markhamersh mid morning, Helm clipped to his backpack.
Speaker 1: Anna followed a peal of laughter, clip but soft, slicing
Speaker 1: through my gut. He didn't see me. I didn't want
Speaker 1: him to. I returned home, dizzy with the truth. I
Speaker 1: wanted to rage, but there was only the quiet of
Speaker 1: the apartment, layered with Marx's Lie's memories now sharp edge,
Speaker 1: previously beloved objects suddenly unfamiliar. A week later, at the
Speaker 1: apartment door, after another agency happy hour, Mark's hands were
Speaker 1: full of groceries, humming as if something or some one
Speaker 1: had returned a light to his routine. He picked up
Speaker 1: two pastries from the cafe, the one he'd never tried,
Speaker 1: and spun a little at the counter as he unloaded.
Speaker 1: I watched the choreography how he carefully set two different
Speaker 1: flavored corossus on the rack one for tomorrow, and I
Speaker 1: realized I now knew which one was hers. I followed
Speaker 1: the rhythm of his lies, collecting every proof, every collision
Speaker 1: of timelines, and I was almost grateful for the methodical
Speaker 1: way he'd revealed himself. There was no more refuge in fantasy.
Speaker 1: This was happening. I spent two days planning the confrontation,
Speaker 1: not as an ambush, not with wrath. I wanted calm,
Speaker 1: facts are clear, asking not just for answers, but for
Speaker 1: an ending I could believe was real. I rehearsed the
Speaker 1: questions in my head, tested my own face in the
Speaker 1: mirror to keep from shaking. I copied digital records, printive reorcisse,
Speaker 1: boxed the jersey and held back the images that stung
Speaker 1: most of the art show of the concert check in
Speaker 1: the smiling faces and other people's frames. It was a
Speaker 1: strange kind of composure, one I hadn't known I could command.
Speaker 1: I arranged a Saturday will Mark, believed that i'd be out
Speaker 1: with Sarah, cycling the north route. Instead, I doubled back,
Speaker 1: silent as breath, and let myself into wait at the
Speaker 1: kitchen table. The evidence found out, like old photographs from
Speaker 1: another life. My phone buzzed to the group chat Mark's location,
Speaker 1: tapped at a cafe not far from Anna's place, As
Speaker 1: self opposed from someone else's account, I smiled lots cold.
Speaker 1: The pieces were inescapable now, in the hour before he
Speaker 1: dre I cleaned with stark letters and flies, folded as
Speaker 1: Windbreaker realigned shoes he no longer wore with me. Each act,
Speaker 1: quiet and deliberate, felt like the closing notes of some
Speaker 1: interior song. The real story, I realize, was no longer
Speaker 1: about two people, our betrayal, but about how the little things,
Speaker 1: the keys, the calendar, the brief messages had become the
Speaker 1: language of secrecy, a language that somehow I understood completely,
Speaker 1: even if I never wanted to be fluent. When I
Speaker 1: hear the elevator's teeth clicking somewhere above me, I put
Speaker 1: down the last piece of evidence, my hand shaking less
Speaker 1: than I expect. The quiet is too sharp, every sound
Speaker 1: split thin as eyes on a gutter, my sense of
Speaker 1: the apartment shifting with each passing minute. I paced once
Speaker 1: to the window, watch a group of cyclists tear passed
Speaker 1: on the city street. Someone in a magenta jersey sprints
Speaker 1: up front, unmistakable hue, even at forty yards. I want
Speaker 1: to think it is in Anna, but the odds are cruel.
Speaker 1: The little things keep spinning behind my eyes. Nie s
Speaker 1: guffs on the wrong side of Max's bike were seats
Speaker 1: in someone else's handwriting the new soap I never picked out.
Speaker 1: Now scenting our bath room. My phone plugged in nearby
Speaker 1: supplies another update. Attacked group photo from the mark half
Speaker 1: turned away grinning at Anna. She is her hand on
Speaker 1: his shoulder in a way that's casual only if he
Speaker 1: decide not to really look. And I wonder how many
Speaker 1: people in that group are seeing what I see, or
Speaker 1: if it matters. There's a degree of wilful blindness that
Speaker 1: goes into every friend group, a decorum about what you
Speaker 1: don't point out, especially when it's only half formed. Ten
Speaker 1: minutes pass, I hear as key the lockhow correction, the
Speaker 1: door jiggles, then his grunt of aggravation as he realizes
Speaker 1: his keys are still missing from his ring. I've anticipated
Speaker 1: this one more piece of evidence to lay at the
Speaker 1: foot of this lie. I don't move, don't even blink.
Speaker 1: As the door racks open. He's wind blown, a little
Speaker 1: crest full, and when he sees me like a kid
Speaker 1: expecting a Reese's spell and getting a pop quiz instead. Hey,
Speaker 1: Mark says he's already smooth, flipping from confusion to normalcy
Speaker 1: in a heartbeat, You homerily. I look out, and in
Speaker 1: my own voice, I hear something new, steady, deliberate in
Speaker 1: a way that'll make this heather very shoulder impossibly long. Yeah,
Speaker 1: Vrain threatened, canceled the loop. Figured I'd bet he to
Speaker 1: the last quasa. He grins, half relieved, half something unreadable. Rough.
