Speaker 1: The mug was my favorite, ceramic, thick with a doggyed
Speaker 1: Liberty bell crooked across one side, brought on some filly
Speaker 1: trip before we'd married. I cradled it in two hands,
Speaker 1: breathing in sharply enough to feel burning. Steam scraped my throat.
Speaker 1: Outside the kitchen's big eastern windows, the city was already
Speaker 1: restlessly gold and blue, ten stories below, traffic threading past
Speaker 1: our building and bright joggers jostling through the park. The
Speaker 1: hiss of the French press lingered in the small apartment,
Speaker 1: the only noise besides a neighbour's distant forcet and the
Speaker 1: tick of our battery clock. Paul had been gone for hours.
Speaker 1: He'd left early, humming don't stop me now in the shower,
Speaker 1: then circling the kitchen while wrestling his blue volunteer shirt
Speaker 1: over a crisp Oxford. Wish me luck, he'd said, twining
Speaker 1: his long arms around my waist, hands still warm from
Speaker 1: the mug i'd made him. There was a kiss, not
Speaker 1: rushed exactly, but businesslike, the kind that's half ritual, half affection.
Speaker 1: Big day the brunch. Wish I could bring you, babe,
Speaker 1: but they're strict about employees. Only for set up, I'll
Speaker 1: send photos. He'd been smiling genuinely. I believed him. It
Speaker 1: was a Saturday. This was supposed to be our date,
Speaker 1: Mourning quass Us, a farmer's market, whatever, Netflix nonfiction scandal.
Speaker 1: We'd half finish before dozing in a pile on the sectional.
Speaker 1: Seven years in routine felt firmer than walls. He destarted
Speaker 1: this volunteering roll out for his company about six weeks earlier.
Speaker 1: Urban Serf was its name, all donate blood days and
Speaker 1: food drives, with slick swag banners, downtown Instagram stories narrated
Speaker 1: by perky interns. Paul wasn't the bleed company colours type,
Speaker 1: or a guy who'd forced a single soup kitchen shift
Speaker 1: in college. Never mind this sudden bloom of charity. I
Speaker 1: was proud, amused a little, and not above teasing him
Speaker 1: for swapping hackathons for habitat for humanity. Maybe he was
Speaker 1: staring down some mild mid thirties restlessness. Anyway, I'd reposted
Speaker 1: three of those official Urban Serve stories before noon, tagging him,
Speaker 1: tacking on an exclamation pointed married up for good measure.
Speaker 1: Fifteen hours later, I was balancing a glass of boxed
Speaker 1: Pinot in our friends lobby, grinning through small talk and
Speaker 1: partner introductions. My heels already regretted. Paul would meet us later.
Speaker 1: He'd said, brunch ted and was running long. Miela intercepted
Speaker 1: me as I emerged out of the bathroom and half jogged,
Speaker 1: arms open into the traffic circle of a hundred mingling guests.
Speaker 1: Miela was tall, hair in an unruly bun, a mutual
Speaker 1: ambassador between social and work scenes. Hey didn't see you
Speaker 1: at the big shindick, she laughed. We rescheduled the brunch,
Speaker 1: total mess. Something about the venue's floorboards. Julia about lost
Speaker 1: her mind. I blinked, Confused, I pushed a smile. Wait
Speaker 1: what I thought it was to day? Paul's been coordinating, right,
Speaker 1: I fished for levity. Miela shrugged, nope. Pushed to next Saturday.
Speaker 1: He wasn't on site with us. I figured maybe he
Speaker 1: was on another project. God, I hope Maggie's caterers don't bail.
Speaker 1: She was whisked away by her husband, the scent of
Speaker 1: gardinia and bourbon trailing in her wake. For a second,
Speaker 1: it felt like stepping from sunlight into a cold draft.
Speaker 1: I perched on the edge of an Ottoman glass, lopsided
Speaker 1: in my hand, replaying the details. Not real panic, just
Speaker 1: that microstutter where memory and reality miss each other at
Speaker 1: a cross walk. Maybe Paul had gone in any way,
Speaker 1: Maybe he'd forgotten to text, or the pivot was so
Speaker 1: last minute he didn't register the change. As the night
Speaker 1: spun up, card games, unpracticed karaoke, I kept eyeing my phone,
Speaker 1: then decided no better not to be that wife. I
Speaker 1: didn't want to text him and say, what did you
Speaker 1: actually do this morning? I let it slide, pouring another glass,
Speaker 1: convincing myself Mila must have been talking about a different brunch.
Speaker 1: There were so many events. He was so busy it
Speaker 1: didn't make sense to dwell. Sunday arrived gray and cloudy,
Speaker 1: and Paul was already half way through a bowl of
Speaker 1: cereal when I padded out in an old mercy me
Speaker 1: ten k T. I leaned on the counter, hair sticking up,
Speaker 1: watching him scrolling. How was the brunch yesterday? My voice
Speaker 1: was easy, I hoped, Oh good, he replied, quickly, not
Speaker 1: looking up. Really smooth. The guest list was tight, but
Speaker 1: people seemed excited. I think we raised a pretty good haul.
Speaker 1: He described a silent auction a new local jazz trio
Speaker 1: mimosas it sounded plausible, except none of it matched what
Speaker 1: Miela said. He set his phone down half on the
Speaker 1: cork trivet bowl at the edge of the sink. Didn't
Speaker 1: Mila say she was running food? I didn't really see her.
Speaker 1: I picked at the sleeve of my shirt. She said
Speaker 1: it was postponed some venue emergency. Paul laughed a little
Speaker 1: too hard in hindsight. Oh, she probably meant the lunch thing,
Speaker 1: not the brunch. It's a mess. Honestly, I just keep
Speaker 1: my head down, show up where they point. He swiped
Speaker 1: his phone, dropped a kiss on my temple, and asked
Speaker 1: what I wanted for brunch next Saturday, as if redirecting traffic.
Speaker 1: That afternoon, Paul's phone, always an extension of his right hand,
Speaker 1: loitered on the kitchen table as he showered. I started
Speaker 1: gathering laundry, then noticed a bright pop up on the screen.
Speaker 1: A misst call contact j Red Hart. I never seen
Speaker 1: it before. Not a family member, not any of the
Speaker 1: Jake or James he game nighted with. Maybe Julia from
Speaker 1: the charity team. I didn't touch the phone. I let
Speaker 1: it slide down the lock screen and disappear. The flutter
Speaker 1: in my chest diminished, but didn't vanish. I made myself
Speaker 1: ignore it. Maybe I thought he told me stories about
Speaker 1: this Julia before I rummaged through my weak struggling to
Speaker 1: recall any face or incident. I'd always trusted him if
Speaker 1: he wanted to keep a work friendship playful, fine. We
Speaker 1: had nothing to prove that. Evening alone, while Paul was
Speaker 1: in his office finishing expense reports, I found myself on LinkedIn.
Speaker 1: I justified it by professional interest. Maybe I'd swing marketing
Speaker 1: support to urbanserve, make him proud. His recently updated profyl
Speaker 1: caught my attention. There. It was his photo with the
Speaker 1: charity's logo now prominent, one of those soft light heads
Speaker 1: shots with a making a difference tagline. A flood of
Speaker 1: congratulatory comments dotted the post, but it was a line
Speaker 1: of inside joke banter from Julia, v standing out her comment,
Speaker 1: next time I'm picking playlist brunches, shouldn't permit. Nickelback was
Speaker 1: liked by Paul and a handful of his friends. I
Speaker 1: clicked her profyl. We'd never met, though her face was
Speaker 1: vaguely familiar from a group dinner photo Paul had shown
Speaker 1: weeks back. I scrolled her feed Urbanserve bread everywhere, bright
Speaker 1: dresses at gala tables, him near by in the background
Speaker 1: of three photos, clinking glasses. He told me about Julia
Speaker 1: Witty type A, the only one who can code and
Speaker 1: coordinate a pancake breakfast. At the same time, I remembered
Speaker 1: laughing teasing him about how Urban serv needed more project managers,
Speaker 1: less ego. I was not am not a jealous person,
Speaker 1: I reminded myself. Their work ran in overlapping circles and
Speaker 1: required late nights. That's how success happened. But I realized,
Speaker 1: as the hour turned late, that I couldn't easily piece
Speaker 1: together time lends of these events. Public charity posts said
Speaker 1: one thing, Paul's stories another. Some of it didn't add up,
Speaker 1: but didn't have to. I hid the tab, resolved not
Speaker 1: to snoop, and rehearsed again all the ways trust meant
Speaker 1: refusing to dwell on silly things. Over the next two weeks,
Speaker 1: work accelerated for both of us. My agency prepping a
Speaker 1: product launch flood me with endless meetings and late copy edits.
