Speaker 1: The morning sunlight glowed golden across our kitchen, catching the
Speaker 1: scattered glass mugs on the dish rack, and lighting up
Speaker 1: the cutting board where last night's lemon wedge had left
Speaker 1: a sticky ring. There should have been skis and puffy
Speaker 1: jackets piled up by the door, a tangle of gear,
Speaker 1: damp gloves, and Dan's lopsided grin as we rummaged for
Speaker 1: snacks before the drive. Instead, there was just me, sitting
Speaker 1: alone at the breakfast nook, my hands wrapped around a
Speaker 1: mug that felt almost weightless. My phone buzzed from across
Speaker 1: the room, another we miss you message flashing through the
Speaker 1: lock screen, but I didn't move. Dan's voice called down
Speaker 1: from upstairs, singing a few lines of a radio jingle.
Speaker 1: As he padded heavily toward the kitchen. The bathroom door clicked,
Speaker 1: water running. I watched him in the reflection in our
Speaker 1: oven glass. He was pulling on his old university hoodie,
Speaker 1: hair still wild and humming with a kind of good
Speaker 1: cheer that for a second made me want to believe
Speaker 1: we'd both woken from the same good dream. He didn't
Speaker 1: look like a man who regretted missing a trip. He
Speaker 1: didn't look like a man who would rather be anywhere
Speaker 1: but here. He held up a glossy blue and fire
Speaker 1: orange coffee bag between two fingers, grinning deliberately showing off
Speaker 1: the label. You gone fancy on me live? He tipped
Speaker 1: it my way Brow Meridian, a local small batch roasterry logo,
Speaker 1: and oranged out Sunrise. The scent was deep and lush,
Speaker 1: not bitter, somewhere between caramelized and citrusy. I registered the
Speaker 1: brand even before the name. It wasn't ours. I'd never
Speaker 1: bought Broo Meridian before. Our mornings followed strict, easy rituals.
Speaker 1: Who ground the beans, who made the first pour over,
Speaker 1: who left the kitchen a mess in their haste. He
Speaker 1: dumped half the grounds into the filter. Jess always swore
Speaker 1: by this stuff, he said, almost conversational, like the brand
Speaker 1: meant nothing at all. She'd chased their truck around town
Speaker 1: on week ends, made Rachel nuts. He tossed a wink
Speaker 1: my direction, feet already shuffling toward the fridge. You should
Speaker 1: see if you like it. That name, Jess. My brain tripped,
Speaker 1: then stumbled. Dan hadn't brought Jess up in months, not
Speaker 1: since the break up, not since the group started hesitating
Speaker 1: before scheduling dinners, dividing invites with quiet precision. Jess drifted
Speaker 1: out of our circle with the exhausted grace of someone
Speaker 1: who'd had just enough, And none of us talked about it,
Speaker 1: not really. I scanned Dan's face for something, half expecting
Speaker 1: he'd add that he was joking, but he never looked uncomfortable,
Speaker 1: just strangely buoyant. Did you You never really liked Jess's
Speaker 1: taste in coffee, did you? I made my voice light, teasing,
Speaker 1: a reflex to smooth things over, but he didn't meet
Speaker 1: my eyes, busying himself with the French press. She was
Speaker 1: right about this one, he said, shrugging. I guess she
Speaker 1: converted me. Want some? Or are you still stuck on
Speaker 1: that cheap stuff? He slashed a smile that ached to
Speaker 1: be normal, as practiced as his morning stretches. I hesitated
Speaker 1: a split second too long, then reached for the mug.
Speaker 1: It was hot, aromatic, and goddamn it, Jess was right.
Speaker 1: The coffee was good, the kind that lingered on your
Speaker 1: tongue and made you think you'd had a real morning.
Speaker 1: But my nerves jittered beyond just caffeine. I cut the mug,
Speaker 1: swirling it as if I could dissolve the odd undertone
Speaker 1: in Dan's voice. The micro paused before he'd dropped Jess
Speaker 1: into conversation, like she'd never left the scene. Our weekend
Speaker 1: plans were canceled. I caught a respiratory infection, and Dan,
Speaker 1: after two negatives and not enough PTO to risk a
Speaker 1: real sick day, opted out too. Our absence was a
Speaker 1: blip in the group chat, but it gnawed at me
Speaker 1: more than I wanted to admit. I pictured the chalet
Speaker 1: up north, the big windows, the crew piling chilly onto
Speaker 1: paper plates, skiers tracking in snow, the frantic howls when
Speaker 1: someone tried to play cards against humanity. After drinks for years,
Speaker 1: our faces bracketed every ski trip photo, me chin tucked
Speaker 1: into Dan's fleece, both of us slightly sunburned, snow in
Speaker 1: our hair, holding each other like a punchline. Now, as
Speaker 1: Dan pocketed the coffee bag, maybe we'll go downtown later
Speaker 1: and get more, I felt oddly peripheral in my own kitchen.
Speaker 1: The mug in my hands looked suddenly unfamiliar, as if
Speaker 1: some one else had left it on our counter. I
Speaker 1: shook it off, tried to anyway, Jess could just be
Speaker 1: a name, just a leftover anecdote. And coffee is just coffee,
Speaker 1: I told myself, But the detail wormed into my thoughts,
Speaker 1: refusing to dissolve. It's ridiculous, I told myself, you can't
Speaker 1: catch betrayal from a bag of beans. But I kept
Speaker 1: looking at it, the brue meridian sun rising up from
Speaker 1: the label, printing itself into the memory of the morning
Speaker 1: that didn't feel like mine. People always said Dan and
Speaker 1: I were opposites, and maybe in some faded broad strokes way,
Speaker 1: that was true. He'd show up late to our running
Speaker 1: club's spring race, grinning, waving, singing the tension off the crowd.
Speaker 1: I'd be tightening my ponatail, running the math on pace splits.
Speaker 1: I pertune to every second ticked off the digital clock.
Speaker 1: He claimed. The only thing he took seriously was hydration
Speaker 1: and snacks. I'd laugh too hard, too obvious. It must
Speaker 1: have been the adrenaline or the hum of anticipation after
Speaker 1: my training grind all winter. But when I met Dan
Speaker 1: at that finished line, mud caking up his shins, water
Speaker 1: bottle in one hand, medal lopsided, I let myself believe
Speaker 1: that I could ease up, even just a little. We
Speaker 1: joked about it for years. I was on your left
Speaker 1: for the last mile. How could you not notice me?
Speaker 1: He'd tease, and I'd retort because you looked like you
Speaker 1: were dying. I was, but you were still the only
Speaker 1: one matching my ridiculous playliss choices tragic, he'd reply, and
Speaker 1: then we'd both dissolve into the kind of laughter that
Speaker 1: made strangers stare. Our first real date was not a date,
Speaker 1: not exactly. A group from the club gathered at Wintergreen Brewery,
Speaker 1: and he arrived with a six back of Whoop's Pale Ale,
Speaker 1: insisting it would recover every one's dignity. I could see
Speaker 1: him five minutes before he entered, a blur of energy,
Speaker 1: striped scarf and battered shoes he always meant to replace.
Speaker 1: He was always, undeniably himself. Built our routine around the
Speaker 1: engrossing gravity of that easy beginning, post run breakfasts at
Speaker 1: the Corner diner, late evening streaming terrible movie night, his invention,
Speaker 1: arguing over architectural books and the best running trails. Dan,
Speaker 1: a user experienced designer, made life less precise but more textured,
Speaker 1: Less about the lines and more about the negative space.
Speaker 1: I'd wake up to new sticky notes on the fridge.
Speaker 1: Don't run too far without me, who rebooted Spotify, Answer Romance,
Speaker 1: The inside jokes painted across our space as essential as
Speaker 1: the race bibs we framed in the hallway. Eventually we
Speaker 1: saved for a down payment, bought a modern two level
Speaker 1: just outside the city, a place with big south facing
Speaker 1: windows and enough kitchen counter space for both our coffee rituals.
Speaker 1: Our friends loved it as much as we did. Jamie
Speaker 1: and Lauren, Alex Rachel faces that rotated through our lives,
Speaker 1: Monthly brunches, themed potlucks, arguments about who'd host Christmas. If
Speaker 1: there was a pattern, it was this. I'd plan, strategize,
Speaker 1: smooth the chaos. Dan would surprise me with off beat spontaneity,
Speaker 1: his last minute dinner ideas, and let's just see where
Speaker 1: we end up weekends. The rolls insulated and revealed our
Speaker 1: best selves. I grew to trust his improvisation as a
Speaker 1: steady in counterweight, a reminder that control could be a
Speaker 1: form of care, not just compulsion. Of course, I'd had
Speaker 1: flashes of self doubt. I joked around about being the
Speaker 1: intense one, but the laughter sometimes creased with worry. Did
Speaker 1: I push too hard? Did my shed You'll suffocate any
Speaker 1: chance for surprise. Dan would shake his head at these questions,
Speaker 1: pushing stray hair behind my ear. If any one's too
Speaker 1: much for me, he'd say, eyes crinkling, then I need more,
Speaker 1: not less. Most days that was enough. Most days, I
Speaker 1: believed him. On the morning we should have been heading
Speaker 1: up state, I told myself it was just bad luck,
Speaker 1: bad timing. I volleyed back Lauren's excited texts with heart emojis,
Speaker 1: feigning breeziness. I didn't feel The group chap pulsed with
Speaker 1: rapid fire videos, Alex doing tequila shots off as ski,
Speaker 1: Rachel half buried in snow, Jamie photobombing with a pink
Speaker 1: sled over his head. Every year, Dan and I were
Speaker 1: first in last out. Our absence now practically glowed a
Speaker 1: skipped beat in the group's rhythm. I didn't want anyone
Speaker 1: asking if everything was actually fine, and I didn't want
Speaker 1: to admit even to myself that my stomach curdled each
Speaker 1: time the phone lit up. Dan, perhaps sensing how flat
Speaker 1: the apartment fell, suddenly morphed into domestic overdrive. Three nights
Speaker 1: in a row. He cooked dinners with garnishes, artfully arranged,
Speaker 1: peppering me with what's your yelp review? Chef. He stacked
Speaker 1: the dish washer, fluffed the couch pillows, queued up movies
Speaker 1: before I even asked. It was sweet, overwhelmingly so if
Speaker 1: a little performative. I told myself to stop being cynical.