Speaker 1: Ride out there, everyone baled before we even hit the
Speaker 1: half way stop. He toe pushes his shoes off, lines
Speaker 1: them against the wall, another ritual. The only shoes that
Speaker 1: ever came off like that were the ones I'd help
Speaker 1: pick out for him last summer, before any of this started. Somehow,
Speaker 1: that pierces me more than anything. I watch him head
Speaker 1: for the kitchen, rummaging the fridge for a drink. I
Speaker 1: see the muscles in his forearm tents as he reaches
Speaker 1: for the mineral water, and the echo of his smile
Speaker 1: hovers polite and empty. Ewn for the group ride tomorrow,
Speaker 1: He calls over, I might pass. I say, not sure,
Speaker 1: I'm up for it. This week. He shrugs and turns away,
Speaker 1: But I see the muscles in his jaw clench. It's
Speaker 1: almost imperceptible, but I'm looking for it now. I want
Speaker 1: to say something raiseor sharp, but instead I hand him
Speaker 1: his phone, which I picked up earlier from beside his back.
Speaker 1: He glances at it, thumb instinctively unlocking. No password never was,
Speaker 1: But even now his finger hovers over the screen like
Speaker 1: he's not sure which notifications are waiting. Busy day, I ask,
Speaker 1: forcing a kind of cheer. He nods, here more freelance,
Speaker 1: wrap up for Anne. That project is never ending. He
Speaker 1: doesn't notice the way I'm staring at his back, at
Speaker 1: the faint outline of the cycling Jesse, still pressed into
Speaker 1: the corner. I let the silence roll between us, thickening
Speaker 1: when it gets to the edge of awkward, mark clear
Speaker 1: as his throat tries another smile. Want to go out
Speaker 1: tonight pizza? Ge knows my treat for being a ghost
Speaker 1: husband lately, he tries, his eye is not quite catching mine.
Speaker 1: I should say yes, carry on, let the confrontation wait,
Speaker 1: but something in the careful ordinariest drives a splinter into me. Instead,
Speaker 1: I dodge. I should call my mom. She's been after
Speaker 1: me for a recipe. Besides, I figured you've want an
Speaker 1: early night after all those rides. He looks at me
Speaker 1: a moment, may deculculating maybe just tired all right. Another time,
Speaker 1: his voice is softer, as if he wants to apologize
Speaker 1: but doesn't quite have the reason. He grabs his laptop
Speaker 1: back and starts toward the bedroom. Later, when the apartment
Speaker 1: is quite marked, tapping away his lapped up under the
Speaker 1: pole of white lampight, I scull through his foot was
Speaker 1: one last time, bracing myself for whatever I might see.
Speaker 1: Instagram and sordid files the half Concealed Favorites folder. The
Speaker 1: pictures are mostly safe landscapes by Gruts his lunch at
Speaker 1: the hideaway, but some tucked between Old's greenshots are Vanna smiling,
Speaker 1: flushed hair, blown wild on a trail that isn't anywhere
Speaker 1: I recognize. He never documents me like that. I not
Speaker 1: the time stamps. Two months ago, three weeks ago, last Friday.
Speaker 1: I closed the feet, more certain now than before. Still
Speaker 1: for one wild moment at Toway, with making an anonymous account,
Speaker 1: sending Anna a message, something ambiguous, something that would force
Speaker 1: a fissure in the secret world. The urge is strong,
Speaker 1: but it feels cowardly. Whatever comes next, it must be
Speaker 1: Mark who answers, not Anna, not a third party to
Speaker 1: absorb the blame. I think of our right group, the
Speaker 1: silent glances exchanged lately, the warry way. Jonas and Tasha
Speaker 1: speak to me, now, never quite asking our fright, but
Speaker 1: never fully comfortable either. Have they noticed the gap? Do
Speaker 1: they talk about us the way people talk about a
Speaker 1: broken handle on their favorite marks something Yer ignored because
Speaker 1: the alternative is losing it altogether. The night drags unslowly.