Speaker 1: Paul meanwhile, seemed buoyed, bouncing into mornings, bright and energetic,
Speaker 1: tossing me urban serve, zip sweatshirts, coffee mugs, even a
Speaker 1: pink notebook, who says non profit means boring swag. He
Speaker 1: spent long evenings at creative meetings, apologizing for late returns.
Speaker 1: Our usual date night Saffron bar, always a corner booth
Speaker 1: where he performed card tricks with the napkins, was canceled
Speaker 1: for a last minute planning session. He promised we'd reschedule
Speaker 1: Wednesday evening. I came home after drinks with a client
Speaker 1: and found him streaming city council footage on his laptop,
Speaker 1: half drowsing. I slid into the couch next to him.
Speaker 1: You're turning into a regular do gooda, I joked, pulling
Speaker 1: my toes into his lap. He grinned, gotta keep up
Speaker 1: with you urban serves exhausting, though, once we get through
Speaker 1: the gala, I'll relax. He leaned his head against mine.
Speaker 1: Let's get away once this blow over, I nodded, searching
Speaker 1: his face. He felt distant, but not uncaring, just worn
Speaker 1: out shoulders tents. When I suggested, almost impulsively, why don't
Speaker 1: I come with you to the mixer next week? Meet
Speaker 1: everyone see what this volunteer army looks like, he hesitated.
Speaker 1: It's really starf only, babe. I'd love to have you there,
Speaker 1: but management strict on guests. It's one of those team
Speaker 1: bonding things. Half those people don't even want partners hovering.
Speaker 1: Trust me, it'd be awkward for everyone. It was a
Speaker 1: gentle rebuke, easy to swallow. Still the thought prickled. I
Speaker 1: visited Miela again, cornering her in the bakery line after
Speaker 1: our Saturday run. She congratulated me on finally getting Paul
Speaker 1: into do good a mode, grinning, I tested the waters.
Speaker 1: So who's pulling the most weight at Urban Serve these days? Oh, Julia,
Speaker 1: for sure, Miela replied instantly. She and Paul are a
Speaker 1: riot together. I think she's the only reason the tech
Speaker 1: guys stick around past six. Julia's got everyone lining up
Speaker 1: for choir practice or whatever. She winked. Honestly, she's great
Speaker 1: for keeping the guys on task. If only my team
Speaker 1: had won. Nothing she said was off putting. If anything,
Speaker 1: it sounded like affectionate office gossip, nothing more. I thanked
Speaker 1: her for the tip about the French pastry pop up
Speaker 1: and left still uneasy. That night, a group email appeared
Speaker 1: in my inbox. Gala invitation Urban Serve's autumn benefit. I
Speaker 1: scanned quick. My agency was on the sponsor's list, but
Speaker 1: there Paul's name VIP donor. It jarred. He never mentioned
Speaker 1: a big donor. Roll at home over takeout, I laid
Speaker 1: my phone open between us. You didn't tell me you
Speaker 1: were a VIP donor for the gala, he frowned, rubbing
Speaker 1: his jaw. That's just for show. It's how the committee
Speaker 1: caught sponsors. I didn't actually contribute anything big. I just
Speaker 1: helped them with some technical set up, and they put
Speaker 1: me on the list. Marketing nonsense. Don't read into it,
Speaker 1: He squeezed my hand. I should have mentioned it. Sorry,
Speaker 1: I was frazzled. He shifted the conversation to my week,
Speaker 1: peppered me with questions about a difficult client, then drew
Speaker 1: me close on the couch, burying his nose in my hair.
Speaker 1: That night in bed, I rolled away after he fell asleep,
Speaker 1: staring at shadows along the ceiling, My mind running loops
Speaker 1: around little mismatches, a date, a receipt, a stray napkin
Speaker 1: with Urban Serve's logo tucked into his genes at laundry.
Speaker 1: I reminded myself, he's giving back. Maybe he's finally found
Speaker 1: a calling that isn't code or numbers. The following week
Speaker 1: delivered rain long conference calls and more after hours at
Speaker 1: Urban Serve for Paul. We texted between meetings, sometimes playful,
Speaker 1: sometimes merely functional deadlines can you grab oat milk? But
Speaker 1: never fractious. Still some charge in our excit changes shifted.
Speaker 1: He corrected my calendar when I asked if he be
Speaker 1: home for dinner. No, Julia's organizing a strategic review. We
Speaker 1: might run late other nights. He was more present, making
Speaker 1: a show of mixing negronies in my favorite glass, grilling fish,
Speaker 1: hugging me longer than usual before bed. It was in
Speaker 1: the little things. A text delayed a mild rebuke when
Speaker 1: I bilaid on drinks for a third time because I
Speaker 1: was too tired. His gentle teasing you could volunteer too,
Speaker 1: you know, Julia said they could use marketers. He poked
Speaker 1: me in the ribs. Affectionate, but if I pulled apart
Speaker 1: the layers also gently critical. One evening, sorting our joint
Speaker 1: credit card bill, a charge jumped out dollar one hundred
Speaker 1: and thirty four at Elessa, a pricey neighborhood bistro. The
Speaker 1: time stamp was nine twelve p m. Last Thursday, one
Speaker 1: of the nights when Paul claimed he'd been locked in
Speaker 1: at work. I remembered him coming home after midnight, claiming
Speaker 1: the meeting had gone long, hungry and sheepish. I pressed
Speaker 1: lightly e lessa, I asked, holding out my phone. He
Speaker 1: pretended to squint. Oh, yeah, we had a brainstorm dinner,
Speaker 1: all hands on deck. Julia's contact at the place got
Speaker 1: us in last minute. Sorry I didn't mention long day.
Speaker 1: There was a forced lightness to how he explained. I
Speaker 1: let the matter drop, excusing myself to finish an email,
Speaker 1: But each little moment a crude weight, not enough for certainty,
Speaker 1: but enough to keep me off balance. Suddenly I became
Speaker 1: hyper aware of how much time I now spent alone
Speaker 1: in our apartment. Our routines were fraying. He was gentle
Speaker 1: warm at times, even more affectionate, but unpredictably so, almost
Speaker 1: as if performing for an invisible audience. Our conversations turned
Speaker 1: transactional checklists instead of laughter. Was it me? Was I
Speaker 1: projecting doubts because my own work felt unsatisfying and the
Speaker 1: one consistent anchor. Our partnership was changing without my permission.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I'd hear my mother's voice in my head. Marriages
Speaker 1: take effort, don't become suspicious without cause. I tried to relax,
Speaker 1: tried to accept the new normal. Until one Friday, after
Speaker 1: another volunteer happy hour, Paul came home late, cheeks pink
Speaker 1: with exhaustion, hair must I met him in the kitchen
Speaker 1: and blurted, half joking, maybe I should start volunteering, spend
Speaker 1: more time with you. He paused, then kissed my forehead.
Speaker 1: Now you'd hate it, mostly excel wrangling and free sandwiches.
Speaker 1: He smiled, but it didn't quite reach the corners of
Speaker 1: his eyes. I didn't argue, but I watched him more
Speaker 1: carefully afterward, cataloging new patterns that might have seemed innocuous
Speaker 1: in any other context. A new after shave, sudden bursts
Speaker 1: of texting that he'd quickly hide, the quick swipe to
Speaker 1: lock whenever I entered the room, and the way he'd
Speaker 1: sometimes enter the apartment with his headphones still in lost
Speaker 1: in another conversation, only to yank them out guiltily. It
Speaker 1: was a cold snap, October's wind curling against our living
Speaker 1: room windows. I set out early for a run one Saturday,
Speaker 1: clutching the thought that exercise might banish the gnawing in
Speaker 1: my chest. Half Way through the park, I re rooted
Speaker 1: toward Urban Serv's pop up tent, visible by its banners
Speaker 1: volunteers flitting between tables. I scanned for Paul. He wasn't
Speaker 1: there and not caught in my stomach as I turned away.
Speaker 1: Later that week, I found myself in an unexpected conversation
Speaker 1: with Brian, one of Paul's longtime colleagues, at another mutual
Speaker 1: friend's rooftop event. Halfway through his IPA, Brian commented, Man,
Speaker 1: Paul's really stepped up with Urban Serf. He and Julia
Speaker 1: are everywhere. He's even talking about organizing some off site
Speaker 1: stuff next quarter. Who knew he even liked that kind
Speaker 1: of thing. Brian smirked, They make a pretty solid tea.
Speaker 1: I laughed hollily and asked something about the new product launch.