Speaker 1: Wasn't this what everyone wanted? A partner who tried harder
Speaker 1: instead of checking out? But something was off. The apartment
Speaker 1: felt zip tight, airless, even as I found myself laughing
Speaker 1: at Dan's impressions. Even as we sat hip to hip
Speaker 1: on the sofa over correcting, a voice in my head whispered.
Speaker 1: But for what he smiled, like a man trying to
Speaker 1: win at a contest he claimed not to care about.
Speaker 1: It was small things. At first, Dan's insistence that I
Speaker 1: take a break from training, that he could do his
Speaker 1: Tuesday night runs alone, that recovery would make me faster anyway,
Speaker 1: He drag his shoes from the closet, slide on his
Speaker 1: old running vest, and kissed me goodbye, urging me to
Speaker 1: enjoy the down time for once. Maybe he was right.
Speaker 1: Usually I was the one pushing for more, but I'd
Speaker 1: grown used to his presence, his quick panting pace on
Speaker 1: the street, lamp lit roots. We made our own. Distance
Speaker 1: was something we measured in splits, not evenings alone. Then
Speaker 1: a Wednesday, gray and blustery, I headed out for groceries late,
Speaker 1: headphones in, hoping to blank out the ache of missing
Speaker 1: our trip. As I turned onto our street, I saw
Speaker 1: Dan headed toward the house, sweat soaked but oddly energized,
Speaker 1: coming from Jefferson Avenue, which cut north through downtown, long
Speaker 1: past where we usually turned. He didn't wave, just jogged
Speaker 1: up behind me, grinning, then stopped to stretch mid block.
Speaker 1: You go far, I asked, tossing him a water bottle,
Speaker 1: pretending not to notice his route felt good. Did east
Speaker 1: until the park cut across Maine and up Fifth past
Speaker 1: That new fitness thing needed a change, he said, sipping,
Speaker 1: listing street names in a way that felt rehearsed. Dan
Speaker 1: usually ran by feel, relying on Spotify and Impulse, not
Speaker 1: mapping his roots with Google precision. Did you see any
Speaker 1: one from the club? I tried to make it casual.
Speaker 1: NA too late for the regulars, he replied, bending to
Speaker 1: untie his shoes went solo, but it was nice. You
Speaker 1: should try it sometime. He walked past me into the house, humming.
Speaker 1: The answer was plausible, utterly normal, but it clung sticky
Speaker 1: and off center. For all my efforts to squash my worry,
Speaker 1: the details didn't match. I told myself not to simmer
Speaker 1: in it, but it was like trying to avoid stepping
Speaker 1: in rain when the sky had turned. The next week,
Speaker 1: I signed into our shared fitness tracker account to cue
Speaker 1: up a training plan, thinking Dan's runs might inspire me
Speaker 1: out of my funk. The log showed his activity, the
Speaker 1: familiar dips and surges in pace, the miles stacking up,
Speaker 1: but the patterns were wrong. Tuesday's run started late after
Speaker 1: eight fifteen, instead of his usual post work block. Wednesday's stats,
Speaker 1: he gone further than he told me, ending somewhere near
Speaker 1: downtown loops cut in messy zigzags. The graphic annoyed me.
Speaker 1: A blue wobbly line streaming across a map terminating blocks
Speaker 1: from our house, then a stunted walk pace home. Was
Speaker 1: the app glitching or was Dan making whole detours just
Speaker 1: to cool down among the downtown crowds. I brought it up,
Speaker 1: circling the subject at brunch as our friends passed avocado
Speaker 1: toast and bloody Mary's. Does any one actually like tracking
Speaker 1: their calories? Mine's all over the place, I joked eyes
Speaker 1: on Rachel across the Mimosa tray. Rachel shrugged, laughing, pretty accurate,
Speaker 1: at least for steps. I actually saw Dan at that
Speaker 1: new place down town, you know, the Broom Meridian. He
Speaker 1: looked wired as hell. Caught him post run maybe. I
Speaker 1: asked if live forgot her order, and he just grinned,
Speaker 1: said he needed the real stuff. A flush climbed my neck.
Speaker 1: I laughed easily, aware that Lauren and Jamie were listening,
Speaker 1: and nudged Rachel. He's such a coffee drama queen. He's
Speaker 1: been lecturing me about beans all weekend. I filed the
Speaker 1: info away, folding it into the growing list of details
Speaker 1: I wasn't ready to face. Back at home mid laundry,
Speaker 1: I sorted Dan's running jackets, shaking them free of granola
Speaker 1: bar wrappers and receipts. A small square paper fluttered out,
Speaker 1: a printed tab from Brue Meridian, time stamped Monday, eight
Speaker 1: thirty seven p m. The same night, Dan said he
Speaker 1: ran errands after work, picked up groceries and did a
Speaker 1: lap near the park. The receipt was for two drip
Speaker 1: coffees and one morning Bun. I tried to rationalize, maybe
Speaker 1: he was paying for some one at the counter, Maybe
Speaker 1: he was double fisting cold and hot for a long
Speaker 1: walk home the morning Bun detail jabbed at me, unnecessary
Speaker 1: and guiltless. I put the receipt back in his jacket,
Speaker 1: wondering if that made me a coward or a guardian
Speaker 1: of our illusions. Still my restlessness sharpened. That night. Dan
Speaker 1: sat across from me as we fished pizza slices from
Speaker 1: a two small box, his phone buzzing in steady soft intervals.
Speaker 1: I saw flashes of color, a jellybean stickered icon, bright
Speaker 1: and neon work slack never sleeps, I quipped, picking up
Speaker 1: my water. He didn't look up yees sprints this week.
Speaker 1: A hell My team ran into three deploy blockers. I
Speaker 1: might work late Friday, just warning you. But your off
Speaker 1: client call's right, I prodded, hoping to sound interested, not interrogative.
Speaker 1: Dan nodded, absently, tapping replies. The stickerd profel image flashed again,
Speaker 1: nothing like his company's standard issue apse, but I let
Speaker 1: it drop. Later that evening, as he washed up without
Speaker 1: being asked. I saw the wine glass tremble in his hand.
Speaker 1: I asked how work was going, how he was feeling
Speaker 1: about the project. For a split second, he faltered, then
Speaker 1: snapped back into the easy patter of industry jargon. That night,
Speaker 1: sleep evaded me. I replayed scenes that should have been easy.
Speaker 1: Dan's laughter at a club dinner two weeks before, the
Speaker 1: way he'd stayed glued to his phone all through dessert,
Speaker 1: His fleeting grin as he messaged someone, fingers tapping out
Speaker 1: words that made him blush. After a while, these little
Speaker 1: disconnects started to crowd out the easy moments. His insistence
Speaker 1: we skip the running club the following week, let's just
Speaker 1: have us night, forget those yahoos, The gentle way he'd
Speaker 1: touch my shoulder but pull away mid hug. The flashes
Speaker 1: of vulnerability quickly armored over. Maybe he was just stretched thin.
Speaker 1: Maybe it was burnout, pandemic fatigue, or the natural decay
Speaker 1: of newness. Married life could stale on its own routine,
Speaker 1: grooved deeper each year, easy to mistake for distance if
Speaker 1: you squinted the wrong way. I poked through our credit
Speaker 1: card records one night, searching purely out of boredom, or so,
Speaker 1: I told myself. The charges were mostly benign gas groceries
Speaker 1: subscription fees. Below the fold a burst of activity food
Speaker 1: trucks parked along Dan's new running route, double charged coffee
Speaker 1: house bills, and a snapshot charge from the front table
Speaker 1: the vintage bookstore where Jess used to host open mics,
Speaker 1: back when we all thought she and Jamie would navigate
Speaker 1: the next decade hand in hand. The pattern unsettled me.
Speaker 1: I reached out to Jamie, disguising my intent as small talk.
Speaker 1: Hey heard from Jess lately. Lauren said she might be
Speaker 1: in town. Jamie went quiet. His response are measured. Last
Speaker 1: I checked, she's working at some cafe down town, dating
Speaker 1: some data scientist I think left the group behind for
Speaker 1: the city. Pretty much why I typed and arrased three
Speaker 1: explanations landed at just curious. Dan mentioned her to day
Speaker 1: bizarre right. Jamie's reply, guess you can't keep us all
Speaker 1: in orbit ha, Then gentle silence. Dan's caring increased at home,
Speaker 1: but his warmth sloshed over my suspicion in a tide
Speaker 1: that felt forced. He initiated sex more often, eyes open, searching,
Speaker 1: staying close without saying much. It felt choreographed, tender, but
Speaker 1: not connective, as if he were memorizing the act. Lauren
Speaker 1: texted me after brunch, a little blunt, you seem on edge.