Speaker 1: Mark comes to bed late, careful not to disturb my side,
Speaker 1: But when his arm brushes mine is a question I
Speaker 1: don't know how to answer any more. After he falls asleep,
Speaker 1: mass slack wild, the piece that comes either from exhaustion
Speaker 1: or the assurance of duplicity. I roll on to my
Speaker 1: back and listen to the reins licking the windows. The
Speaker 1: apartment feels as hollow as the days after my father left,
Speaker 1: when nothing was broken. You could point to and say
Speaker 1: this is where the story went roum In the morning,
Speaker 1: the evidence is all there, lined up behind breakfast, under
Speaker 1: the countertop, in the still dab between us. Mark heads
Speaker 1: for the shower end almost by wrote. I open his
Speaker 1: phone again, this time scrolling past messages label darchive. I
Speaker 1: find a chain of exchanges with Anna, dated from the
Speaker 1: first week she started at the agency. There's nothing overtly damning,
Speaker 1: mostly jokes, half form strategy notes, a few four doors
Speaker 1: of bike gear, but the tone is unmistakable, comfortable, secretive,
Speaker 1: full of the smaller sides. Ye give some one who
Speaker 1: you are arguing yourself into loving. It's not enough for proof,
Speaker 1: but it is enough for certainty. When Mark comes out,
Speaker 1: toweling his hair dry, I hold up the phone. He
Speaker 1: left this unlocked. Did ye know most of your old
Speaker 1: chats or arka? He freezes towel half way to his head.
Speaker 1: Didn't realize there's a lot with Anna. I say, you
Speaker 1: talk more with her than with me. He hangs a
Speaker 1: towels slowly, not answering right away. She's a big part
Speaker 1: of my work week lately, he rummages his drawer. It's collaboration,
Speaker 1: nothing more like the rides and the concert and the
Speaker 1: coffee runs, I ask, slipping the words as gentle as
Speaker 1: a knife. He stares at the wall behind me, as
Speaker 1: if he holds that fixed point long enough, but well
Speaker 1: might rearrange in his favor. You were reading into things,
Speaker 1: I want to say, Maybe I am. Maybe every atom
Speaker 1: of suspicion is manufactured, but I know, down to the
Speaker 1: bone that isn't the case. There's the envelope on the
Speaker 1: kitchen counter, protruding from under a pile of catalogs, the
Speaker 1: thank you card with Anna's living script. I could hand
Speaker 1: it to him force the next phase. It's dead. I
Speaker 1: let it's it. Not yet, not until I'm ready for
Speaker 1: what change is. After after breakfast, he has up for
Speaker 1: another agency run, promising to be home earily. I send
Speaker 1: a message to the bike shop, the one which did
Speaker 1: a bottle customization. I pose as Anna, my hands surprisingly steady,
Speaker 1: my voice syrupe and the phone as I ask about
Speaker 1: the eater for the Mark and Anne anniversary order. The
Speaker 1: woman at the desk is chatty, concerned. We finished up
Speaker 1: lost those day. Hope they are hit at the big
Speaker 1: ride event. You two makes such a cute team, I
Speaker 1: thank her, sick with the familiarity of the phrase, that's
Speaker 1: what people said about Mark and me, cute team. Now
Speaker 1: the words tumble over onto someone else. I call sir
Speaker 1: another desperate checkpoint in the marathon of denial. I'd been
Speaker 1: running for a month. She listens, her own voice choked.
Speaker 1: You do you want me to come over? Not yet,
Speaker 1: I say, But if I fail, I want someone else
Speaker 1: to know. I tried to do this fairly. Don't give
Speaker 1: him that much credit, she says softly. But it isn't Mark.
Speaker 1: I'm appeasing it to me, just me. I print out
Speaker 1: the Vemo histories, the receipts, the concert emails. I rebox
Speaker 1: them genter Jersey, careful so this seems don't split. Then
Speaker 1: I spend an hour pacing the tiles, rereading the thank
Speaker 1: you card, the water bottle invoice, the group photo at
Speaker 1: the cafe, until my vision blairs. When I finally sit
Speaker 1: down to make a list what I know what, I
Speaker 1: desperately want to be rung about my handwriting fractures slanting
Speaker 1: and evenly across the page. I feel the loss before
Speaker 1: it happens, like dath swelling before some astore. By late afternoon,
Speaker 1: the apartment has bathed an oblique sunlight, everything golden and
Speaker 1: sharp edged. I wonder, what will he say that he
Speaker 1: loves me? And it was a mistake that this was
Speaker 1: just emotional and experiment a momentary slip. Will he even
Speaker 1: try to deny it, or will he cry, beg for forgiveness,
Speaker 1: accuse me back of drifting. Will he, like my father,
Speaker 1: simply say nothing at all and leave the silence to
Speaker 1: do all his work for him. I'm not ready yet,
Speaker 1: so instead I busy myself laundering the sheets, folding away
Speaker 1: winter gear, writing an email to my art director request
Speaker 1: in an emergency off by saiday marital situation. I implied
Speaker 1: by Alexa silence the land line, set my phone to
Speaker 1: do not distob except for Sarah's number. The preparations feel
Speaker 1: like smoothing wax on a surf for gee. No, the
Speaker 1: break is coming, you just want to survive it with
Speaker 1: a little less friction. A short while later, I walk
Speaker 1: to the entrance of upbuilding, pretending I'm waiting for package.