Speaker 1: I left the party early, texting Paul good night. He
Speaker 1: didn't reply until morning. Sorry, team went late than I
Speaker 1: passed out long night. Our date night never reappeared. He claimed,
Speaker 1: exhaustion that he wanted to save money, that the team
Speaker 1: was crazy, busy prepping for the gala. The following Saturday,
Speaker 1: alone at the apartment, I found myself staring at the wall,
Speaker 1: missing what we'd had. I sat down at my laptop,
Speaker 1: intending to answer agency emails, but found myself spiral searching
Speaker 1: Urban Serves public events calendar. I pieced the last month together,
Speaker 1: event after event, most of them matching up, though not all.
Speaker 1: The staff only mixer he mentioned last Wednesday. The photos,
Speaker 1: now live on Urban Serves Instagram showed a crowded bar
Speaker 1: Julia with her hand on Paul's arm as he laughed
Speaker 1: with another volunteer. I cross referenced their social media posts,
Speaker 1: combing through event tags and group shots. Sometimes Paul was
Speaker 1: in them, sometimes only Julia, but always there were jokes
Speaker 1: in the captions. Last one standing at the after party
Speaker 1: midnight mission accomplished see you at Ellessa next week. I
Speaker 1: stared at the screen, numb. The evidence, such as it was,
Speaker 1: could be benign. Cowork has become friends. Ellessa was a
Speaker 1: popular business dinner spot. Still the j red heart missed call,
Speaker 1: Julia's comment thread Mealer's off hand remarks, Each one alone
Speaker 1: was noise. Together they felt like a melody. My brain
Speaker 1: couldn't unhear. I didn't confront him, not yet. I was
Speaker 1: terrified of what might happen, what it might mean if
Speaker 1: I were wrong. And he wasn't hiding anything, just building
Speaker 1: a new part of his life. He didn't know how
Speaker 1: to share. Then, on a rainy Tuesday, he came home soaked,
Speaker 1: dropping his bag and shucking off his shoes. He collapsed
Speaker 1: on the couch, sighing, sorry, babe, I know I've been
Speaker 1: m I a next month will be quieter. He must
Speaker 1: have seen something in my face, because he offered a
Speaker 1: sheepish grin. I promise, I'm not running off. Just want
Speaker 1: to finish what I started. You know, it makes me
Speaker 1: feel like I'm actually helping. He reached for my hand,
Speaker 1: squeezed it. He seemed present, if tired. I forced a smile.
Speaker 1: I know I'm glad. He hesitated. Let's take a break soon,
Speaker 1: just you and me. Maybe rent a cabin, get out
Speaker 1: of the city. I nodded. Hope flared. That weekend, we
Speaker 1: went to a friend's art opening. Wandered from painting to painting.
Speaker 1: He introduced me to gallery goers, seemed effortless, relaxed. I
Speaker 1: tried to enjoy the outing, tried to let myself believe
Speaker 1: that maybe things were improving. I felt foolish for having doubted.
Speaker 1: But the cycles didn't break. Urban Serve events, endless phone
Speaker 1: calls with j Red, jokes about missing a mission, debrief
Speaker 1: or our own trivial rituals dissolving into the background. That
Speaker 1: Monday evening, after yet another late night, Paul came back, pale, cheeked,
Speaker 1: shadows under his eyes. He poured wine in two glasses,
Speaker 1: collapsed onto the sofa and exhaled deeply. I know I've
Speaker 1: been distant, he said slowly. It's the jobs weighing on me.
Speaker 1: I just felt burned out. Wanted something to give my
Speaker 1: life a little meaning again. Helping out, volunteering. It's given
Speaker 1: me a break, you know. He chewed his lip, gaze
Speaker 1: flicking away from mine. Didn't mean to leave you out.
Speaker 1: I'll cut back at Urban Serve. Let's go somewhere just us.
Speaker 1: I need us again. I wanted badly to believe him.
Speaker 1: The confession was so ordinary, so reasonable. I reached for
Speaker 1: his hand. He squeezed it. There was a lightness in
Speaker 1: his voice I hadn't heard in weeks. We found time
Speaker 1: the next weekend for a short getaway just over the
Speaker 1: state line, a lake cabin rented off season, all wood paneling,
Speaker 1: air tinged with cedar and smoke. We left our work
Speaker 1: laptops at home. He was present and affectionate, and that
Speaker 1: night we laughed together in bed, clumsy and happy. I
Speaker 1: told myself I'd been silly. Marriage waxes and wains. The
Speaker 1: world isn't out to get you. Monday, still boyed, we
Speaker 1: drove home in silence, fingers entwined. I sang along to
Speaker 1: the tin pan Alley playlist we shared, and he held
Speaker 1: my hand humming. Back in the city, the wind had stilled.
Speaker 1: We came in, dropped our bags, and I stooped to
Speaker 1: flip through the mail letters, fliers, and one fat cream envelope.
Speaker 1: A hand written card addressed to Paul and Urban Serve
Speaker 1: super Team. There sprawling over the inside of the card
Speaker 1: in looping script, thank you for all our covert operations,
Speaker 1: and below Julia's name, underscored with a smiley face. A
Speaker 1: fresh tremor scrambled my chest. He was coming up the
Speaker 1: steps with my duffel. Who's it from? He asked, lightly,
Speaker 1: am the Urban Serve Committee looks nice? He nodded, whisked
Speaker 1: the card away to the kitchen counter, stacking it beneath
Speaker 1: a pile of coupons before flipping on the t V.
Speaker 1: That night, I scrolled Instagram again. Julia had posted a
Speaker 1: boomerang cheersing a glass with several others, Paul's sleeve visible
Speaker 1: in the corner. The time matched up to last Thursday evening,
Speaker 1: when he'd claimed to be pulling database records late at
Speaker 1: the office. Alone, I shut off the phone, nausea swirling.
Speaker 1: The following days were an unbearable waiting game, the world
Speaker 1: around me frozen between denial and the knowledge that everything
Speaker 1: was about to shift. At work, my concentration shredded. I
Speaker 1: watched our agency's social feed escalate with Urban Serv's promotion
Speaker 1: for their upcoming events, each one peppered with snaps of
Speaker 1: Julia and Paul, always overlapping, always looking closer than necessary.
Speaker 1: I resolved I needed the truth. I couldn't simply let
Speaker 1: this dragon swallowing every new lie, living in the shell
Speaker 1: of routine as if nothing had changed. If I was wrong,
Speaker 1: at least i'd know. If I was right, well, I
Speaker 1: didn't know what would happen, but at least I wouldn't
Speaker 1: be haunted by half seen evidence. Any longer. So I
Speaker 1: called my firm's h R manager and asked if we
Speaker 1: could sponsor a table at the next urban serve event.
Speaker 1: I played coy about the reason, suggested it had look
Speaker 1: good for us to have a philanthropic footprint in the
Speaker 1: local scene. It was arranged in a matter of hours.
Speaker 1: I got the tickets, kept my plans secret from Paul,
Speaker 1: and steeled myself for what I might find that Friday.
Speaker 1: Nerves humming, I pressed my black dress, texted Paul that
Speaker 1: I had agency obligations and would see him at home afterward.
Speaker 1: He answered with a thumbs up emoji and a joke
Speaker 1: about not volunteering to bartend this time. I told myself
Speaker 1: not to read into the punctuation. Arriving at the gala,
Speaker 1: the venue already buzzing. I checked in at the sponsored table.
Speaker 1: The lighting was low, votives lined the tables, and a
Speaker 1: jazz trio crooned from a makeshift stage near the far wall.
Speaker 1: I scanned the crowd, seeking his tall frame, found him
Speaker 1: near the silent auction table. He was laughing with a
Speaker 1: circle of colleagues and there standing close enough to share
Speaker 1: a perfume trail. If the room hadn't already smelled of wine.
Speaker 1: Was Julia I hung near the periphery watching. If you
Speaker 1: didn't know them, maybe it had seem innocuous. Colleagues relaxed
Speaker 1: after a busy work season, heads bent in laughter over
Speaker 1: a joke. But there were things subtle, things the way
Speaker 1: Julia's hand lingered half a beat too long on Paul's
Speaker 1: upper arm during a story. The inside jokes, they traded
Speaker 1: Julia's casual pat to the back of his neck as
Speaker 1: they posed for a photo. Their laughter quick private practiced.
Speaker 1: At points, they whispered together, faces close. Paul's body angled
Speaker 1: up unconsciously toward her, legs crossed in her direction. They
Speaker 1: weren't alone, but they might as well have been in
Speaker 1: their own orbit. As I approached the open bar, an
Speaker 1: older man, mustached, pressed suit sidled up and introduced himself
Speaker 1: as Martin. He was a retired partner at Paul's company,
Speaker 1: volunteering his time, buoyant with two glasses too many. When
Speaker 1: I mentioned my agency's involvement, he brightened. Oh, Paul and Julia,
Speaker 1: those two have single handedly kept this thing afloat. What
Speaker 1: a pair, eh, I haven't seen energy like that since
Speaker 1: the old days. Got the whole team moving again. Julia's
Speaker 1: been a godsend for him after all those late nights.