Speaker 1: Everything cool with you too. Predictably, I met it with deflection.
Speaker 1: Just work stress, you know how it is. Even as
Speaker 1: I typed it, I wondered if any one sensed more,
Speaker 1: if what was brewing beneath our carefully orchestrated routines had
Speaker 1: started to leak out and affect the rest. But no
Speaker 1: one called me out. No one ever does until after.
Speaker 1: By Thursday, every interaction felt second guest compensation, not comfort. Hey,
Speaker 1: let's do take out to night, or I can grab
Speaker 1: that cinnamon bread you like, Dan suggested, peering up from
Speaker 1: his laptop, shaw I said, giving him room to pivot
Speaker 1: but not retreat. He returned with two bags, one from
Speaker 1: our usual, the other a brown wrapped cylinder from Brew Meridian.
Speaker 1: He set down the new beans with a flourish, got
Speaker 1: the last bag in the shop, winner's luck. For a moment,
Speaker 1: I tried to just appreciate the gesture. The cafe had
Speaker 1: once been part of our post run reward system, a
Speaker 1: place we'd retreated when the wind bit too hard, and
Speaker 1: the world felt simple now, Dan said little, focusing on
Speaker 1: his curry, occasionally sneaking glances at his phone. I wanted
Speaker 1: to reach across the table and shake him, demand some
Speaker 1: explanation for the mounting disonance, the way his attention flickered
Speaker 1: from present to something I couldn't see. Want to go
Speaker 1: for a run to morrow, I offered, not letting my
Speaker 1: hope show too much. He smiled, warm but careful. Rain
Speaker 1: es coming, But Saturday year, Let's do the old route justus.
Speaker 1: It sounded like a peace offering, But now even compromise
Speaker 1: seemed like a calculation. That night, I dreamt I was
Speaker 1: running alone, the street lights surging past in a blur.
Speaker 1: Only when I reached the finished line did I realize
Speaker 1: no one had run beside me for miles. Friday brought
Speaker 1: its own small crescendo. I bought fresh flowers for the kitchen,
Speaker 1: trying to reclaim something soft and good. Wee kennd mood setting.
Speaker 1: I messaged Rachel, sending her a photo. She replied with
Speaker 1: a gift of a lizard doing jazz hands best vibes
Speaker 1: own it. I watched Dan leave for his long run,
Speaker 1: his shoes scuffing the steps earbuds in thirty minutes turned
Speaker 1: into ninety, the daylight outside thickening into lavender dusk. I
Speaker 1: half expected him to bring back a treat from down town,
Speaker 1: but he returned empty handed, ducking into the shower almost
Speaker 1: before I could greet him. Later, as he scrolled on
Speaker 1: his phone beside me on the couch, I saw that
Speaker 1: familiar neons sticker again, a hand drawn son Jess's usual tag.
Speaker 1: He tucked the phone away, quickly, asking what I wanted
Speaker 1: for dinner, and still I hesitated. It was easier not
Speaker 1: to see, easier to keep walking forward than to retrace
Speaker 1: the route and find it full of forks. A week
Speaker 1: of this past, each day, the overlay of normal life
Speaker 1: felt less like a partnership and more like daytont We
Speaker 1: orbited each other in tight ellipses, colliding over logistics and sparking.
Speaker 1: When the veneer thinned badly enough, I started hearing Dan's
Speaker 1: name pop up in places that once belonged to Jess.
Speaker 1: Rachel mentioned him dropping by her cafe again, her words
Speaker 1: one afternoon, saying she thought she glimpsed him through the window,
Speaker 1: chatting animatedly. I nodded, feigning indifference, even as jealousy rooted
Speaker 1: in my bones. Saturday, I went for a solo run,
Speaker 1: looping out toward the river, letting my thoughts loosen with
Speaker 1: every mile. The easy rhythm that once felt like home
Speaker 1: now ached each step, underscoring Dan's absence. By the time
Speaker 1: I got back, sweat damp and newly empty, the kitchen
Speaker 1: was full of the scent of cinnamon, bread and coriander.
Speaker 1: Dan singing a song I half remembered from college, face
Speaker 1: bright with practiced delight. The performance was flawless, the stage unsteady.
Speaker 1: He pressed a cup of brue Meridian coffee into my
Speaker 1: palm and brushed a kiss along my hairline. You're gonna
Speaker 1: destroy your knees that way, he said, same old teas,
Speaker 1: same smile. But then he turned back to his phone,
Speaker 1: gazing down as though it might answer questions he hadn't
Speaker 1: asked out loud. That night, I called Lauren. Let's do
Speaker 1: something dumb to night, I suggested, drunk Mario cart. She hesitated.
Speaker 1: She was up state, of course, phone echoing with the
Speaker 1: thrum of the ski train rain. Check live you sound,
Speaker 1: I dunnow you okay, just lonely. The trip's weird with
Speaker 1: every one gone I lied the words dull in my mouth.
Speaker 1: You and Dan doing your own thing, she asked, almost gently.
Speaker 1: I hesitated, Yeah, he's been working later a lot, I
Speaker 1: guess we both needed space. Lauren hummed, Well, pace yourself.
Speaker 1: We need you back at the club soon. Promise me
Speaker 1: you'll come, definitely, I replied, forcing the word out. Later,
Speaker 1: I watched Dan's sleep beside me, his posture open gentle,
Speaker 1: a silhouette of who I'd first let into my life,
Speaker 1: the urge to reach a cross and shake him from slumber,
Speaker 1: to demand answers, to drag everything raw into the light,
Speaker 1: ward against the tender wish to let him be, to
Speaker 1: let us both pretend it wasn't unraveling. Maybe that's how
Speaker 1: it starts, the slow bleed of something you can't name,
Speaker 1: growing bigger by virtue of being left alone. Monday, I
Speaker 1: told myself would be a reset. I bought us pastries
Speaker 1: from the corner bakery, set the table with new flowers,
Speaker 1: and announced, just before he left for work, that this
Speaker 1: week end we were reclaiming the city. Let's run the
Speaker 1: East Loop, grab brunch, be tourists for a change. Dan
Speaker 1: stared at me as if surprised, then smiled shoulders. Relaxing
Speaker 1: sounds great live we could use more adventure. Ha. The
Speaker 1: rest of the week blurred work, deadlines, project emergencies, one
Speaker 1: night of forced laughter at a new pizza place. Finally,
Speaker 1: Saturday arrived and we drove to the city pre dawn,
Speaker 1: unpacking old running jokes, en root, mapping out the brunch
Speaker 1: root on a dog yard city map. The morning was
Speaker 1: brisk and sun splashed. We laced up, falling into step
Speaker 1: along the loop, our paces sinking almost perfectly. For a
Speaker 1: few giddy miles. Things felt suspended in amber, the old,
Speaker 1: better version of us. He cracked jokes about coffee snobbery.
Speaker 1: I pointed out architectural flaws in every new condo building.
Speaker 1: We ate quassas, took photos, held hands crossing the traffic
Speaker 1: clogged square. As the day closed, I thought, maybe it's
Speaker 1: as simple as this. Maybe the story I was spinning
Speaker 1: was just my brain's way of starting drama. That night,
Speaker 1: as we sprawled against the cool sheets, Dan squeezed my hand.
Speaker 1: We should do this more, just us, you know, I nodded, relief,
Speaker 1: stretching through me. Let's do a club run next week two.
Speaker 1: I missed the old routine. I saw him tense for
Speaker 1: a half second, then offer a bright, agreeable share. I
Speaker 1: drifted off that night, half convinced i'd manufactured the strangeness.
Speaker 1: Hope is a muscle, and I'd stretched mine to the
Speaker 1: point of tearing. Monday, the group chat vibrated with sudden energy.
Speaker 1: Thanks Dan for surprising everyone down town after the run.
Speaker 1: Great to see you, Jamie's text glowed. Then Lauren, we
Speaker 1: missed you live next week? Right, The timing didn't fit.
Speaker 1: I'd left Dan at home Sunday night, marathoning work on
Speaker 1: the couch while I ordered tie. He d said he
Speaker 1: needed to make a late call, begged off dinner at nine,
Speaker 1: said he'd catch up to morrow. I typed nice into
Speaker 1: the group text, not trusting myself with more. I could
Speaker 1: hear plates rattling as I dumped them in the dishwater,
Speaker 1: the hum of our refrigerator growing weirdly loud. I watched
Speaker 1: Dan that night as he stood at the counter making sandwiches,
Speaker 1: absorbed in his phone. I asked, how was work last night?
Speaker 1: He glanced back, distracted, pretty hellish, made a dent, though,
Speaker 1: laughed with the team about the coffee upgrade. We're all
Speaker 1: snobs now, I just smiled opening the dish washer, not
Speaker 1: trusting myself to say more. After dinner, I scrolled Instagram
Speaker 1: out of habit, catching a photo from Jamie group selfie
Speaker 1: smiling faces, Dan's arms slung across Jamie's shoulders. Down town
Speaker 1: in front of Broom Meridian's artfully chalked window, the time
Speaker 1: stamp last night, seven forty two p m. Dan beaming,
Speaker 1: glassy eyed, holding up a mug I recognized from our
Speaker 1: own kitchen. The floor seemed to tilt, the old ache sharpening.
Speaker 1: Jess's familiar cameo emerged in the background, stringy hair pushed
Speaker 1: back with a soft band, carrying a tray of mugs.