Speaker 1: Down on the stoop, life pours by joggers, dog walkers,
Speaker 1: the couple from upstairs who always argue about groceries. I
Speaker 1: watched the city on spool, letting the world's normal sly buffet,
Speaker 1: the adrenaline rising in my chest. Mark appears at the
Speaker 1: end of the block, Helmut clipped to his backtack striding
Speaker 1: the way he does when he wants to look and
Speaker 1: hurried but a somewhere to be. The moment freezes me
Speaker 1: on the stoop him in sunlight, the precise angle of
Speaker 1: a hundred evenings, when everything was still before some mahow.
Speaker 1: I smile. When he draws near, he offers attentive. Hey
Speaker 1: didn't think he'd be out here, And I take the
Speaker 1: opportunity to draw him inside upstairs. When the door thump shut,
Speaker 1: the air's changed, charged expectant. The evidence is ready lined
Speaker 1: up as carefully as pintings before dury. But not now,
Speaker 1: not this instant. I want one more beat, one final
Speaker 1: image of the ordinary, before whatever comes next. Mark drops
Speaker 1: his backpack, heads into the kitchen, starts the kettle for
Speaker 1: TEA want something t esques routine, not yet shattered? I not,
Speaker 1: but my throat is tied. Maybe in another story we
Speaker 1: walk through this moment and patch everything up. Maybe, if
Speaker 1: the world was simple and people didn't sneak new lives
Speaker 1: into the corners of old ones, we'd be talking about
Speaker 1: the weather or a new brown logo instead. I watch
Speaker 1: the steam twist up from the kettle. I watch his
Speaker 1: hands so proud, so familiar, and I tried to remember
Speaker 1: what it felt like to trust him as naturally as
Speaker 1: I trust my own heartbeat to morrow, maybe tomorrow I
Speaker 1: will lay out every truth. But to night I sit
Speaker 1: across from him, index finger tracing the faint water mark
Speaker 1: of Vanna's script on the thank you card under the table,
Speaker 1: feeling the true shape of our marriage for the very
Speaker 1: first time, high, bright and perilously thin. I didn't sleep,
Speaker 1: not really. After we finished our tea. Mark had retreated
Speaker 1: to the bedroom, claiming exhaustion, blaming rain and the holiday
Speaker 1: rush at work. I hovered by the door, watched him
Speaker 1: scroll through his phone, and when he finally rolled away
Speaker 1: from me beneath our cold, his breathing shallow and stilted,
Speaker 1: I could barely keep still in the living room. The
Speaker 1: apartment felt like a bottle neck, every surface lined with
Speaker 1: evidence and half buried intention. My heart added, woulden and unfamiliar,
Speaker 1: each beat stuck in new fear, unto the certainty of
Speaker 1: what had to happen. By morning, I was wide awake
Speaker 1: before the light had creased. The blinds. Mark's alarm chant
Speaker 1: half muted by a pillow, and he stirred a grumbling,
Speaker 1: pale edge from sleep. But not hungover, not relaxed. If anything,
Speaker 1: the bags under his eyes looked worse than usual. He
Speaker 1: didn't look at me. I left coffee brewing for him
Speaker 1: and stood in the doorway, arms folded in an effort
Speaker 1: to keep myself from trembling. I watched his back as
Speaker 1: he fussed with his work bag, glancing every so off
Speaker 1: and at the bike jersey. I popped up, careful and
Speaker 1: delivered atop the table, alongside a line up of aknockious objects,
Speaker 1: his phone, his spare keys, the latest KAFA receipt. He noticed,
Speaker 1: but didn't ask. He didn't kiss me good bye, just
Speaker 1: tossed on his wind bricker, always the same motion, but
Speaker 1: this morning rushed clumsy. The front door closed with the
Speaker 1: softness that felt like an afterthought, a gesture emptied of meaning.
Speaker 1: I pressed my face to the cold window panes as
Speaker 1: his form slipped down the block. Joulders hunched defensively. By
Speaker 1: mid morning, our apartment was radiant with sun. Each shaft
Speaker 1: of light sketched just motes across the dining table, where
Speaker 1: I laid every piece of proof into a quiet, damning order.
Speaker 1: The mailed receipts, his calendar at the jersey, the thanky
Speaker 1: note the water bottle order, each a tiny fissure. Coffee
Speaker 1: burned bitter on my tongue. I opened and closed my fists,
Speaker 1: trying to feel anything other than the static tension drumming
Speaker 1: inside my jaw. My phone buzzed, Sarah checkingen. I typed
Speaker 1: back almost ready. She sent a line of red hard
Speaker 1: emojis and a voice message. I couldn't bring myself to play. Instead,
Speaker 1: I checked my emergency day off request, except it no questions.
Speaker 1: There was a mercy baked into bureaucracy, but the stillness
Speaker 1: was short lived. Round eleven, Sarah texted it again. Heads
Speaker 1: up Jonahs saw Mark and Anna at three peaks this morning.
Speaker 1: Look closed. Do you okay? I thumbed out a reply
Speaker 1: soon then I called the cycling shop one more time,
Speaker 1: just to hear the confirmation in some one else's voice.