Speaker 1: They joke about being the dynamic duo. Good people. I
Speaker 1: plastered on a smile, thanked him, turned away to hide
Speaker 1: my face. I couldn't keep pretending it was nothing. For
Speaker 1: the next hour, I slipped unnoticed through the crowd, shadowing
Speaker 1: their interactions. Foone held loosely in my hand as I
Speaker 1: opened Julia's Instagram again. Her most recent photo a toast
Speaker 1: under fairy lights, location tagged at e lessa time stamped
Speaker 1: last night. Paul right beside her, both laughing wine glasses
Speaker 1: mid air last night he told me he was in
Speaker 1: a system's review till midnight Alone, I ducked outside for
Speaker 1: fresh air, pulse thrumbing in my throat. I called Miela
Speaker 1: just to ground myself, to ask if she'd seen Paul
Speaker 1: recently outside of work. She was tipsy. Candid saw him
Speaker 1: and Julia at that Beistro last Friday. Those two are
Speaker 1: hard to miss, always brainstorming. I think half the waiters
Speaker 1: think they're running a start up. You know, work married,
Speaker 1: but in a fun way. I hope he isn't burning out.
Speaker 1: He looks tired. I felt panic stutter through my whole body.
Speaker 1: I took another deep breath, called a ride share, and
Speaker 1: spent the rest of the night at my sister's apartment
Speaker 1: pleading a migrain. My mind replayed every conversation, every lie,
Speaker 1: every time I joked about his new found goodness, realizing
Speaker 1: now that it may have all been a cover for
Speaker 1: something else. When Paul texted me at midnight, didn't see
Speaker 1: you at the gala. Hope you're feeling better, crazy night,
Speaker 1: Love you, I stared at the message for a full
Speaker 1: minute before replying home early Big day tomorrow. Night sleep
Speaker 1: was impossible. My heart pounded with alternating fury and dread.
Speaker 1: Was I overreacting or was I finally seeing what had
Speaker 1: replaced the easy trust of our years together. I replayed
Speaker 1: his explanations, the canceled brunch, the rescheduled event, the dinner charges,
Speaker 1: the relentless praise of Julia in his coworker's mouths, the
Speaker 1: private jokes, and realized I couldn't explain them away any longer.
Speaker 1: But there was still a piece missing, something beyond the
Speaker 1: physical evidence, something in the pattern of our daily life
Speaker 1: that I couldn't quite articulate. I didn't know what exactly,
Speaker 1: I would do next, but the truth had started to
Speaker 1: harden it into something undeniable, bitter and metallic on my tongue,
Speaker 1: impossible to ignore. I lay awake as the city hummed
Speaker 1: six stories below, waiting for the moment when the ground
Speaker 1: beneath our marriage would finally split apart. The following morning,
Speaker 1: I moved through our apartment as quietly as possible, wary
Speaker 1: of feeling watched the way you are after nightmares you
Speaker 1: can't quite shake. Paul was already up, which was unusual
Speaker 1: on a Saturday. His laptop glowed in a half lit kitchen.
Speaker 1: He was tapping at it, mug half drunk. Urban Serv's
Speaker 1: branded hoodie pulled up around his neck. The sight of him, barefoot,
Speaker 1: stubble jaw, familiar way of sitting cross legged at the
Speaker 1: barstool was almost painfully ordinary. I willed myself to be casual. Morning,
Speaker 1: I said, softly, pouring my own coffee, watching the swirl
Speaker 1: of milk cut through brown. He flashed a tired smile. Morning, Sorry,
Speaker 1: if I woke, You got to finish some follow up
Speaker 1: for the event. Honestly, I think Julia's going to kill
Speaker 1: me if I don't update this sheet by noon. He
Speaker 1: gestured at a spreadsheet covered in inscrutable abbreviations. I leaned in,
Speaker 1: peering at the screen. You too, seem like quite the team,
Speaker 1: He made a little face somewhere between pleased and sheepish.
Speaker 1: She's a machine, knows every one never sleeps. Makes me
Speaker 1: look lazy. You always say you're lazy, I teased, trying
Speaker 1: to make it feel like old banter. True, he replied,
Speaker 1: warming to the bit. But I didn't mean to turn
Speaker 1: our whole home into mission control. Once this quarter s over.
Speaker 1: I swear I'm going full Hermit with you, movies, pizza,
Speaker 1: not wearing pants for a week. His words were gentle,
Speaker 1: nearly familiar, Yet I found myself watching his hands, the restless,
Speaker 1: fidgeting at the cuff of his hoodie. When I finally
Speaker 1: walked back to the bedroom, a heaveness set in. Each
Speaker 1: attempt at normalcy now felt like performance, or was either
Speaker 1: one performing pretending nothing awful, lingered just out of reach.
Speaker 1: Later that afternoon, while folding laundry, I overheard him on
Speaker 1: the phone in the living room. Laughter quick muted back
Speaker 1: and forth, that conspiratorial tone people have when talking to
Speaker 1: someone who just gets them. He dropped his voice, then
Speaker 1: raised it again as he ended the call. I waited
Speaker 1: for him to mention who it was, but when I
Speaker 1: rejoined him, he breezed past, as if nothing had happened.
Speaker 1: Want lunch, I can heat up some of the tie
Speaker 1: from last night, I nodded. My mind clung to the
Speaker 1: jay red on his call log to Julia's looping writing
Speaker 1: in that thank you card, every atom of my rational
Speaker 1: brain pushing back against the gathering evidence, as if choosing
Speaker 1: not to name the fear could keep it unreal. That evening,
Speaker 1: I texted my friend Erin. Normally we saved heavy talks
Speaker 1: for wine nights, but I couldn't hold everything alone another day.
Speaker 1: She responded, as always in her cut to the chase way,
Speaker 1: do you think he's having an affair? The sloppiness of
Speaker 1: the word shocked me. Affair I wanted to recall from it,
Speaker 1: which I realized was its own answer. Not sure, I replied,
Speaker 1: I just something isn't right. I feel paranoid, but it
Speaker 1: keeps adding up. Erin didn't offer empty reassurances. Sometimes your
Speaker 1: gut sounds like noise, sometimes it's actually smoke. If you want,
Speaker 1: I'll help you find out for real, or I'll come
Speaker 1: over and drink too much merlow and talk trash about him.
Speaker 1: Your choice, I laughed. It helped a little work. The
Speaker 1: following week was a relief, a tidal wave of deadlines
Speaker 1: pulling me under. I buried myself in client decks, reviews,
Speaker 1: endless edit rounds, trying to drown out thoughts of Paul
Speaker 1: and Julia and what might or might not exist between them.
Speaker 1: But Urban Serve was everywhere, Paul's posts popping up in
Speaker 1: my feed, agency clients mentioning the charity as a model
Speaker 1: for authentic outreach, Julia's face beaming from a campaign for
Speaker 1: clean city parks. One evening, after a long meeting had
Speaker 1: run late, I stepped into a ride chair home, scrolling
Speaker 1: my phone out of tired habit. A push notification from
Speaker 1: my bank flashed another charge at Elessa, this time for
Speaker 1: drinks later than even our agency's happy hours ran I
Speaker 1: double checked the time stamp. Paul had told me he
Speaker 1: was at an Urban Serve board dinner. Yet Julia's Instagram
Speaker 1: from that night tagged her at elessa. A selfie of
Speaker 1: two wine glasses, a tiny cheers emoji, no faces, but
Speaker 1: in the reflection of the glass behind her hands. I
Speaker 1: almost almost thought I saw Paul's shirt sleeve, that electric
Speaker 1: blue one he swore made him look washed out, but
Speaker 1: had worn three times in the last month. I didn't
Speaker 1: sleep well. I imagined him and Julia, heads bent together
Speaker 1: at a candle lit table, sharing something, words, laughter, thoughts.
Speaker 1: He hadn't offered me in months. In the past, I'd
Speaker 1: have just asked playful, provoking a laugh, but now the
Speaker 1: words choked me. The next day, after lunch, I found
Speaker 1: myself walking past Urban Serv's main offices, my roote time
Speaker 1: to coincide, hopefully with their late afternoon break window. I
Speaker 1: spotted Julia Hare swept back in a high ponatill, chatting
Speaker 1: animatedly with another volunteer out front Paul. Wasn't there something
Speaker 1: about the way Julia gestured, the way her hands moved rapidly,
Speaker 1: the wide grin the ease, made me ache with the
Speaker 1: certainty I was already somehow betrayed. At home that night,
Speaker 1: Paul was in a good mood, teasing and affectionate, helping
Speaker 1: me chop onions for soup, squeezing my hip as he
Speaker 1: passed in the kitchen. You look exhausted, he said, pressing
Speaker 1: his forehead to mine. Work es been endless, I replied,
Speaker 1: meaning both of us, meaning everything. He lifted a spoonful
Speaker 1: of soup, grinned, you be dangerous in non profit events,
Speaker 1: make us obsolate. Maybe I was imagining it, but there
Speaker 1: was a new protectiveness to how he praised me then,
Speaker 1: almost as if compensating for some other absence. We ate
Speaker 1: in front of the t V, feet tangled, bodies close,
Speaker 1: but my mind kept running, running worse than my mouth
Speaker 1: ever could. That week end, he brought home a T
Speaker 1: shirt from a five K fundraiser I'd never heard about.