Speaker 1: Face half derned but unmistakable. She looked happy at home,
Speaker 1: but more than anything, she looked surprised at being caught
Speaker 1: in the lens. I closed the app, looking up at
Speaker 1: the ceiling, counting the seams in the dry wall. It
Speaker 1: should have clarified things. Instead, the world re arranged itself again,
Speaker 1: memory pooling with questions. I couldn't yet bring myself to
Speaker 1: say aloud. I let the week pass in fragments. Tuesday
Speaker 1: I texted Jamie, aiming for breezy but anxious fun times.
Speaker 1: Sunday looked wild. Jamie replied, yeah, Dan surprised every one.
Speaker 1: Quick drinks after the run. He seemed really happy. He
Speaker 1: then immediately turned the conversation to a new podcast You
Speaker 1: have to listen seriously. This time late Wednesday, as Dan showered,
Speaker 1: I heard his phone buzz carelessly left unlocked on the dresser.
Speaker 1: One message threaded through, then another, under a contact labeled Jasmith.
Speaker 1: I almost laughed too. On the nose Jesse's old handle,
Speaker 1: a running joke from club days. I scrolled. The messages
Speaker 1: were coded, truncated, playful banter about roots, inside jokes about
Speaker 1: crossing lines. Don't get caught walking the wrong angle this time,
Speaker 1: A handful of snapshots of coffee art, a lone shot
Speaker 1: of running shoes, tangled together her smaller, newer. My heart
Speaker 1: beat against my ribs. As I scrolled further, a week
Speaker 1: cold message from Jess. It felt good to talk without pretending.
Speaker 1: Thanks for listening to me about everything. Good luck on
Speaker 1: the marathon. Maybe next time you'll finally beat me. It
Speaker 1: read like a casual, supportive friend exchange, but none of
Speaker 1: it belonged in a secret thread. None of it required
Speaker 1: this much shielded effort. I searched Jess's profel online out
Speaker 1: of habit. Her Instagram had gone private, but a place
Speaker 1: holder bio linked to the Brue Meridian Cafe, a comment
Speaker 1: thread with familiar faces tagged. The dots were all there
Speaker 1: if you drew the lines. Thursday, telling myself it was nothing,
Speaker 1: I walked down town after lunch, stepping into Browe Meridian's bright,
Speaker 1: sun washed space, the whir of an espresso machine filling
Speaker 1: the room. Jess stood behind the counter collecting change, wiping
Speaker 1: her hands on a faded apron. She looked up momentarily shocked,
Speaker 1: then her face softened to a genuine warmth. Olivia, long time,
Speaker 1: no Sea. I bought a bag of beans, trying not
Speaker 1: to sound out of breath from the real eye. Just
Speaker 1: figured I should finally try the famous coffee. Dan's given
Speaker 1: me the hard cell, she laughed, leaning against the counter.
Speaker 1: He's persistent. I'll give him that. He stopped by last week,
Speaker 1: said you guys were running more these days. Was nice talking.
Speaker 1: I needed a little pick me up, I smiled, You too,
Speaker 1: always had the caffeine thing. Glad you're happy here. Jess
Speaker 1: glanced toward the back kitchen, dropping her voice. Hope this
Speaker 1: whole thing is easier on you than it was on me.
Speaker 1: I froze, fighting the urge to press, to demand clarity,
Speaker 1: to shout in a room full of strangers. But Jess
Speaker 1: seemed convinced we were on the same page, like some
Speaker 1: silent contract had already been signed. I hope so too,
Speaker 1: I managed. I left the cafe, gripping the bag of
Speaker 1: brue meridian beans, my palms suddenly slick, my head filled
Speaker 1: with a dozen unfinished sentences. That night, Dan returned late, humming,
Speaker 1: face pinched but open. He set his keys on the table,
Speaker 1: smiled when he saw me, and walked to the fridge.
Speaker 1: He was about to say something I could tell when
Speaker 1: he caught my gaze and paused, uncertain we should talk.
Speaker 1: I wanted to say, but instead I sat silent as
Speaker 1: the whir of the dish washer echoed through the kitchen.
Speaker 1: The morning bun receipts still folded in my jacket pocket,
Speaker 1: the fitness trackers blue lines jumbled in my mind. I
Speaker 1: still did not know everything, but the space between us,
Speaker 1: once measured in easy miles, now felt impossibly wide. Still
Speaker 1: I could not cross it, at least not yet. Friday
Speaker 1: came sharp and cold, and every minute of the day
Speaker 1: was simple and functional, except for the relentless, cumulative ache
Speaker 1: that gathered behind my eyes. I worked through the morning
Speaker 1: e mails, diagrams, a handful of brainstorming calls where I overcompensated,
Speaker 1: my voice high and animal on mute. On my lunch break,
Speaker 1: I walked down town again, telling myself I needed the
Speaker 1: fresh air, the pounding of my boots on the melting slush.
Speaker 1: I crossed through the plaza where months ago our group
Speaker 1: had sprawled on to cafe benches, sharing pastries and the
Speaker 1: latest gossip. Dan and Alex ribbing each other about splits,
Speaker 1: Rachel precisely buttering her toast to day. The only chatter
Speaker 1: was the wind blowing left over Christmas tinsel into the gutter.
Speaker 1: I texted Lauren, you around this weekend at all brunch?
Speaker 1: She replied quickly, Sorry, babe, still up north Ski crew
Speaker 1: won't let me leave early. You okay? Typing? I hovered
Speaker 1: on the edge of honesty, then retreated, miss you. Tell
Speaker 1: Jamie to stop doing accents, I wrote instead, adding a
Speaker 1: smiley face, though my hand shook. I pushed through the
Speaker 1: rest of my to do list. By late afternoon, I
Speaker 1: was standing in the living room staring at the framed
Speaker 1: moto of last year's ski trip. Jamie sprawled between me
Speaker 1: and Dan on the flannel couch, Rachel mugging for the camera,
Speaker 1: all of us gathered, half drunk, the world still simple.
Speaker 1: What would Jamie say now if I asked straight out
Speaker 1: about Jess? What if I was reading into nothing, fracturing
Speaker 1: things out of boredom or insecurity. That evening, I tried
Speaker 1: to reroot my energy. I wiped down the kitchen, scrubbing
Speaker 1: every sticky patch, re arranged the spice rack, watered the
Speaker 1: dying time plant by the window. Dan texted, running late,
Speaker 1: Need anything wine, I replied, not specifying red or white,
Speaker 1: hoping to see what he brought home some small clue
Speaker 1: as to whether he was still thinking of our old
Speaker 1: routines or making up new ones without me. He came
Speaker 1: home just past seven, hare wind swept, cheeks pink from
Speaker 1: the cold. He'd brought a bottle of Temperanneo, my favorite,
Speaker 1: something only he remembered to buy. I tried to meet
Speaker 1: his efforts in the middle, cooked a quick dinner, set
Speaker 1: the table, queued up our old dinner jazz playlist. Most
Speaker 1: of it felt like choreography, but when he started talking
Speaker 1: about a childhood memory, his first disastrous high school play,
Speaker 1: how he'd worn tights backward and tripped mid monologue. His
Speaker 1: story telling so vivid, I couldn't help but laugh. I
Speaker 1: felt the smallest bead of hope flare up, stubborn and delicate.
Speaker 1: I clung to those moments, small spikes of warmth. Parts
Speaker 1: of Dan still felt reliable, still mine. After dinner, I
Speaker 1: picked up my phone, waiting for a clue I could name,
Speaker 1: hating myself for the addiction to every jolt and buzz.
Speaker 1: Dan was quieter, his focus drifting into his own device,
Speaker 1: thumbs moving faster than his face aloud. When I asked
Speaker 1: him about his week end plans, he shrugged, then remembered.
Speaker 1: Alex messaged, might want to hit the brewery to morrow
Speaker 1: late afternoon. You cool if I go, sure, I said,
Speaker 1: trying to keep my voice even you want to run
Speaker 1: before his face flickered with apology. Might be tight on
Speaker 1: time Sunday morning work, I can set the alarm, I nodded,
Speaker 1: though I heard the careful, excessive coordination as if rehearsed.
Speaker 1: As we moved around each other that night, the edges
Speaker 1: of our lives pressed together, frictionless. He slept heavy. I
Speaker 1: lay awake, counting his breaths, my mind jittering through every
Speaker 1: little mist cue, every odd inflection in casual conversation. Saturday afternoon,
Speaker 1: when Dan left for the brewery, I showered and sat
Speaker 1: down with my laptop, coaxing myself into work as distraction.
Speaker 1: It lasted less than twenty minutes before I caved, opening
Speaker 1: our shared calendar. Scrolling through Dan's work events, his late
Speaker 1: nights for projects I never saw delivered, He destarted using
Speaker 1: more generic titles sink team, catch up events that could
Speaker 1: mean anything or nothing. My skin prickled. I minimized the window,
Speaker 1: hating myself for doubting the unimportant. Everyone was allowed a
Speaker 1: private life. Wasn't that healthy? Or was that just what
Speaker 1: people told themselves before the bottom fell out? I scrolled
Speaker 1: back to Rachel's text about seeing Dan at Broom Meridian
Speaker 1: and wondered how often he actually went Caffeine addiction maybe,
Speaker 1: or a new favorite or something else. The receipts still
Speaker 1: lay hidden in his jacket. The time stamps scorched into
Speaker 1: my memory. Unable to settle, I pulled up the fitness
Speaker 1: tracker again, noting the gradual shift in his running times.
Speaker 1: His fastest paces, now clustered around runs, ending near the city,
Speaker 1: slowing down on his way home. Why lie about the distance?