Speaker 1: Another peal of casual talk. Mark and Anna had been
Speaker 1: in this morning, finalizing their bottle pick up. Happy anniversary
Speaker 1: to them, the cloak said, oblivious to the edge in
Speaker 1: my silence, A hot, scraping anger flared beneath my fatigue.
Speaker 1: There they were, out in the city's daylight, finishing the
Speaker 1: joke that had defined my waking Nightmas for the past month.
Speaker 1: I wasn't surprised. Maybe I wished for some cowardly dignity
Speaker 1: and a fair hidden out of shame, out of some
Speaker 1: vesigial love for me. But now that illusion burned away.
Speaker 1: I called Sarah, come over, I want someone here. A
Speaker 1: light knock at the door fifteen minutes later announced her.
Speaker 1: She said nothing when she saw the array on the table.
Speaker 1: Just hug me once, briefing and Staddy and help set
Speaker 1: mugs on the counter. You want me to stay, she asked,
Speaker 1: her gaze never leaving my face. Yes, but he needs
Speaker 1: to see I'm not alone. My voice quavered but steadied
Speaker 1: after a moment. When he gets here, lunch passed and
Speaker 1: watchful quiet, I barely ate. I kept my phone next
Speaker 1: to me, tracking Mak's COUNDO and entry blocked out for
Speaker 1: a group ride supposedly, but a quick flick through the
Speaker 1: French chat showed he'd already bailed. Brain check. He've written
Speaker 1: in emoji masking whatever was really happening. The one text
Speaker 1: he sent me don't wait up, my belate wrapping some
Speaker 1: freelance with Anna. Sarah's lipstenned, I can go if you
Speaker 1: need this alone, No stay, I said, springing up suddenly
Speaker 1: to pace, to fold the edge of the napkin, to
Speaker 1: grip the cold counter, and imagine my hands weren't shaking.
Speaker 1: The hours pressed close and hot, the apartment shattered in
Speaker 1: worried anticipation. Sir only spoke to point out the time
Speaker 1: nearly four, nearly five, nearly six, when Mark's name flick
Speaker 1: out as a notification on my phone. On my way,
Speaker 1: the wall's nut silent. I stood at the kitchen island
Speaker 1: and watch Sarah collect her things, heading for the balcony,
Speaker 1: out of sight but close enough. The deliberate arrangement of
Speaker 1: the evidence proved suddenly important to not a wall to
Speaker 1: trap him, but a whole way. He could not sighe zip.
Speaker 1: Moments later, the elevator dinged and Mark's familiar warm footful
Speaker 1: sounded in the corridor. He opened the door, saw me
Speaker 1: waiting at the kitchen table and stopped. Hey, he said,
Speaker 1: and measured wherey, greeting like someone stepping into a rem
Speaker 1: knowing the draft is colder than it should be. You're
Speaker 1: home early again. I let the silence linger. He took
Speaker 1: a slow breath and shrugged off his windbreaker, folding it
Speaker 1: and setting it with nervous precision over the back of
Speaker 1: a chair. He scanned the table, a flicker of confusion,
Speaker 1: then a dull, steelywariness. We need to talk, I said,
Speaker 1: each word, clear and slow. His eyes darted to flick
Speaker 1: to the door, to the objects on the table, to
Speaker 1: my face. He didn't sit about what The defensiveness was
Speaker 1: practiced too quick. I gestured about everything you've hidden. I
Speaker 1: didn't raise my voice, said. The strengthen my voice took
Speaker 1: him by surprise. He sat, setting his hands flat on
Speaker 1: the table, restless, adjusting and readjusting, as if arranging them
Speaker 1: would help him keep his place in the conversation. I
Speaker 1: know about Anna, I continued, I know about the cafe visits,
Speaker 1: the rides, the concert, the matching water bottles, the overnight trips,
Speaker 1: the receipts, the thank you card, the mail addressed to
Speaker 1: you both. The shop owner thinks you're married. The dam
Speaker 1: burs quickly, every word a stab of humiliation, a catalog
Speaker 1: of evidence extracted over silent, excoriating weeks. He exhaled, pinting
Speaker 1: the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his voice steady. Lily,
Speaker 1: it's complicated, it no, it's simple. You layed. You built
Speaker 1: an entire routine outside our home. You did it on purpose.
Speaker 1: Then you kept pretending you were with me. He shook
Speaker 1: his head, fast, eyes glinting with something feral. Aye, it's
Speaker 1: not what it looks like. I pushed them agenda jerusy
Speaker 1: toward him. Whose is this? He told me it was
Speaker 1: for the group? You lied. I confirmed the order. The
Speaker 1: clerk remembered you. It's Anna's you picked it up together
Speaker 1: last week. That it his mouth tightened, lips barely moving.
Speaker 1: She forgot it. I was it was just a favor,
Speaker 1: not a big deal. Everything is a favor, isn't it,
Speaker 1: I snapped. I spread the receipts in front of him.
Speaker 1: Tickets meals more tiny signatures of duplicity than I could count.
Speaker 1: I checked the concert tickets, the florist, the cafe, every place.