Speaker 1: I should get you one next time. He said, you're
Speaker 1: the only runner I know who doesn't need a number
Speaker 1: pinned to her. Was it meant as a peace offering
Speaker 1: or just more cover? I busied myself sorting through photos
Speaker 1: on my laptop and decided on a whim to check
Speaker 1: Paul's calendar on our shared account. It was something we
Speaker 1: both did for scheduling, nothing secret, at least until now.
Speaker 1: I noticed new recurring appointments US Strategy Jay and planning
Speaker 1: call j V. Sometimes his usual transparency turned to cryptic initialism.
Speaker 1: One week, Julia's name was spelled out three times. Another
Speaker 1: there was just catch up Jay always in evening slots.
Speaker 1: I felt suddenly like an amateur detective, a shamed to
Speaker 1: be looking, but unable to resist. I listened for cues
Speaker 1: at home when he was out. I rummaged through jacket pockets,
Speaker 1: never quite brave enough to open his laptop fully. One
Speaker 1: time I found a crumpled receipt from a florist. Not
Speaker 1: my birthday, not our anniversary. I turned it over in
Speaker 1: my hand, feeling sick. When I asked about it, feigning carelessness.
Speaker 1: He deadpanned office flowers. Julia twisted my arm to chip
Speaker 1: in for a colleague who got promoted. He smiled perfectly, casual.
Speaker 1: I nodded, locked my own mouth tight in bed, I
Speaker 1: watched him scrolling through his phone, Profel illuminated in blue
Speaker 1: beside me. If he saw me watching, he'd tuck it away,
Speaker 1: roll close, pull me to his chest, with that practiced,
Speaker 1: absent minded tenderness he'd always had. I clung to those moments,
Speaker 1: desperate to recover some thread between us, frightened by how
Speaker 1: easily they could be faked. Social invitations slid from our
Speaker 1: calendar one by one, always a work thing, a team dinner,
Speaker 1: an urban serve mixer, sometimes a too early morning volunteering
Speaker 1: gig that left me alone at brunch with my friends
Speaker 1: fielding questions about Paul's new saintly streak. At a late
Speaker 1: October party, a mutual friend's birthday, all roof top, chill
Speaker 1: and fire pits, I found myself idly talking work with
Speaker 1: a woman from another agency. She asked off hand if
Speaker 1: I would be at the Urban Serve Halloween Bash, calling
Speaker 1: it the social event of the quarter for the tech set.
Speaker 1: I blinked. Paul hadn't mentioned it. I played along, pretending
Speaker 1: we had conflicts. That night, Lying next to him in bed,
Speaker 1: I tried to work up the courage to ask. He
Speaker 1: turned to face me in the dark. You sound tense.
Speaker 1: I almost didn't answer. Finally, I miss you, that's all.
Speaker 1: He pulled me close, running his hand through my hair.
Speaker 1: His warmth was real, bodily undeniable. Just a few more weeks,
Speaker 1: he murmured. I promise, then it's us. I'll even skip
Speaker 1: next year's kick off if you want. His mouth pressed
Speaker 1: to my temple, and I stayed frozen, half relieved, half
Speaker 1: angry at myself for needing this reassurance so badly. I
Speaker 1: wondered how many times I'd seen couples like us from
Speaker 1: the outside, from across a table, thinking they had it together,
Speaker 1: and never known there could be so much fear crouched
Speaker 1: in that normalcy. It was a small thing that finally
Speaker 1: chipped away any plausible deniability. I was sitting at our
Speaker 1: dining table sorting old mail when I came across another
Speaker 1: envelope addressed to Paul from Urban Serve, but this one
Speaker 1: containing two event tickets and a typed thank you letter.
Speaker 1: The note was unsigned, its last sentence, so grateful for
Speaker 1: all your above and beyond help, especially during after hours.
Speaker 1: Couldn't have done this without your partnership, Jay, partnership. The
Speaker 1: word landed like a bullet. There was nothing overt, no
Speaker 1: romantic phrasing, but it was intimate. I felt stripped bare.
Speaker 1: When Paul got home that night, I set the tickets
Speaker 1: on the counter with the letter you forgot these. He
Speaker 1: scooped them up, scanning quickly. Oh that's for the awards
Speaker 1: ceremony next month. Not a big deal, they just invite
Speaker 1: all the coordinators. He tucked the papers into a folder
Speaker 1: near the microwave. He caught my gaze uncertain and kissed
Speaker 1: my cheek. You should come, Actually, you'll love the food promise.
Speaker 1: The sudden reversal made me dizzy. He'd refused plus ones
Speaker 1: a month prior. Now he welcomed them. Was it because
Speaker 1: Julia was bringing someone? Was this safety in numbers? That night,
Speaker 1: in anxious knots, I caved and texted Erin if I
Speaker 1: invited you to a charity banquet? Would you come? Cover story?
Speaker 1: You're my plus one, but really just watch with me please.
Speaker 1: Erin didn't hesitate. I'll bring a notepad and a spy pen,
Speaker 1: and also eat all the tiny desserts we made plans.
Speaker 1: I felt relieved, less isolated knowing someone would be there.
Speaker 1: But as the night wore on, dread bloomed again, colder, sharper.
Speaker 1: What if I were seeing things that weren't there? Would
Speaker 1: Erin recognize something I missed? Or would she see only
Speaker 1: what I wanted her to. As the banquet approached, Paul's
Speaker 1: mood brightened, but his schedule was more erratic. Texts arrived
Speaker 1: in flurries, lots of apology emojis, lots of be home soon,
Speaker 1: don't wait up. One Friday, he sent a selfie him
Speaker 1: and half a dozen Urban Serve volunteers, all raising drinks.
Speaker 1: Julia Square in the middle beside him, her grin effervescent,
Speaker 1: their heads almost touching survived gala prep. The caption read
Speaker 1: with a champagne glass emoji. I stayed up late that night, working,
Speaker 1: picking apart every detail of the photo, his hand on
Speaker 1: Julia's shoulder, her other arm almost but not quite, around
Speaker 1: his waist. No one else seemed to notice or care,
Speaker 1: but every pixel cut me raw. In the quiet. I
Speaker 1: started scrolling back through the years of pictures of US vacations, dinners,
Speaker 1: group hangouts, family weddings. How many of these small gestures
Speaker 1: had I taken for granted? I studied our faces, flushed
Speaker 1: with the certainty of having chosen and of being chosen
Speaker 1: in return. Was it ever really as mutual as I'd believed?
Speaker 1: I texted Miela, who had become without realizing it, my
Speaker 1: unofficial informant. You up for coffee to morrow? I tried
Speaker 1: to sound breezy. She agreed. We met at a little
Speaker 1: cappuccino place near the market. Windows fogged with November's chill.
Speaker 1: Miela looked tired but cheerful, nursing her usual giant cold brew.
Speaker 1: I circled slowly to my true purpose. Urban serves really
Speaker 1: exploded her I began, She laughed, shaking her head, total madness.
Speaker 1: Julia could probably get the mare to scrub toilets if
Speaker 1: she tried. Paul's been a life saver too, though, I
Speaker 1: don't think this thing would run without those two. I pressed, gentle,
Speaker 1: you all seem so close. Does any one ever get
Speaker 1: burned out from all the what do you call it?
Speaker 1: After hours? Strategizing? She cocked her head. Honestly, the social
Speaker 1: sides half the drawer. If they needed chaperons for half
Speaker 1: our happy hours, Julia and Paul wouldn't let anyone leave anyway.
Speaker 1: She grinned, then added, hey, you should be proud. Most
Speaker 1: people can't get their husbands to sort mail, let alone
Speaker 1: run fundraisers. I faked a smile, changed the conversation, but
Speaker 1: her words rattled me. The lines between affection, pride, and
Speaker 1: something else were blurring dangerously. I left the cafe heavier
Speaker 1: Erin called that night, prepping logistics for the banquet, what
Speaker 1: time to meet, what dress to wear, whether we'd make
Speaker 1: up a shared background for herself in case anyone grilled us.