Speaker 1: Why insist on going solo now when running together used
Speaker 1: to be the easy default. The more I explored, the
Speaker 1: more gaps surfaced. He'd skipped logging two runs, something he
Speaker 1: used to obsess over. Yet the tracker was full of wapons.
Speaker 1: Check ins at coffee shops, a hardware store, the bakery
Speaker 1: near Broue Meridian. Each stop explained away as needed, a snack,
Speaker 1: bathroom break, forgot my gloves, but the deat was stacked,
Speaker 1: making a new pattern, three sometimes four runs a week,
Speaker 1: orbiting a mile wide circle around Jesse's cafe. By evening
Speaker 1: I could barely sit still. I called Rachel, ostensibly about
Speaker 1: the running club, secretly hunting for clues. How s work?
Speaker 1: I asked, Trying to sound casual, She launched into her
Speaker 1: usual quick reports about clients, the new manager, nobody liked
Speaker 1: the brunch I'd missed last week. Then, as if remembering
Speaker 1: too late, she added, are you coming to the next
Speaker 1: club run? Every one misses you. Dan said he might
Speaker 1: join too. I pinched the phone between jaw and shoulder,
Speaker 1: heart racing. I'm in need a reason to feel like
Speaker 1: myself again. Rachel hesitated you and Dan doing o ka.
Speaker 1: I mean, I know missing the ski trip was a bummer,
Speaker 1: but is he dealing with something he seemed at Brew
Speaker 1: a couple weeks ago. I exhaled, trying to sound amused.
Speaker 1: That's just too much caffeine. He's hooked. I managed a
Speaker 1: little giggle, and Rachel joined in, but her voice stayed doubtful.
Speaker 1: I mean, maybe he seemed happy, but like off, I
Speaker 1: figured you'd know. We dropped the subject, but I chewed
Speaker 1: that conversation over for hours. I wondered was I alone
Speaker 1: in my paranoia or was something leaking through the cracks
Speaker 1: of our group, invisible if you squinted, but obvious in hindsight.
Speaker 1: Sunday morning, the house felt unnaturally still. All our classic
Speaker 1: weekend routines derailed. Dan lingered in bed, scrolling through his phone,
Speaker 1: then suggested we order bagels and eat on the back deck,
Speaker 1: an old habit he revived only during his most affectionate moods.
Speaker 1: This time, the conversation was stilted. I watched him sip
Speaker 1: his coffee, eyes flicking from his screen to the back
Speaker 1: yard and back again. We should do a double long
Speaker 1: run next week, he said, as if he just remembered
Speaker 1: how to push for a future. You and me back
Speaker 1: to basics, that be nice, I lied. He watched my
Speaker 1: face for a beat, then leaned in, brushing a crumb
Speaker 1: from my sleeve. You worried about something, he asked softly. No,
Speaker 1: I said, reflexively. Just tired deadlines. Quit carrying the world
Speaker 1: around in your backpack, he teased. I found myself resenting
Speaker 1: the joke. How easily he sidestepped discomfort. Later that day,
Speaker 1: he disappeared into the garage, cleaning out old gear. I
Speaker 1: scrolled through the club's group chat, seeing a slow shuffle
Speaker 1: of posts, trickling in law and snowbun selfies, Alex's shot
Speaker 1: from the brewery, a photo of Jamie and Dan at
Speaker 1: brew Meridian, again grainy but unmistakable. I thumbed back through
Speaker 1: my mental archive of Jesse's last weeks with the group,
Speaker 1: Her guarded laughter, the way she always deferred to others,
Speaker 1: the soft politeness in every agreement. Had there been something
Speaker 1: between her and Dan, then was I rewriting history with
Speaker 1: suspicious ink? By late afternoon, Dan re emerged, spirits boosted,
Speaker 1: bouncing through the kitchen stacking shoes by the door, asking
Speaker 1: what I wanted for dinner, As though we were newlyweds again,
Speaker 1: I played along, my doubts, folding and refolding, never resolving.
Speaker 1: Monday morning, as sunlight stroked fluently over our plastered ceilings,
Speaker 1: I fell into my usual rituals email project planning the
Speaker 1: careful slicing of oranges for breakfast. Dan left early, declaring
Speaker 1: he wanted to start the week right, promising to bring
Speaker 1: home dinner later. The moment he left, I sat cross
Speaker 1: legged with my coffee, staring at the browe meridian bag
Speaker 1: until the logos blurred. I couldn't work. Instead, I double
Speaker 1: checked my own memories, scrolling through six months of shared photos,
Speaker 1: Dan's arm around me, gift cards to the cafe after
Speaker 1: hard races, bookmarks from Jess's book reading tucked between week
Speaker 1: end snap shots. Had I really missed something so obvious?
Speaker 1: Or had things shifted more recently only visible from this precise,
Speaker 1: strained vantage. Midday, I impulsively texted Jamie, hey, I saw
Speaker 1: that wild group selfie from Brew. Miss you, guys. Is
Speaker 1: Jess working there all the time these days? Jamie answered later,
Speaker 1: think so, She's pretty much a fixture now, seemed to
Speaker 1: be doing good last time I was in. I hovered
Speaker 1: on the edge of pushing further, but a nott of
Speaker 1: shame held me back. If I asked anything deeper, Jamie
Speaker 1: would know I was digging. Unable to rest, I finally
Speaker 1: drove to the cafe again. This time I didn't linger
Speaker 1: at the counter. I ordered an espresso and sat at
Speaker 1: a corner table, pretending to read while Jess worked her shift,
Speaker 1: moving with a kind of quiet ease, chatting with a
Speaker 1: regular in a worn cycling jacket running the register. I
Speaker 1: tried to imagine what did she see in Dan now,
Speaker 1: if anything, was he just another customer or was there
Speaker 1: connection running silent and deep beneath my line of sight.
Speaker 1: I found myself dissecting every smile, every angle of their interactions.
Speaker 1: Jess looked up once and caught my eye. Startled, I smiled,
Speaker 1: not trusting myself to offer any more. After twenty minutes,
Speaker 1: she brought over my check, her voice, gentle, live you okay,
Speaker 1: you look like your running a marathon in your brain.
Speaker 1: I almost laughed, Startled by her accuracy. Just work the
Speaker 1: city's noisy, she smiled, Pressing the receipt into my palm,
Speaker 1: read something for fun you always used to. I've got
Speaker 1: next week's book club list if you want it. Her
Speaker 1: concern felt genuine, confusing me even more. What world was
Speaker 1: I living in where I could suspect Jess and Dan
Speaker 1: of an affair or some kind of tryst while Jess
Speaker 1: herself spoke like we were team mates, not rivals. I
Speaker 1: left the cafe more unsettled than before. That night, after
Speaker 1: another quietly tense dinner take out ramin etn on the couch,
Speaker 1: both of us watching reruns, neither really laughing. I waited
Speaker 1: for Dan to go to bed. When he did, his
Speaker 1: phone left on the coffee table beside me. I unlocked it, trembling.
Speaker 1: The messages with j Smith were still there, the same
Speaker 1: threads about running coffee, old inside jokes, resurfacing a single
Speaker 1: heart emoji. Nothing explicit capped one exchange about taking the
Speaker 1: hard turn instead of looping back, a phrase they'd used
Speaker 1: to describe bad dates in college. I scrolled faster, hungry
Speaker 1: for certainty, unsure whether I wanted to know. I read
Speaker 1: the message about talking without pretending about good luck on
Speaker 1: the marathon. There was nothing obviously damning, not in the
Speaker 1: legal sense, but everything about the intimacy of their exchange, unfiltered, coded,
Speaker 1: tucked away, and my knowledge burned. One new picture sent
Speaker 1: just that afternoon, just pouring coffee, a little blurry, along
Speaker 1: with the message hope to day goes better. You got this?
Speaker 1: My stomach flipped. I put the phone back exactly as
Speaker 1: I'd found it, hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
Speaker 1: I sat in the dim light, staring at the runners
Speaker 1: bibs on our wall, the memories threatening to split in half,
Speaker 1: all those finished lines, all the times Dan told me
Speaker 1: both feet in at every race. I couldn't sleep. The
Speaker 1: next morning, I sat at the kitchen table waiting for him.
Speaker 1: I'm sure if i'd confront him in a blaze or
Speaker 1: keep the shield up a while longer. Before he left
Speaker 1: for work, Dan paused on his way out the door.
Speaker 1: Run to night. He asked, too light? Sure, I replied,
Speaker 1: if you're not meeting any one else, He stopped, surprise
Speaker 1: flickering across his face. Why would you say that, I shrugged,
Speaker 1: fighting for calm. You've got a lot on your calendar lately.
Speaker 1: I just want to know where I fit. He opened
Speaker 1: his mouth like he might protest, then shut it, brow
Speaker 1: furrowing you always fit live. His reassurance didn't land. For
Speaker 1: the first time, he looked worried. The run that night
Speaker 1: was excruciatingly normal, both of us pushing the pace, knees high, breaths,
Speaker 1: sharp in the cold air. Every conversational opening twisted into
Speaker 1: a dead end. Half Way through mile three, Dan pulled
Speaker 1: up short, feigning a hamstring stretch. Feeling off, he said,
Speaker 1: I glanced at him sideways. You said this was your
Speaker 1: favorite loop. He met, my eyes searching for footing. Some
Speaker 1: days are just harder, Yeah, I forced a thin smile.
Speaker 1: Some days are. We walked home in silence, the city
Speaker 1: darkening around us, neither wanting to break the seal between
Speaker 1: what was spoken and what was only guessed. That night,
Speaker 1: he lingered by the door keys, turning in his hand.