Speaker 1: He said, you'd never been. He never even tried to
Speaker 1: cover your tracks. Well, did you want to get caught? Mark?
Speaker 1: He shifted as clouded. He started his old line. Anne's
Speaker 1: a friend. She's having a rough year, Sarah Stepton, half
Speaker 1: a presence in the doorway now I shop. She's not
Speaker 1: just a friend, Mark stop. He stared at her, sordled
Speaker 1: then angry, then pass anger. This is between us, Lily.
Speaker 1: Don't drag your friends into it. They don't know. I
Speaker 1: closed the gap, slamming the thank you card down. They
Speaker 1: know because you left me here to protect you. I'd
Speaker 1: offended you. I covered for you at every brunch and
Speaker 1: right and gallery. I even doubted myself before I doubted you.
Speaker 1: My Beth came out ragged. Mark's hands found the edge
Speaker 1: of the table. He gripped it so tightly as knuckles blanched.
Speaker 1: It wasn't his voice threatened to break. They started as
Speaker 1: ideas designing things, talking about work. She needed me, Lily,
Speaker 1: and you've been so distant, so preoccupied with your own world.
Speaker 1: At some point I didn't know how to talk with
Speaker 1: you any more. That's not an excuse, I said, suddenly cold.
Speaker 1: You wanted her, That's all. He looked away. She listened,
Speaker 1: She laughed at my tears. She she made me feel
Speaker 1: new again. I didn't mean to, didn't mean to, I repeated,
Speaker 1: But you chose, you hid it. You lied to me,
Speaker 1: to our friends, to your own face. Mark's nostrils fled.
Speaker 1: He looked from the evidence to sir, to me. It
Speaker 1: was only supposed to be emotional, He managed voice brittle,
Speaker 1: just to just creative company by Ride's work. I didn't
Speaker 1: want it to be what you think it is, don't
Speaker 1: I said, don't humiliate us both. He ordered anniversary water bottles.
Speaker 1: The shopkeeper handed me the invers himself. He slept with her,
Speaker 1: didn't you? He didn't answer. He looked at his hands,
Speaker 1: at the grains of the table, anywhere but up my eyes.
Speaker 1: The silence stretched until I felt my own heart terring.
Speaker 1: I wanted to scream, instead, my voice scraped low. How long?
Speaker 1: He shook his head, as if the answer could still
Speaker 1: bend reality. Six months, maybe more. I kept telling myself,
Speaker 1: you'd notice that, you'd care. You think I didn't care.
Speaker 1: My vision blurred. He walked in every night with excuses
Speaker 1: lined up. You lied to my face, You let me
Speaker 1: take the blame, and you want to pretend it's about
Speaker 1: being you again. He pressed his palms over his eyes,
Speaker 1: a wordless gesture of panic. Belowly, I didn't want to choose.
Speaker 1: I thought maybe things were just settle. I don't want
Speaker 1: to end this, and as she's not here, obviously I spat.
Speaker 1: She's someone you can build a second life with and
Speaker 1: not have to look at what you're destroying over here?
Speaker 1: For a minute, the ass won close with rage mine
Speaker 1: his Sarah's contained sorrow. Mark's mouth moved silently. The mask
Speaker 1: of denial flickered. I saw the boy I'd met a
Speaker 1: decade ago, lost under the mess he'd made Bailey there,
Speaker 1: So what now? He said, quiet, definite, what happens to us?
Speaker 1: Sarah stepped all the way, in voicing nothing, just standing
Speaker 1: beside me. I met Mark's eyes. They were wounded, pleading childish,
Speaker 1: you leave. Mark's whole frame seemed to shrink, shoulder's bowing inward.
Speaker 1: Tonight now, I replied, the word leaving no ambiguity. He
Speaker 1: hesitated a moment, as if searching for a one last
Speaker 1: arrangement of words that might rescue him from the present.
Speaker 1: But the gravity of the evidence was too strong, the
Speaker 1: loss too real for invention. He collected his bag, keysed
Speaker 1: the jacket, and scooped up his phone. No purchase, suggested.
Speaker 1: Blunt practiced gathering of essentials like a man who had
Speaker 1: already pictured the s exit in his own nightmares. Sir
Speaker 1: watch arms folded a bulk of silent support as he
Speaker 1: shuffled to the door. Mark pause gazed, still not quite
Speaker 1: meeting mine, Lily. I am sorry, I didn't. I don't,
Speaker 1: I said, not unkindly, but without room. Don't give me
Speaker 1: the apology never meant, just go. He nodded head low
Speaker 1: and pulled the door softly shup behind him. It seemed
Speaker 1: to echo through the apartment, stamping a line under the
Speaker 1: day it was done. The relief didn't come, Sir caught
Speaker 1: my arm, holding me upright as the air grew denter.