Speaker 1: We joked about playing spies, but underneath even the laughter
Speaker 1: was worry. Three days before the banquet. Paul got home late,
Speaker 1: smelling of beer and stress, apologizing for missing dinner. He
Speaker 1: sat beside me on the breathing, slow, head in hands.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, he muttered, I know you hate this. I
Speaker 1: just need to get to the finished line. Then please,
Speaker 1: let's get away Mexico, Vermont, pick a place. Something in
Speaker 1: his voice was so pleading, so genuinely worn, that my
Speaker 1: suspicion unraveled. Momentarily, I ran my hand through his hair,
Speaker 1: soothed him, whispered that I loved him, that I just
Speaker 1: missed us. He nodded, eyes closed, me too. But when
Speaker 1: he finally fell asleep, face pressed to my palm, the
Speaker 1: words lay between us, I missed us too. It sounded
Speaker 1: like a eulogy. The banquet was a crush of lights,
Speaker 1: camera flashes, applause, erin and I played our roles. Net
Speaker 1: workers would be donors, allies to the cause. Paul appeared
Speaker 1: on the main stage early, running a slide show. His
Speaker 1: tie crooked, the way I'd often fixed it for him.
Speaker 1: Julia introduced him with elaborate praise, calling him her partner
Speaker 1: in service and sometimes in chaos. The crowd laughed. I
Speaker 1: watched every movement, every exchange. On stage, they maintained professional distance,
Speaker 1: but afterward, in the throng around the buffet, Julia leaned close, laughing,
Speaker 1: whispering into his ear. Paul's face opened with an ease
Speaker 1: I hadn't seen in months. Their interactions would mean nothing,
Speaker 1: maybe out of context, but context is everything. Erin squeezed
Speaker 1: my hand under the table, steadying loyal, but her eyes
Speaker 1: were sad. Later, in a swirl of coats and cocktail chatter,
Speaker 1: Julia approached me directly. You're Paul's wife, right, so lovely
Speaker 1: to finally meet. Her handshake was firm, smile bright, no
Speaker 1: trace of guilt or calculation. He's been a rock star,
Speaker 1: keeps us all sane. My reply was automatic. He's always
Speaker 1: been the fixer, I guess, she laughed. We need one
Speaker 1: of those. We're lucky for a moment. I wanted to
Speaker 1: believe her, but I watched her a slip away, her
Speaker 1: hand brushing Pauls as she passed, a casual, familiar gesture.
Speaker 1: People don't always notice. All night, it echoed. After the event,
Speaker 1: Paul wrangled us into a group photo. You sticking around,
Speaker 1: he asked, eyes hopeful. I think I'll head home, I managed,
Speaker 1: You've got the after party right. He smiled, relief or disappointment,
Speaker 1: maybe both clouding his face. Yeah, probably won't be late.
Speaker 1: He wasn't home by the time I went to bed,
Speaker 1: nor when I woke in the dark at three a m.
Speaker 1: His side of the bed was untouched, the apartment silent
Speaker 1: except for the drone of the fridge. I checked my phone.
Speaker 1: One message, time stamped midnight staying at Lyle's, had too
Speaker 1: much to drink. Don't wait up, love you. It was plausible,
Speaker 1: but I didn't believe it. When he finally came home
Speaker 1: the next day, I was already at work, a meeting
Speaker 1: packed Monday that flattened me. He texted, sorry, screw rambled,
Speaker 1: call you before dinner. But the call never came, just
Speaker 1: a stream of little updates, none of which registered meaningfully
Speaker 1: except to underline how separate our lives had become. I realized,
Speaker 1: standing by the office copier, that I hadn't told him
Speaker 1: a single real thing about my day in weeks. I
Speaker 1: didn't want to share. I didn't want to risk shattering
Speaker 1: what little normal was left. The weeks that followed moved quickly,
Speaker 1: the holidays approaching a blur of work deadlines. Urban served
Speaker 1: promotions splattered across every window down town, Julia's face on banners,
Speaker 1: Paul's name on campaign e mails. I buried my grief
Speaker 1: beneath meetings, holiday lists, communal charity drives, while the gap
Speaker 1: in our marriage grew glacial. One evening, cycling home in
Speaker 1: the dark, I crashed through our apartment door and found
Speaker 1: Paul on a zoom call, headphones on sound muted. I
Speaker 1: hung my bag, watched from the hallway. The meeting ended,
Speaker 1: and he closed his laptop, startled to find me watching
Speaker 1: for a flash. Gilt or fear flickered across his face,
Speaker 1: gone as quickly as it came. He reached for me.
Speaker 1: You okay. I hesitated, words, barbed on my tongue, just tired.
Speaker 1: He nodded, not pushing. He never did not any more.
Speaker 1: I retreated to the bathroom, locking the door. On the
Speaker 1: sink was a sticky note. Meeting Jay at seven, his
Speaker 1: handwriting unmistakable. After dinner, I made myself small on the couch,
Speaker 1: flipping through mindless TV as he changed to go out again.
Speaker 1: Having a quick drink with Lyle, he said, Lyle, who
Speaker 1: had texted me earlier about being home with a cold.
Speaker 1: I tried to stand up to call him out, but
Speaker 1: the words dissolved on my tongue. Instead, I gathered the
Speaker 1: throw blanket to my chest like armor and let him go.
Speaker 1: After the door shut, I let myself cry for what
Speaker 1: I thought was temporary worry, but by now knew was
Speaker 1: a kind of mourning. That night, I wrote everything out
Speaker 1: in an email to myself, every date, every detail, every discreptcy.
Speaker 1: I listed the lesser receipts, the unmentioned events, the mist calls,
Speaker 1: Julia's notes, even the color of Paul's eyes when he lied.
Speaker 1: When the list was done, I realized I couldn't disguise
Speaker 1: reality any longer. The person I loved most in the
Speaker 1: world was building a secret life, and the door was
Speaker 1: about to slam closed on mine. I fell asleep on
Speaker 1: the couch outside our bedroom for the first time since
Speaker 1: moving in together, the city noise below seeming impossibly far away.
Speaker 1: I woke on the couch with the taste of stale
Speaker 1: mascara and city dust thick at the back of my mouth,
Speaker 1: limbs stiff and numb beneath our old fleece throw a
Speaker 1: red band of morning suns slanted across the floor, splitting
Speaker 1: the space between the kitchen and the living room into
Speaker 1: hard light and chilled, unlit tile. I kept still, almost
Speaker 1: as if movement might cause the structure of everything to collapse.
Speaker 1: For a moment, I could hear Paul's keys rattling in
Speaker 1: the door, his muffled Hello, drifting through the faint hush
Speaker 1: of our old apartment. But I knew he wasn't home yet.
Speaker 1: I checked my phone for the time, six twenty one
Speaker 1: a m. And for any new texts, but nothing except
Speaker 1: a generic slack ping from work and last night's final
Speaker 1: message from Paul, don't wait up. I pressed the heel
Speaker 1: of my hand to my eyes until I saw stars
Speaker 1: let out a shaky breath, then rose, gathering the blanket
Speaker 1: tight around my shoulders. The apartment was quiet, neat, haunted
Speaker 1: only by the routines we built together, his shoes lined
Speaker 1: at the door, my running sneakers half ducked under the bench.
Speaker 1: The absence of his body in our beds sharpened the strangeness,
Speaker 1: made everything unfamiliar. I wandered to the bathroom, splashed water
Speaker 1: on my face, and saw in the mirror someone I
Speaker 1: remembered from college exam weeks, pale, wary, monitoring her own
Speaker 1: exhaustion for signals of collapse apps. I brushed my teeth,
Speaker 1: pulling on a washed soft t shirt and leggings, then
Speaker 1: filled the kettle and started coffee as quietly as possible.
Speaker 1: I was arranging mugs, instinctively reaching for his with the
Speaker 1: faded logo. When the lock finally turned, Paul's silhouette paused
Speaker 1: in the door frame, his jacket damp and eyes small
Speaker 1: as pinpricks. Hair towsled. He hesitated, like he was entering
Speaker 1: a room that might spit him out. Hey, he muttered,
Speaker 1: fiddling with the key on his ring. Didn't mean to
Speaker 1: be out so late. Crashed at Lyle's. I pretended to
Speaker 1: accept it for a beat, staring at the ground. Do
Speaker 1: you want coffee? He looked, startled, grateful almost for my
Speaker 1: refusal to ask anything more. Yeah. Thanks, He showered while
Speaker 1: I poured the mugs. Sitting at the kitchen counter, staring
Speaker 1: out at a sky frosted with thin pink clouds, I
Speaker 1: could practically feel him bracing for something as he re
Speaker 1: entered clean now, hair down, faced, tense but composed. Breakfast
Speaker 1: was quiet, all the frictionless logistics of a couple that's
Speaker 1: been together for years. Milk passed wordlessly, dishwasher loaded without fuss,
Speaker 1: but everything thudded in my body, every silence, every glance.