Speaker 1: I almost told him everything, my suspicion, my discoveries, my
Speaker 1: fear that I was only a supporting character in his
Speaker 1: life now, but the words caught Instead. I asked, shall
Speaker 1: we take a week nd off, go somewhere recharge. Dan smiled,
Speaker 1: but I couldn't tell if relief or anxiety colored his face. YEA,
Speaker 1: wherever you want, I nodded, silently, conceding a brief cease
Speaker 1: fare nothing more. The following days hovered between hope and dread,
Speaker 1: every conversation balanced on the edge of confrontation, both of
Speaker 1: us soldiers in a war neither fully named. A few
Speaker 1: nights later, Lauren called. Her voice was roar from cold
Speaker 1: air and laughter. You're both missed, she said, But you
Speaker 1: especially looked tired in your texts these days. Step up,
Speaker 1: live or take the break, but let me know you're alive.
Speaker 1: I'm fine, I lied, not sure if I hoped she'd
Speaker 1: see through it is Dan, I dunno. He just seems scattered.
Speaker 1: Maybe give him a little nudge sometimes that's all we need, right, maybe,
Speaker 1: I said, holding back the rest. We made plans for
Speaker 1: a brunch the next week, something simple to anchor myself to.
Speaker 1: The Next day, Jamie texted out of nowhere, you are
Speaker 1: round for drinks this week, Dan s bean, I don't know,
Speaker 1: Judash you too, O kay. I closed my eyes, thumb
Speaker 1: moving without my brain. We're busy, just off our usual routine.
Speaker 1: After a long pause, Jamie sent back, if you need
Speaker 1: to talk about anything, come by. I almost burst into
Speaker 1: tears at the ordinary kindness. I typed, thank you and
Speaker 1: let the darkness settle that evening, I found Dan in
Speaker 1: our bedroom, folding socks. Head bowed. He glanced up, eyes tired.
Speaker 1: You good, he asked softly. I don't know, I said, finally, honest.
Speaker 1: He put the socks down, came over, touched my arm.
Speaker 1: You want to talk. My throat clenched, the truth, rising
Speaker 1: then receding soon, I said, and left the room. The
Speaker 1: house felt newly fragile, a place crowded by echoes, laughter, tension,
Speaker 1: half spoken promises. I stood at the kitchen window, staring
Speaker 1: out at the yard. My reflection blurred against the glass.
Speaker 1: A cold, unsparing clarity started to set in. Whatever happened next,
Speaker 1: I was no longer living at the center of our story.
Speaker 1: I had become an observer, waiting at the finished line
Speaker 1: for some one who might never arrive. Dan's footsteps sounded
Speaker 1: in the hall outside the kitchen, the rubbery thump of
Speaker 1: worn slippers crossing the floor. I sat unmoving, palms pressed
Speaker 1: firm to the edge of the table. As he ducked
Speaker 1: through the threshold, rumpled and blinking, his gaze flickered from
Speaker 1: me to the silent dishwasher and back, brow creasing, measuring
Speaker 1: the tension in the air. He started too carefully. You're
Speaker 1: up early, couldn't sleep. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Speaker 1: I could see him evaluating his next move, whether to
Speaker 1: feign concern, whether to leave me be, whether to ask
Speaker 1: what I'd been doing alone awake. He poured the last
Speaker 1: of the coffee from the press, the grounds sloshing thick
Speaker 1: across the bottom. I focused on his hand, the small
Speaker 1: tremor as he set down the mug, and forced out,
Speaker 1: we should talk to night. He glanced up, wary, sure
Speaker 1: to night. I'll all be home on time. He paused,
Speaker 1: as if wanting to add something more, then only said,
Speaker 1: let me know what you want for dinner, and disappeared upstairs.
Speaker 1: The words hung there, meaningless, a string of normalcy against
Speaker 1: the crashing change that now pulsed in the walls. With
Speaker 1: the house emptying around me, the silence felt bottomless and new.
Speaker 1: I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at nothing,
Speaker 1: senses alert for the smallest clue. The lingering echo of
Speaker 1: jess voice in my memory, the rattle of Dan's keys,
Speaker 1: the grain of the kitchen table under my nails. Everything
Speaker 1: had shifted, Nothing was safe any more. The ground felt
Speaker 1: primed for another quake At work, focus abandoned me entirely.
Speaker 1: I watched the cursor blink through my task list, answered
Speaker 1: questions I didn't remember hearing. I canceled a meeting by
Speaker 1: mistake and had to apologize flustered to my boss. Somewhere
Speaker 1: in the background of a half listened project call, Jamie's
Speaker 1: name popped up as a meeting participant. Just seeing those
Speaker 1: five letters kicked my heart into a sickened gallop. I
Speaker 1: wondered if he'd said anything, if news always found a
Speaker 1: way to leak from the cracks in a group. By noon,
Speaker 1: I was panic refreshing my phone, flinching at every message.
Speaker 1: Lauren sent a mime about slopes and mid life crises.
Speaker 1: Rachel forded a brunch invite for the following weekend, tacking
Speaker 1: on a miss your face live bring Dan that strung
Speaker 1: with well meaning ignorance. After the call, I went to
Speaker 1: the break room and pressed my forehead against the chilled
Speaker 1: glass of the vending machine, repeating under my breath, not here,
Speaker 1: not now. I couldn't let any of this surface, not
Speaker 1: with every one's faces floating in from the corridor, not
Speaker 1: with my body so wired I could feel blood rushing
Speaker 1: through my wrists. I made it through the rest of
Speaker 1: the day, tracing the archways of our shared slack channel,
Speaker 1: wondering how many details I'd missed in my drive to
Speaker 1: regulate perfect smooth over every ridge. The ride home was
Speaker 1: traffic radio static. I don't remember a single thing I
Speaker 1: saw out the window. The city blurred, the sky liner
Speaker 1: smudge my mind, playing and replaying Jess's words, hope this
Speaker 1: is easier on you than it was on me, until
Speaker 1: they lost all meaning. The house greeted me with its
Speaker 1: ordinary quiet, left over bagels on the counter, shoes invading
Speaker 1: the mat, Dan's racing bibs, mothballed in the closet. It
Speaker 1: should have comforted. Instead, every object felt touched by a secret.
Speaker 1: I flinched at the rattle of Dan's key in the door,
Speaker 1: his arrival as punctuated and awkward as a punchline I
Speaker 1: didn't want. He hesitated, with his coat halfway off, eyes
Speaker 1: darting from my face to the couch. I noticed for
Speaker 1: the first time how tired he looked, dark circles, a
Speaker 1: tenseness in his jaw that didn't match his usual evenings.
Speaker 1: He was brittle, lips pressed thin. Before he could begin
Speaker 1: his routine apology or deflection. I stood up, voice flat,
Speaker 1: and even we need to talk. He swallowed, then nodded,
Speaker 1: setting his bag down with a thump that echoed through
Speaker 1: the room. Now I moved to the kitchen, neutral ground,
Speaker 1: where domesticity might keep us both from detonating. Immediately, he
Speaker 1: sat opposite me at the table, fingers knotted, eyes darting sideways.
Speaker 1: I started, I know you haven't been honest with me.
Speaker 1: I know about brow Meridian, about the runs, about Jess,
Speaker 1: about the messages. My words came out crisper than I meant.
Speaker 1: No drama, not even an accusation, just facts, like reciting
Speaker 1: the day's weather. Dan exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping live. I
Speaker 1: cut him off, jaws said, please, don't not yet. Just
Speaker 1: no stories, no half truths. His thumb twitched against the
Speaker 1: rim of his mug, as if rehearsing a list of excuses.
Speaker 1: It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It started. I don't
Speaker 1: even know when we were just talking. She listened. I
Speaker 1: kept my voice soft but insistent. You lied to me
Speaker 1: about where you were, who you were with. You lied
Speaker 1: even when it was obvious I knew something was wrong.
Speaker 1: He finally looked at me, meeting my eyes with obleak steadiness.
Speaker 1: I kept seeing her after she left the group, after
Speaker 1: the break up drama. I'd run by, she'd wave me
Speaker 1: in for a coffee. I told myself it was just
Speaker 1: to be supportive, to give her someone to vent to.
Speaker 1: But she got it what it felt like to never
Speaker 1: be the main character, what it felt like to always
Speaker 1: be the side kick. I felt my fingers curly in,
Speaker 1: tight on themselves. You're not my sidekick, he winced. I know,
Speaker 1: but sometimes sometimes I felt like I was just your audience,
Speaker 1: like I was just along for the ride in your
Speaker 1: highlight reel. My anger shot up, fighting past confusion. So
Speaker 1: you started something with jest to feel interesting? No? Not
Speaker 1: at first. We just talked. Then we kept talking, and
Speaker 1: I don't even know when it crossed a line. We
Speaker 1: kissed after one of my runs God Live. I told
Speaker 1: myself i'd stop that it was just the pressure, just
Speaker 1: the mess of everyone splitting up last fall. Did you
Speaker 1: sleep with her? My voice cracked, but I forced the
Speaker 1: words out. He nodded, shame written clear across his face.
Speaker 1: A few times months ago, we said it would stop,
Speaker 1: It just didn't. We kept finding excuses to see each other.
Speaker 1: I sucked in a breath, shoulders tense with fury and disbelief.