Speaker 1: A stillness followed, viscous and close, as if the rooms
Speaker 1: needed to wring themselves out. I took shallow breasths, suddenly
Speaker 1: hyper aware of everything, the sticky jam on the counter,
Speaker 1: the muddy pommarks from last week's ride, the faint scent
Speaker 1: of Anne's detergent in the hallway. Sarah squeezed my hand once,
Speaker 1: then let me go, knowing I would need to stand
Speaker 1: on my own now. I move. Moved to the window,
Speaker 1: watching the street for any sign of Mark, but he'd vanished,
Speaker 1: his absence more physical than his presence had ever been.
Speaker 1: I answered group texts, just a single line were taking space, messages,
Speaker 1: pined in questions. I ignored. For now, my job could wait, soakud.
Speaker 1: The grew pride, the shed Spotify playlist, all reminders of
Speaker 1: it before that had ended. The moment marked hip the
Speaker 1: last step out. I gathered Mark's remaining clothes, boxing them slowly,
Speaker 1: hand shaking pture. The cycling jersey that was never mine
Speaker 1: sketched be with its traiter's cartoons and hidden hearts, his
Speaker 1: extra charger and cologne. They all followed into the living room,
Speaker 1: waiting to be collected, waiting for nothing. Sarah left quietly,
Speaker 1: telling me I could call whenever, day, night, any hour.
Speaker 1: I nodded to run out to promise anything. I left
Speaker 1: the apartment store cracked for a minute, just to taste
Speaker 1: the empty hall. When the air grew cold, I closed it,
Speaker 1: the lock clicking into place for the first time under
Speaker 1: a rule had set entirely myself. After many minutes, I
Speaker 1: wandered to the whole closet, fishing out my own cycling gear,
Speaker 1: wall colors I chosen. Fabrics had carried no one else's scent,
Speaker 1: The gentle scrape of helmet against drywall, the rivit click
Speaker 1: of a back tire, the sound as familiar to me
Speaker 1: as my own voice surfaced and steadied my pulse. My
Speaker 1: last act before leaving was simple. I slipd them a
Speaker 1: genter jersey into its shot bag, folding the receipt inside.
Speaker 1: I picked up my keys of real physical weight now
Speaker 1: and shouldered my back back. I left the box of
Speaker 1: marks things by the door with a sticky note pick
Speaker 1: up when ready. Moving through the apartment was both foreign
Speaker 1: and muscle memory, the legacy of every morning and night
Speaker 1: up till now. I passed the kitchen and paused. I
Speaker 1: scooped up my water bottle, the old battered one. I
Speaker 1: left the newly delivered mock and anna bottle on the table.
Speaker 1: It shrink crap, pristine as promise and broken but unwanted.
Speaker 1: Then I unlocked the door, helmet in hand and stepped
Speaker 1: into the corridor, locking the door of my door firmly
Speaker 1: behind me. Outside the city sprawled, noisy and blinding. Familiar
Speaker 1: click of cleats against pavement followed me to the bike rack,
Speaker 1: to the low sunk skating shadows across the rut Mark
Speaker 1: and I had traced together for years. I mounted my
Speaker 1: back the frame I'd chosen for myself, the path map
Speaker 1: by my own stubborn whell. I clipped in the world,
Speaker 1: narrow into the singular, steady push of muscle against machine.
Speaker 1: I started down the familiar street, pedals, turning in time
Speaker 1: of old rituals, but carrying me away from every promise
Speaker 1: shattered inside those apartment walls. I did not look back
Speaker 1: on a first Turrn errushed passed my face, the city
Speaker 1: rolling out beneath ersun My long azeke was something like
Speaker 1: really for griefly were for now the same thing. The
Speaker 1: path ahead was clear, honest, and spare, and it belonged
Speaker 1: only to me. I wove between city blocks, tires humming
Speaker 1: on pavement popped with last winter's frost, the gears steady
Speaker 1: under my hands. The air was sharper than I expected,
Speaker 1: as late in the spring, slicing my cheeks as I
Speaker 1: picked up speed, as if the city itself wanted to
Speaker 1: flush me clean. Peddling south, I kept our old rout
Speaker 1: just long enough to see the banks of the Gray
Speaker 1: River shimmer, to pass under the iron bridge where Mark
Speaker 1: always sprinted ahead, somewhere beyond its shadow, I veered off,
Speaker 1: unwilling to keep ghosting in his tracks. I rode until
Speaker 1: my thighs burned, until the world shrank to nothing but
Speaker 1: my cadence and the breath rasping him through my nose.
Speaker 1: I could have cried, but tears never came. Instead, I
Speaker 1: found anger had to rhythm, pushing me further than I
Speaker 1: had meant to go into parts of the park system
Speaker 1: I hadn't seen since our first year in the city.
Speaker 1: Every landmark was doubled with memory, the mural mark and
Speaker 1: I once admired the little cafe with the battered tables,
Speaker 1: a corner where we'd almost wiped out training in the
Speaker 1: rain alone. Each one was stripped clean lines, the decorations
Speaker 1: of our shared history, burned away by truth. I deserted overlook.