Speaker 1: When he left, mumbling that he'd call after the meeting,
Speaker 1: the door drifted shut on a room thick with electric tension.
Speaker 1: When he was finally gone, I stood in our living room,
Speaker 1: stomach flipped, waiting for my mind to tell me what
Speaker 1: to do. At work, my day was patchy and fractured.
Speaker 1: Erin texted around ten, want to debrief, but I stalled.
Speaker 1: I answered e mails furiously, threw myself into strategy meetings,
Speaker 1: reviewed campaign decks, letting the business numb the ache. At lunch,
Speaker 1: I sat in a sandwich shop window, watching the flow
Speaker 1: of people, the couples, the easy chatter between strangers, and
Speaker 1: thought about how seamless and accidental intimacy looks from the outside.
Speaker 1: My appetite dissolved half the sandwich, dumped it into a
Speaker 1: trash can, and returned to the office, mind barely tracking
Speaker 1: to doos. At two fifteen, my phone buzzed with a
Speaker 1: new message from Paul, thinking of you dinner to night.
Speaker 1: He ended it with a heart. I watched the little
Speaker 1: icon blink then disappear. I didn't reply things escalated quickly
Speaker 1: through the week, demands mounting on all sides. My agency
Speaker 1: announced a major account review, which meant extra hours and
Speaker 1: mounting tension between our creative leads. Paul came home later
Speaker 1: each night, still on mission, running post event calls from
Speaker 1: the old arm chair with his laptop balanced on his knees.
Speaker 1: Sometimes he missed dinner altogether, and I'd fall asleep listening
Speaker 1: to his laughter through the bedroom door, muted for some
Speaker 1: one else. Wednesday evening, the apartment had gone half dark
Speaker 1: when I came home. The air was close, humid from
Speaker 1: his shower, the sound of him taking a phone call
Speaker 1: in the next room. I set my bag down quietly listen.
Speaker 1: I caught only fragments after the quarterly review. Carn't tonight,
Speaker 1: Maybe Friday, I know, just don't stay too late. The
Speaker 1: final words faded as I realized I'd been holding my breath. Later,
Speaker 1: seated with him in front of the TV, some mindless
Speaker 1: crime drama filling the space between us, I tried to
Speaker 1: breach the gap. We haven't had dinner, just the two
Speaker 1: of us in over a week. Want to order something
Speaker 1: I'll cook? Even his eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. Can
Speaker 1: we do tomorrow. I'm on deadline with the final donation tally.
Speaker 1: Julia's double checking numbers with me. I promised we'd close
Speaker 1: the books. I wanted to say something, make a joke,
Speaker 1: challenge him, announce that I knew he was lying. But
Speaker 1: I heard my mother's voice in my head, the one
Speaker 1: that said, don't pick a fight unless you're sure you
Speaker 1: want a war. I nodded, silent, feeling the world narrow
Speaker 1: to a brittle filament. Thursday morning, I called in late
Speaker 1: to work and left our building early, nerves flaring in
Speaker 1: my gut. I circled the block, searching for some accidental
Speaker 1: encounter Julia and Paul together, maybe walking to coffee, an
Speaker 1: elevator exchange, a sidelong glance with hidden meaning. Nothing. The
Speaker 1: world was ordinary, and my suspicion became another secret I
Speaker 1: couldn't voice. At my desk, my hands shook. Opening calendar invites.
Speaker 1: Urban Serv's holiday charity drive was all over my inbox.
Speaker 1: Paul copied on planning emails, Julia front and center on
Speaker 1: the distribution list, their photos paired together again on donation flyers.
Speaker 1: My agency's receptionist buzzed me to say a messenger had
Speaker 1: dropped off an envelope. Inside were two dinner tickets and
Speaker 1: a printed programme for next week's Urban Serve Awards. Paul's
Speaker 1: name was on the program recognition for Outstanding Partnership, Julia's
Speaker 1: name right underneath. My gut turned cold. There was only
Speaker 1: more evidence, more signals that I could no longer write
Speaker 1: off as Charles. I stared at the tickets, Questions thrumming
Speaker 1: in my chest. What else weren't they including me? In
Speaker 1: that evening? Exhausted in a way that felt permanent, I
Speaker 1: went home early, texting Erin to ask if she could
Speaker 1: meet for drinks. I poured everything out in low tones
Speaker 1: over sweating glasses of surah. Erin listened, jaw tight, hands
Speaker 1: curled around her glass. Are you going to confront him?
Speaker 1: She asked, I shook my head. I don't know what
Speaker 1: I'll say. I keep telling myself I have to know
Speaker 1: everything before I do. But there's always more, always something
Speaker 1: just beyond certainty. Sometimes I hope I find proof. Sometimes
Speaker 1: I hope I never do. She didn't answer, except to
Speaker 1: reach across the table, take my hand and squeeze. Let
Speaker 1: me know I've got your back, whatever happens. Friday arrived
Speaker 1: cold and wet, a blank, gray sky pressing down on
Speaker 1: the city. Paul texted at noon, don't wait up, Julia
Speaker 1: and I are finalizing event logistics might run past ten.
Speaker 1: It was all so practiced, so impersonal, that for a
Speaker 1: moment I closed my eyes and wondered who he was
Speaker 1: writing that message for himself or me. At dusk, unable
Speaker 1: to bear the idle waiting, I slipped on my coat
Speaker 1: and left the apartment, walking the darkening blocks with no
Speaker 1: direction in mind. I ended up near elessa the bestro
Speaker 1: marked on the bill, peering in through steamy windows, tables
Speaker 1: full of clustered diners, laughter swirling, the noise of sharp
Speaker 1: contrast to how quiet my mind was. I half expected
Speaker 1: to see the two of them tucked in a corner.
Speaker 1: Instead I saw only strangers, couples, people with worries of
Speaker 1: their own. Back home, Paul arrived late, damp, his energy wild,
Speaker 1: half as if he'd been caught in a storm, half
Speaker 1: as if something too large for his skin buzzed inside him.
Speaker 1: He watched me briefly in the kitchen, then reached for me. Tentative,
Speaker 1: You okay, he asked, So I'm tired, I replied, not
Speaker 1: meeting his gaze. He lingered a moment, uncertainty hanging between us,
Speaker 1: then retreated to the bathroom. I heard the forcet, the
Speaker 1: shuffle of his tooth brush, the closing of the cabinet.
Speaker 1: I curled up on the couch, muscles knotted tight around
Speaker 1: my spine, Foam gripped in my palm as if for balance.
Speaker 1: That night, every time I closed my eyes, their laughter
Speaker 1: echoed in the hollow of my skull. The next morning,
Speaker 1: something new pressed down, urgency, the sense that the edifice
Speaker 1: of our life was about to splinter for good. The
Speaker 1: pressure was physical, as if my body had finally turned
Speaker 1: on itself, demanding either release or destruction. The world felt
Speaker 1: both too bright and muffled. My vision darting between the
Speaker 1: clocks on the wall, the magazine pile, the blue hoodie
Speaker 1: draped over a chair, all evidence of routine, all suddenly
Speaker 1: out of place. Paul wandered into the kitchen, hair sticking
Speaker 1: straight up, mouth sleeper, Morning, he said, voice tentative. Morning.
Speaker 1: I measured the word out, aware of every syllable. He
Speaker 1: fidgeted with the coffee scoop, measuring grounds, clanging the lid,
Speaker 1: glancing up only once We've got the urban ser of
Speaker 1: wrap up to day might go late. Julia's dragging half
Speaker 1: the committee out for drinks might just crash. At Lyle's,
Speaker 1: I could taste metal. I reached for the mug. You
Speaker 1: spend a lot of time with her, don't you? He stopped,
Speaker 1: just briefly, as if considering how to answer. She's running
Speaker 1: the show. It's easier working as a pair. The admission
Speaker 1: made me want to scream, but I only nodded, swallowing
Speaker 1: the worst urge. Do you want to come, he asked, suddenly,
Speaker 1: looking at me in a way that almost suggested hope,
Speaker 1: or guilt or desperation. I shook my head no, I said, quietly,
Speaker 1: to day, I have plans. He left soon after, When
Speaker 1: the door clicked closed, I let my self sag over
Speaker 1: the kitchen counter and cry. I spent the rest of
Speaker 1: the morning assembling every piece of evidence I had gathered. Receipts,
Speaker 1: calendar entries, E mails, the tickets, the conversations. I had
Speaker 1: written out the thank you card from Julia with her careful,
Speaker 1: familiar handwriting. I lined them up on the coffee table,
Speaker 1: slow and methodical, not certain what I was trying to prove,
Speaker 1: except that enough was enough. Some time afternoon, my phone
Speaker 1: pinged a group photo from Urban Serve, Paul standing close
Speaker 1: to Julia. Their bodies aligned in a way that suggested
Speaker 1: not colleagues or team mates, or even friends, but people
Speaker 1: who had chosen the intimacy of each other's presence for
Speaker 1: reasons neither could name out loud. My stomach lurched. It
Speaker 1: was too much. I cleaned up, changed into Janes and
Speaker 1: a sweater, then sat near the window and waited for what.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure. I knew Paul would be home late.