Speaker 1: All those runs, all those carefuls, fell into orderly rows
Speaker 1: in my mind, locked together with his confession. So all
Speaker 1: the dinner parties, the solo runs, the club meet ups,
Speaker 1: you were with her, and you lied even when you
Speaker 1: didn't have to. Dan looked down, hands trembling. I know,
Speaker 1: I know, I was an asshole. I just couldn't find
Speaker 1: a way to confess without wrecking everything. I was scared
Speaker 1: of you hating me, of being the villain. I almost laughed, Dan,
Speaker 1: you are the villain here. You didn't tell me. You
Speaker 1: let me walk around thinking I was insane. Tears tracked
Speaker 1: down his face, twisting something guilty in my chest, because
Speaker 1: there was still part of me that ached to fix it,
Speaker 1: to make it unhappen, to go back to any simpler
Speaker 1: version of us. He reached across the table, but I
Speaker 1: pulled my hand away, unable to stomach even that much contact.
Speaker 1: He pleaded, I love you live, I do. It just
Speaker 1: got away from me. You didn't break a vase, you
Speaker 1: broke My voice was quiet final. He started to say something,
Speaker 1: but I stood shaking only a little. I can't do this,
Speaker 1: not right now. I retreated to the hallway, forcing my
Speaker 1: legs to move, half aware that if I let myself stay,
Speaker 1: I'd cave to the comfort of our old rhythm, the scripts,
Speaker 1: the cycle of trying again, because it was easier than
Speaker 1: stepping out into uncertainty. I rummaged through the hall closet
Speaker 1: for my duffel, stuffing it with whatever I could find, leggings,
Speaker 1: t shirts, my old windbreaker, a handful of toiletries, my
Speaker 1: battered running shoes. Dan called after me, his voice cracked
Speaker 1: with desperation, soft pleading live, don't go, Please, I need
Speaker 1: to explain, Please, just talk to me. Every word made
Speaker 1: it harder. I clutched the duffle against my chest and stood,
Speaker 1: steadying myself. I'm going to Rachel's. I need space. Don't
Speaker 1: follow me, don't text me, just let me go. He
Speaker 1: stood frozen in the kitchen, clutching the table as if
Speaker 1: it would anchor him, wiping his face on his sleeve
Speaker 1: as he stuttered apologies that had nowhere left to land.
Speaker 1: By the time I reached the car, my hands were
Speaker 1: shaking so badly it took three tries to fit the
Speaker 1: key into the ignition. I pulled out of the driveway,
Speaker 1: slow eyes burning, not from grief, not yet, but from
Speaker 1: the immense pressure of having finally, irrevocably cracked the shape
Speaker 1: of my old life. Rachel opened her door before I knocked.
Speaker 1: She stood stricken in her slippers, her face falling as
Speaker 1: she took in my duffel, my red rimmed eyes. She
Speaker 1: only asked, do you want to talk? I could only
Speaker 1: shake my head, brushing past into her bright, cluttered entry Away.
Speaker 1: She guided me to the spare room off the kitchen,
Speaker 1: closing the door gently and bringing me a glass of
Speaker 1: water and a blanket. I sprawled on the stiff mattress,
Speaker 1: staring at the water stains in the ceiling, soundless. Once
Speaker 1: I found my voice, I messaged Lawan, just three words,
Speaker 1: taking time apart. It hung there, luminous and separate from
Speaker 1: everything we'd ever shared. Lauren's reply came slow, an emoji
Speaker 1: leaving space. Then I'm here if you need. I messaged
Speaker 1: Jamie too, though I didn't know what I wanted from him.
Speaker 1: Things blew up. Just can't write now, he replied, after
Speaker 1: a pause, call if you want You didn't deserve this.
Speaker 1: I sat for a long time in that little room, indecisive,
Speaker 1: itching to run, to pace, to erase Dan from my
Speaker 1: contacts and my blood stream. Instead, I lay back and
Speaker 1: let exhaustion flood over me. My body vibrated with the
Speaker 1: adrenaline of confrontation, nerves singing with the aftershock of the truth.
Speaker 1: At three in the morning, my phone lit up again. Dan,
Speaker 1: a single message I could read without opening. Told Jess
Speaker 1: it's done. I told her everything. I didn't reply. I
Speaker 1: deleted the message and turned my phone face down. Everything
Speaker 1: in the guest room felt alien, borrowed. Rachel tiptoed in
Speaker 1: once to offer tea, which I waved away, not ready
Speaker 1: for any comfort that might coax tears out of me.
Speaker 1: I could hear her in the kitchen, the soft flick
Speaker 1: of the kettle, the gentle hush of her voice as
Speaker 1: she called Lauren. I felt both invisible and exposed under
Speaker 1: her roof a ghost and a mess. Eventually, the sky
Speaker 1: started to lighten, strokes of blue threading through the blinds.
Speaker 1: I lay there, sleep slicking over me in short, fretful doses,
Speaker 1: each one breaking with the angry jolt of memory. Every
Speaker 1: hour stretched double. Every time I closed my eyes, I
Speaker 1: saw Dan's face as he crumbled jesses back at the bar,
Speaker 1: the photo on Jamie's feed, the silent, condemning ring of
Speaker 1: brue meridian beans on our counter. When I finally couldn't
Speaker 1: sit still any longer, I got up, padded to the bathroom.
Speaker 1: I looked at myself in the mirror, hair wild, eyes smudged,
Speaker 1: the faint imprint of tears pressed into my skin. I
Speaker 1: let the cold tap run and splashed my face until
Speaker 1: I felt steadier, cleaner, if not actually clean. Standing in
Speaker 1: the strange hush of daybreak, I realized I've been holding
Speaker 1: my breath for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer. The world
Speaker 1: hadn't ended, not entirely, but the orbit had shifted. I
Speaker 1: was unsheltered, stripped of routine, still aching, but not shattered.
Speaker 1: I changed into leggings and a T shirt, tying my
Speaker 1: shoes with hands that barely fumbled at all. Rachel hovered
Speaker 1: at the edge of the hall, offering a soft are
Speaker 1: you okay whisper I'm going for a run, I said.
Speaker 1: It was the first thing that felt natural in days.
Speaker 1: She let me go, quiet and accepting. The air outside
Speaker 1: was cold, bright edged with frost. I jogged down the
Speaker 1: empty block, lungs filling legs, waking into movement. The early
Speaker 1: morning belonged to me alone, a thin golden trail unwinding
Speaker 1: a finished line only I could see, And for the
Speaker 1: first time since the world had fractured, I thought, maybe
Speaker 1: maybe I can move forward. The rhythm of running, even
Speaker 1: in my exhaustion, offered a kind of uneasy anesthetic, each
Speaker 1: exhale strung in my throat, turning the city's early morning
Speaker 1: hush into a tunnel I could move through. I was
Speaker 1: only a body, not a mind for blocks. I didn't
Speaker 1: think about anything, just the scrape of sneakers, the joints
Speaker 1: in my knees, the dull warmth radiating through my thighs.
Speaker 1: I could pretend that the world had always looked like this, deserted,
Speaker 1: strange waiting for me and me alone. Rachel's neighborhood was gridlined,
Speaker 1: silent at dawn save for the click of one window
Speaker 1: blind and the distant bark of a dog. I cut
Speaker 1: left at the main intersection, turned toward the river path
Speaker 1: Dan and I had mapped years before. Surprised by the
Speaker 1: ghostly muscle memory that guided me without effort, my breath
Speaker 1: came hard and shallow. It didn't settle until the fourth block,
Speaker 1: when the sun began to flick, the tips of apartment buildings,
Speaker 1: breaking through the night's last ray lair. Thoughts pressed in,
Speaker 1: whether I wanted them or not. The memory of Dan's
Speaker 1: voice cracked under strain, the pleading in his eyes. Couldn't
Speaker 1: I see He'd been lost too? Hadn't we once been
Speaker 1: able to explain every failing tangle, every disappointment in the
Speaker 1: thread of hope for another morning, another try. The ache
Speaker 1: in my calves was familiar, almost comforting, and I ran on,
Speaker 1: pushing the questions behind a wall of blank endurance. I
Speaker 1: could hear too clearly the empty shuffle of his feet
Speaker 1: as I left, the weak grip of his voice, Please
Speaker 1: just talk to me, and knew that space time, whatever
Speaker 1: grown up language people used, would never convert those words
Speaker 1: into hope. He'd already drained that possibility with every withheld truth.
Speaker 1: A mile then too, I found myself at the edge
Speaker 1: of the park, the path bending through a stand of
Speaker 1: fir trees, brittle and sharp, the air thick with the
Speaker 1: promise of spring thaw. Here where concrete fractured into dirt.
Speaker 1: I slowed to a wall, sucking air through my teeth,
Speaker 1: blinking against the cold. If Dan had ever run this early,
Speaker 1: he'd never told me if he was awake. Now he
Speaker 1: was in the empty house, space all around him, nothing
Speaker 1: left to perform for I pressed my palms to my thighs,
Speaker 1: squinting at the river's shimmer beyond the grass. I waited
Speaker 1: for some kind of revelation, some latent grief to assert itself,
Speaker 1: But mostly there was only a bitter gratitude that the
Speaker 1: world outside was indifferent, that I could run until my
Speaker 1: breath gave out, and nothing would demand anything of me.