Speaker 1: I stopped and unclipped the city sprawled behind glass and green.
Speaker 1: I pressed my helmet to the rilling chest, trembling, I
Speaker 1: let myself admit as the reality of how efficiently, how
Speaker 1: Twicity Thorougher's betrayal have been, and how in spite of that,
Speaker 1: the world beyond our apartment still went on, Still pulsed
Speaker 1: with possibility, I lingered, I searching the walled water for
Speaker 1: anything like closure. Only the current moved, indifferent and relentless.
Speaker 1: I checked my phone on, read messages, piling up Jolona's tata,
Speaker 1: even my mother, timing her concern with an instinct that
Speaker 1: would have been infuriating how to come One day earlier,
Speaker 1: Sarah steady as always anything, I typed, He's gone, I'm okay,
Speaker 1: not trusting myself with more words, It was almost true.
Speaker 1: My hands were as restless as my mind. I wanted
Speaker 1: to rebuild, to fill the lacerriting emptiness that Mark's absence
Speaker 1: had dumped into my life. I could almost feel the
Speaker 1: shape of the coming lone in it, a negative space.
Speaker 1: I would have to learn to live inside, where the
Speaker 1: old and jokes were poisoned, and the simple acts like
Speaker 1: setting out two mugs or locking up at night would
Speaker 1: land with a new, bruising significance. I turned it over
Speaker 1: what I'd do with my evenings, whose playlists would fill
Speaker 1: the quiet, Whether I'd ever want to risk a group
Speaker 1: ride again a strangerlie frown in parallel a flickering excitement
Speaker 1: at the thought of decisions made entirely for me, for
Speaker 1: my own stubborn, rugged heart. Even if the cost was ruinous,
Speaker 1: it was real. The wind picked up rattle in the
Speaker 1: leaves just beyond me. I checked the tie in, the
Speaker 1: compulsion to return home, mooring with the urge to stay
Speaker 1: lost in the city's wilder edge. Already I dreaded the
Speaker 1: echo of the apartment, the empty shape of our routines,
Speaker 1: the ghost rooms and ghost laughter that would last for weeks.
Speaker 1: Before receding well, I also knew I wouldn't cower. I
Speaker 1: would go back on my own terms. I clipped and
Speaker 1: pushed off and headed home without deeter. My legs wobbled
Speaker 1: as I locked up in the alley, the length of
Speaker 1: the stairwell a tight rope above my own waiting solitude.
Speaker 1: The door gave easily beneath my hand. Tomock's key removed
Speaker 1: from the ring on the kitchen table. The apartment was
Speaker 1: cleared of his presence in all the obvious ways, but
Speaker 1: his handwriting still marked the chalkboard. The sketch book sat
Speaker 1: thick with and spent lead. The sault in the air
Speaker 1: lingered with a memory of two lives wound together too
Speaker 1: tightly for too long. I flinched at the hum of
Speaker 1: my phone. One more group chap pained a neutral check in,
Speaker 1: some one, asking if I'd be at Wednesday's happy hour.
Speaker 1: I ignored it for now, not ready to figure out
Speaker 1: how to tell them that traditions had shifted, that the
Speaker 1: rituals keepingos of the designed couple had snapped beyond repair.
Speaker 1: I caught my reflection in the tiny entryway mirror, halnet hair,
Speaker 1: salt lines on my cheeks, lips rob but set for
Speaker 1: a flash. I saw not the woman who had lost something,
Speaker 1: but the woman who have forcibly finally named the loss.
Speaker 1: Three messages from Ark trickled in all shore. The last
Speaker 1: read left my sketch book. Can I pick it up
Speaker 1: next week? No apology, no explanation, Only at the logistics
Speaker 1: of dividing a life. I deleted them on red the apartment. Hush,
Speaker 1: pressed in at the window, I watched the late afternoon
Speaker 1: break up in the city beyond ordinary, unburdened, every window
Speaker 1: lit by Stranger's multicolored lives. I let myself linger at
Speaker 1: the threshold for a long moment, breathing in the future
Speaker 1: and spooling jumbled, not yet shaped into anything coherent. Let
Speaker 1: grief come later, in its own time. For now, it
Speaker 1: was enough to have ended it, to have kept my anger,
Speaker 1: my evidence, stacked a name, to have refused the comfort
Speaker 1: of a delay orsoft fade. I put the magenta jersey
Speaker 1: in a paperback, along with the last receipts, and tucked
Speaker 1: them by the door. Somewhere in the building, footsteps hammered,
Speaker 1: and laughter ran out. I traced the line of the
Speaker 1: evening sun across my desk, pages blank, waiting for the
Speaker 1: first mark in a story I'd write entirely on my own.
Speaker 1: I drew the blinds, turned off the kitchen light, and
Speaker 1: sat down next to my bike, running my hand across
Speaker 1: the battered frame. It was silent now, but ready like me,
Speaker 1: Like everything, I still owned everything I claim by naming it,
Speaker 1: everything I would keep for myself.