Speaker 1: I knew the confrontation would have to happen. I watched
Speaker 1: the sun dip low over the city, watched the sky
Speaker 1: deepen from chalky blue to navy, and steeled myself. When
Speaker 1: Paul finally walked in around ten thirty, it was clear
Speaker 1: he'd had a drink or two. Cheeks flushed, breath minty.
Speaker 1: He looked tired, eager for normalcy. Hey, sorry, committee ran
Speaker 1: forever next time, dragged me home sooner. I laid the
Speaker 1: pile of receipts on the kitchen table, set the thank
Speaker 1: you note on top. We need to talk, I said,
Speaker 1: my voice steady in a way that felt foreign. He hesitated,
Speaker 1: brow furrowing, then sat across from me, eyes scanning the stack.
Speaker 1: When he spoke, his voice was wary, but measured the
Speaker 1: tone he used with difficult clients or family arguments. What's
Speaker 1: going on? I took a deep breath. The words tumbled
Speaker 1: out in an orderly recitation I'd rehearsed in my head
Speaker 1: ten thousand times. I listed the dinners, the receipts, the
Speaker 1: calender entries, Julia's messages, the photographs at Ellessa, the private jokes,
Speaker 1: her signature on the card, all of it. I listed
Speaker 1: the times I'd found him out, the stories that didn't match,
Speaker 1: the nights he slept somewhere else, the lies. I didn't cry.
Speaker 1: It was too late for that. He listened, at first
Speaker 1: in silence, then with mounting discomfort, hands folded in his lap,
Speaker 1: lips compressed into a hard line. When I finished, I asked,
Speaker 1: as calmly as I could, Are you sleeping with Julia?
Speaker 1: He looked unfounded for a moment, as if the question
Speaker 1: hadn't occurred to him that it might ever cross a
Speaker 1: line into the intrusive. He scoffed, No, of course not.
Speaker 1: You're being paranoid. She's my colleague, my friend. Everyone on
Speaker 1: the team is close. It's how these things work. I
Speaker 1: shook my head, eyes stinging. Don't I've seen the messages,
Speaker 1: the photos, the receipts. I know about ELLSSA, I know
Speaker 1: about the times you said you were with Lyle but weren't.
Speaker 1: Don't lie to me any more. There was a long, brute,
Speaker 1: little pause, during which his composure crumpled in slow motion.
Speaker 1: When he looked up, old anger in his eyes dissolved
Speaker 1: into exhaustion. Okay, stop, I fucked up. God, I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: He ran his hands through his hair. We got close.
Speaker 1: It started, I don't know, long hours, a couple of
Speaker 1: work dinners. I liked feeling useful, someone seeing me. It
Speaker 1: wasn't supposed to go anywhere. But then one night, after drinks,
Speaker 1: it happened a few times. I guess nothing like God.
Speaker 1: It sounds so empty when I say it out loud.
Speaker 1: I wasn't thinking straight. I told myself it was about work,
Speaker 1: about pressure. But I knew what I was doing. He
Speaker 1: met my gaze, wounded, trembling, trying to gather dignity from
Speaker 1: the wreckage. It meant nothing, not really. I think I
Speaker 1: was just lonely. I thought you'd lost interest, or maybe
Speaker 1: I just lost myself. I should have told you, I
Speaker 1: should have stopped I. I cut him off with a quiet,
Speaker 1: brittle laugh. Don't. He tried to reach for my hand.
Speaker 1: I pulled back. Please, he whispered, let me explain. But
Speaker 1: there was nothing left. I waited for rage, for Catharsis,
Speaker 1: for some sense that I could be the person who
Speaker 1: made him pay for what he'd done. Instead, I felt
Speaker 1: only an aching hollowness, the kind that years later you'll
Speaker 1: still feel at the edge of sleep, a sadness without texture.
Speaker 1: For long moments, we sat facing one another, a table
Speaker 1: between us, crowded with artifacts of betrayal. Finally I stood,
Speaker 1: I need you to leave to night. I can't be
Speaker 1: in this room with you right now. He nodded silent,
Speaker 1: then gathered his coat, phone, and a small overnight bag.
Speaker 1: He paused at the threshold, looking back, hoping for I
Speaker 1: didn't know what. Forgiveness, permission to hope. I'm sorry, he said, softly,
Speaker 1: for everything. I kept my face turned away until the
Speaker 1: door clicked closed. After the apartment filled with a wild,
Speaker 1: ringing silence, I folded up the letters, tucked the receipts
Speaker 1: into a washed the coffee mugs by hand. I sent
Speaker 1: quick texts to Erin and my sister. It's done. I'm okay,
Speaker 1: I just need space. I took a long shower, scrubbing
Speaker 1: off the day, the last several months, the film of
Speaker 1: humiliation that wanted to settle in deep. The next morning,
Speaker 1: I called my sister and arranged to stay at her
Speaker 1: place for the foreseeable future. I gathered essential clothes, my laptop, toiletries,
Speaker 1: a handful of books, trying to move quietly, as if
Speaker 1: not to disturb the bones of our life that remained.
Speaker 1: Paul called once, then again, but I let it ring.
Speaker 1: I scrolled through old photos, letting myself cry once then
Speaker 1: not again. By afternoon, I deed changed our joint auto payments,
Speaker 1: forwarded my mail, texted a short message to mutual friends.
Speaker 1: We're taking space. I'll reach out when I can. Erin
Speaker 1: called voice steady, offering to come sit with me, to
Speaker 1: bring food or distraction, but I asked for quiet. Paul
Speaker 1: sent an email, long, raw, apologizing, promising counseling, vowing to
Speaker 1: end everything at Urban serve. I skimmed it, not ready
Speaker 1: to answer. I sent him only a practical reply. I'll
Speaker 1: pay my half of the rent. For now, we need
Speaker 1: to talk about what comes next. But I need time,
Speaker 1: he texted once more. I'm at Lyles. I'll stay out
Speaker 1: until you say otherwise. I watched the day slip past
Speaker 1: the window in my sister's spare room, sunlight crawling across
Speaker 1: boxes and bags. My life now packed down to what
Speaker 1: fit in the trunk of my car. I would need
Speaker 1: to tell my parents and his soon, but not yet.
Speaker 1: Three days later, in the early blush of morning, when
Speaker 1: the city was still soft and emptied, I slipped into
Speaker 1: our apartment building with a bag slung low on my
Speaker 1: hip and an ache under my ribs. The hallway was still,
Speaker 1: The air inside our door quietly stale, heavy with the
Speaker 1: scent of lemon cleaner and sleep. My footsteps echoed over
Speaker 1: the hardwood as I entered the living room, pausing by
Speaker 1: the window to let my eyes settle on the clutter
Speaker 1: of evidence that had once just been our life. I
Speaker 1: walked to the bookcase, knelt, and started pulling out my
Speaker 1: most treasured old paperbacks, tucking them into the bag. My
Speaker 1: hands moved on automatic methodical. I stuffed in a scarf,
Speaker 1: a blanket, a folder of work documents. I packed framed photos,
Speaker 1: pausing over one our arms slung around each other against
Speaker 1: a blue fiord sky, faces sunburned and giddy with august freedom.
Speaker 1: The plastic frame wobbled in my hand. I nearly let
Speaker 1: it fall back, but then set it gently on the shelf, unfinished,
Speaker 1: like everything else. I checked the closets, the bathroom. I
Speaker 1: zipped my bag, feeling the compress of air as it closed,
Speaker 1: Willing the ache in my chest to stay contained just
Speaker 1: a little longer. I turned for the door, letting my
Speaker 1: eyes sweep the rooms a final time. Books left, dumb,
Speaker 1: routines preserved, shadows falling, where one by one, love and
Speaker 1: trust shrunk. I couldn't see the future, but I could
Speaker 1: see what had ended. At the threshold. I reached for
Speaker 1: the lock, hesitated, and then left it unturned, pulling the
Speaker 1: door quietly shut behind me. Down in the street, the
Speaker 1: city looked unmarred, wet with early fog, shop windows still dark,
Speaker 1: the square humming with deliveries joggers, a world waking as
Speaker 1: if nothing terrible had happened. Shouldering my bag, I walked
Speaker 1: into the morning, letting the shape of my grief settle
Speaker 1: with the quiet certainty that comes when there is nothing
Speaker 1: left but to keep moving.