Speaker 1: For the first time in weeks, I felt alone, without
Speaker 1: feeling abandoned. When I turned back at last, jogging stiffly
Speaker 1: toward Rachel's street, the air had lightened enough that I
Speaker 1: could make out the edges of houses, cars frosting over
Speaker 1: the street light's orange haze. Defeated by sky, I slowed,
Speaker 1: drawing out the last steps, unsure of what I'd find waiting,
Speaker 1: or what would happen next. The silence, the absence of
Speaker 1: my old life pressing in, felt newly bearable. Rachel was
Speaker 1: in the kitchen with the radio low, slicing oranges, her
Speaker 1: hair askew and her robes cinched tight. She offered me
Speaker 1: a mug of tea. I took it without speaking, letting
Speaker 1: the warmth of the cup steady my raw hands. She
Speaker 1: didn't press, just sat at the table across from me,
Speaker 1: cutting into the fruit seeds, pinging into the porcelain bowl
Speaker 1: with each section. The clatter was oddly reassuring. Finally, I said,
Speaker 1: Dan told jessets over. Rachel's eyes flickered sympathy, surprise, and
Speaker 1: something else, perhaps relief. How do you feel, she asked,
Speaker 1: I don't, I admitted, Or maybe I feel everything at once.
Speaker 1: I can't stay with him, not now, she nodded, setting
Speaker 1: down her knife. You don't have to decide anything yet.
Speaker 1: I traced the curve of the mug, letting gilt blossom
Speaker 1: spread and subside. Part of me wants to see him,
Speaker 1: to demand one more answer. Why did he need her?
Speaker 1: What was I missing? And another part I stopped, unable
Speaker 1: to voice the rest that another part of me had
Speaker 1: been waiting for a very long time to break the
Speaker 1: loops we'd been stuck inside. Rachel reached out, squeezing my wrist.
Speaker 1: I'll help you pack your things if you want, or
Speaker 1: just sit here un till you're ready. I don't want
Speaker 1: to go back there, I said, not while it still
Speaker 1: feels like I could trick myself into believing he'll fix it,
Speaker 1: or that I should. She just nodded again, her face
Speaker 1: open and careful. It's not your job to forgive him
Speaker 1: if you're not ready. You didn't do this. I wanted
Speaker 1: to believe her, wanted to sink into the safe, familiar
Speaker 1: wisdom of a friend who'd seen me at my most unguarded.
Speaker 1: But it was all too raw, too early, each grain
Speaker 1: of comfort fighting against a larger wave of humiliation and loss.
Speaker 1: The hours wore on the day, gathering volume, traffic swelling,
Speaker 1: phones buzzing, the city reanimating around us while I spun
Speaker 1: in place. I texted Law and a little more, receiving
Speaker 1: emoji's checkins, gentle reminders to let me know what you need.
Speaker 1: Jamie too, sent another note before noon. Call any time.
Speaker 1: If you want to yell at someone, just pick which
Speaker 1: of us. Dan didn't text again. The silence from him ballooned,
Speaker 1: a presence in the room all its own. It almost
Speaker 1: undid me how quickly the absence of contact became its
Speaker 1: own form of pain, final, unsurmountable, more honest than any apology,
Speaker 1: I spent the afternoon picking at the edges of my
Speaker 1: old life. Rachel lent me a tote bag so I
Speaker 1: could retrieve the essentials, my laptop, a handful of files,
Speaker 1: a hoodie Dan had never worn. She hovered as I
Speaker 1: moved around her apartment, careful not to comment when I
Speaker 1: stood in the hallway staring into space, lost to the
Speaker 1: ache at my sternum that would not abate. By evening,
Speaker 1: the impulse to move became urgent. With no words left
Speaker 1: to spa, I left Rachel's house for another walk, passing
Speaker 1: blocks and for familiar letting the city's bustle wash over
Speaker 1: my jangled nerves. I would not message Dan. I would
Speaker 1: not check for updates, or search photos or receipts. The
Speaker 1: time for that had closed. By the time I returned,
Speaker 1: exhaustion had thinned into a peculiar clarity. I ate a little,
Speaker 1: agreed to one glass of wine, recited the most basic
Speaker 1: facts of my day. Rachel, attuned to my signals, didn't
Speaker 1: ask more. The guest room was tidier now, a second
Speaker 1: pillow added, a little, more like a sanctuary than a
Speaker 1: holding cell. At midnight, I lay on the unfamiliar mattress,
Speaker 1: heart thudding, the imprint of Dan's face fluttering through my mind,
Speaker 1: a litany of what was lost and what could not
Speaker 1: be repaired. I let the Paine have its due, finally
Speaker 1: letting my tears spill into the fabric, the sound muffled
Speaker 1: by the closing night. The next morning, I resolved aloud,
Speaker 1: mostly for myself, but Rachel overheard that I needed to
Speaker 1: go back to the house, if only to confront the
Speaker 1: physical reality of what was left behind, not for closure,
Speaker 1: but for the truth I still hadn't named aloud. I
Speaker 1: needed to see with my own eyes what the emptiness meant,
Speaker 1: without the scaffolding of our routines. Rachel offered to drive.
Speaker 1: I shook my head, wanting the independence, the space for
Speaker 1: the final act to belong to only me. As I
Speaker 1: slipped out the door, she pressed her hand against my arm.
Speaker 1: If you need me, call ten minutes away tops. I
Speaker 1: made the drive on autopilot, the city still waking, my
Speaker 1: mind emptied by the twin currents of pain and resolve.
Speaker 1: Every traffic light felt symbolic stop, go, pause, my entire
Speaker 1: life reduced to a slow motion replay of choices and accidents.
Speaker 1: When I pulled into the driveway, the house looked unchanged,
Speaker 1: pale in the winter light, our bikes locked side by side,
Speaker 1: the garden beds skeletal but unbowed. I sat in the
Speaker 1: car long enough for the heat to fade. My hand
Speaker 1: curled and uncurled on the steering wheel, waiting for the
Speaker 1: nervous shivers to abate. Dan opened the door before I
Speaker 1: reached the steps. He looked depleted, unshaven, eyes red but alert.
Speaker 1: He stared at me as if memorizing my contours, as
Speaker 1: if fearing that any sudden movement might scare me off.
Speaker 1: I wondered how many speeches he'd rehearsed in my absence,
Speaker 1: how many apologies he'd turned over in the hollow dark.
Speaker 1: I stopped short of the porch, not trusting myself to
Speaker 1: be closer. I only came to get what I need.
Speaker 1: He nodded, hesitant, I know, I figured. He stood aside,
Speaker 1: letting me slip past, careful not to touch me. As
Speaker 1: I brushed inside, the house smelled stale coffee gone cold,
Speaker 1: the sharp tang of onions from the kitchen, where our
Speaker 1: easy rhythms once resided. I moved quickly up the stairs
Speaker 1: for my running watch. The stack of unread books a
Speaker 1: painting Jess had given us years before, now only a
Speaker 1: wound in the wall. Each item I packed felt both
Speaker 1: heavier and lighter, weightless in the bag, anchored deep in memory.
Speaker 1: Dan lingered in the hallway, agonizingly, still live, he began,
Speaker 1: But I held up a hand, shaking my head. Don't,
Speaker 1: I can't. I just need to do this. He pressed
Speaker 1: his back against the door frame, miserable, mouth moving but silent.
Speaker 1: I felt myself softening, hated myself for it, forced coldness
Speaker 1: to rise in place of fury. I zipped my bag.
Speaker 1: Did you ever think about telling me before I found out?
Speaker 1: Dan's face twisted? I wanted to. I tried to so
Speaker 1: many times, but I was terrified. You always seemed so certain.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to destroy you or us. I kept
Speaker 1: convincing myself it was just a blip that I could
Speaker 1: fix it quietly. You broke us by protecting yourself, by
Speaker 1: making sure I never even got to know what was real,
Speaker 1: I said, not raising my voice, not letting it quaver.
Speaker 1: He took a step forward, then stopped himself. I know
Speaker 1: if you need me to move out, I'll do it
Speaker 1: whatever you need. I'm I'm sorry for everything, not just
Speaker 1: for what I did, but for making you doubt yourself.
Speaker 1: I breathed in, testing the scent of our house for
Speaker 1: signs of hope. There wasn't any, only sorrow and stale regrets.
Speaker 1: I hoisted my bag to my shoulder, brushing past him.
Speaker 1: He didn't try to stop me, didn't offer a last
Speaker 1: embrace or a final apology. The door closed behind me
Speaker 1: with a hush. The sky was low, the kind of
Speaker 1: gray that bled through everything. I dropped the bag in
Speaker 1: the trunk of Rachel's car, watching the vapor of my
Speaker 1: breath disappear. There was anger and grief, but something else
Speaker 1: under it, a raw, quivering agency that maybe finally belonged
Speaker 1: only to me. Rachel was waiting at the curb, engine
Speaker 1: running low. I met her eyes, gave a tight nod,
Speaker 1: and climbed in, shutting the door behind me. We drove
Speaker 1: in silence, the city unspooling behind us, the morning resolving
Speaker 1: into the kind of ordinary that promised nothing and required
Speaker 1: nothing in return. That night's sleep came easier, the hard
Speaker 1: edge of adrenaline dulled by exhaustion. I woke only once,
Speaker 1: heart pounding, a flotilla of memories just out of reach.
Speaker 1: I checked my phone one unread message from Dan, which
Speaker 1: I deleted unread Later, as the sky lightened, I lay
Speaker 1: in the cold, hush, breath fogging above my head, letting
Speaker 1: the loss become a simple fact of air and distance.
Speaker 1: I pulled on my running shoes, double knotted the laces,
Speaker 1: and slipped out the door without a word. The streets
Speaker 1: were empty, muted by the weight of winter's end, But
Speaker 1: the path belonged to me alone, a ribbon of possibility,
Speaker 1: stretching on and on without a finished line in sight,
Speaker 1: no longer racing any one but my cell