Speaker 1: There's a certain comfort in small rituals, the kind you
Speaker 1: run your nails across without realizing until something snags underneath.
Speaker 1: For me and Mark, Thursday night board games were that
Speaker 1: comfort and anchor in the middle of every slippery week.
Speaker 1: It was my turn to hosts. As usual. The table gleaned,
Speaker 1: since I'd scrubed it that afternoon, hoping the lemon's end
Speaker 1: would erase whatever vague tension I had been carrying around
Speaker 1: my neck. Wafayle was already dealing the game something with
Speaker 1: cards and towels. I never cared for the Rubican Asley
Speaker 1: kindled with a handug apology about work being madder lately.
Speaker 1: Natalie came straight from her run, always a burst of
Speaker 1: color and athletic energy, while Brian, disheveled and amused, brought
Speaker 1: a six pack like he was still pretending we were
Speaker 1: all in our twenties. It was our third game night
Speaker 1: and six weeks with Mark still stuck at the office.
Speaker 1: I told the story for him, repeating what he texted,
Speaker 1: can't leave Klein's a nightmare. I owe you tacos and
Speaker 1: a foot massage. I laughed along with the group, tried
Speaker 1: to mean it. I used his tone that blend of
Speaker 1: gentle humor and Mark to spare. I wasn't sure who
Speaker 1: I was convincing, may be myself. The night edged along,
Speaker 1: someone played a perfect hand in code names and erupting laughter.
Speaker 1: Let me forget my tight smile. At some point, Raphael
Speaker 1: made this dry, quickly observation about Blue Princes's foreplay, and
Speaker 1: nastly doubled over, gasping, that's a Mark original. A comment
Speaker 1: hung in the air, half claimed, half public. I laughed
Speaker 1: because I had to. That was our inside joke, not theirs.
Speaker 1: After everyone left, I gathered the empty glasses, one hand,
Speaker 1: brushing against Mark's favor of coffee mug. Odd it rested
Speaker 1: on the middle shelf, not the corner of the sideboard
Speaker 1: where I kept it. I'd cleaned the shelf furlier. I frowned,
Speaker 1: thinking of the SELFI Natalie took at the last game
Speaker 1: Night Mark missing, but the blue mug just peeking into
Speaker 1: the shot. Only it hadn't been there before. I shook
Speaker 1: my head. It's just a moug who's keeping track of mugs.
Speaker 1: But there was a little sliver of anease tuck somewhere
Speaker 1: I couldn't reach. It was late by the time I
Speaker 1: got upstairs. Mark ticked it halfway through the night, saying
Speaker 1: something nonsensical about C A D files being sent at
Speaker 1: the wrong scale and a client with the diagnosed anger issues.
Speaker 1: I responded with a smiling emoji fell asleeper reading our
Speaker 1: old emoji banter. It should have made me feel closer.
Speaker 1: The next morning, the ritual change slightly. Mark, still at
Speaker 1: the office, sent me a photo of the summerse from
Speaker 1: his window, sky flooding peach. He used to do it
Speaker 1: when he'd pull an all night. In our first cheer together.
Speaker 1: Eli Mark, the man who'd wore holmbefoot after project deadlines
Speaker 1: and collapse with his shoes dangling from his fingers, I replied,
Speaker 1: pace yourself coffee. Later, to enforce myself to start work,
Speaker 1: there was a piece I needed to finish for a
Speaker 1: magazine some freelance giga barely carried about, but I tried
Speaker 1: to let the routine hold me he usually did. I
Speaker 1: met Mark at the Clark Museum, the one with the
Speaker 1: sharp glass facade on the open til fos that smell
Speaker 1: like rain even in June. I was standing by a
Speaker 1: model of Frank Lloyd Wright's studio, listening to a toe
Speaker 1: guide talk about negative space. Mark made a joke about
Speaker 1: architects believing in God complexes, and when I turned there,
Speaker 1: he was smirking. We wound up in the same groupee
Speaker 1: come alone, too shy at first, then matching my sarcastic
Speaker 1: commentary note for note. Afterward, we lingered over over priced
Speaker 1: coffee in the meuse m Faye, dissecting the exhibit until
Speaker 1: it was dark outside. I remember thinking how easily he
Speaker 1: held silence. Not all men do. We moved in together
Speaker 1: after a year. It felt sudden, but inevitable and easy dovetail.
Speaker 1: His job was just ramping up, then a boutique architecture firm,
Speaker 1: with the promise of a real partnership, dangling over every
Speaker 1: overnight deadline. I edited lifestyle copy and book proposals from
Speaker 1: home work I could take anywhere as long as I
Speaker 1: had WiFi and coffee. We made our flat over in
Speaker 1: our style, mid century disk drifted lamps, ceramics from a
Speaker 1: vacation to Portugal. It wasn't a magazine short piast, but
Speaker 1: it was ours. We hung marked framed blueprints in the
Speaker 1: whole way, probably a bit much, but we both liked
Speaker 1: the geometry, the story lines under glass. We ran our
Speaker 1: lives by Chave rules. We were the couple who had contracts,
Speaker 1: never interrupted in public, always apologize in private. After my
Speaker 1: parents moved to Arizona and Mark's relationship with his family
Speaker 1: fractured for reasons he never clearly explained, we built our
Speaker 1: own scaffolding out of friends, our little crew, vastly from college.
Speaker 1: The first person I introduced to Mark Bryan, who had
Speaker 1: saw at his Mark's junior at the firm and ended
Speaker 1: up just as much mine. Natalie, whose dark we watched
Speaker 1: How I See Ye, Raphael, who came to every gathering
Speaker 1: with new gossip and an open smile. We claimed Thursday
Speaker 1: nights for board gains a year into marriage and made
Speaker 1: a thing of it. We took tens hosting, mostly at
Speaker 1: our place due to my flexible schedule. There was something
Speaker 1: about the threshold between work and home that we like
Speaker 1: to keep soft. Mark is the type of man who
Speaker 1: remembers birthdays and always knows everyone's coffee order without asking.
Speaker 1: When he's at the table, there's a quiet confidence. He
Speaker 1: makes people feel seen, jokes land easier. I like that
Speaker 1: about him. Sometimes I worried it made me look dull
Speaker 1: in comparison, But Mark never made me feel second. It
Speaker 1: was always clear I was his person, even in crowded rooms.
Speaker 1: Six months ago, things started shifting. Mark landed a big
Speaker 1: CLIENTE mar Quy opportunity, he said, eyes shining with pride
Speaker 1: and fear. At the same time. It meant longer hours,
Speaker 1: late dinners, phone calls at odd times. I thought, this
Speaker 1: is good, this is what we worked for. I missed him,
Speaker 1: but was proud. He started missing board game knights with
Speaker 1: the sheepish grin, always leaving me with stories of up
Speaker 1: firm politics and stretched out partners who drank too much
Speaker 1: at post meeting drinks. Sometimes I noticed how quiet the
Speaker 1: apartment became when he was gone. I joked him myself
Speaker 1: that it was the price of ambition. I sealed myself
Speaker 1: for the push and pule told myself every relationship had
Speaker 1: its busy seasons. When Mark missed the next Thursday, I
Speaker 1: didn't want anyone else to notice how automatic my apology sounded.
Speaker 1: But we all expected the group to contract and expand,
Speaker 1: someone always traveling or sick or stuck at work. I
Speaker 1: tried to ignore Ashley's raised eyebras when I set Mark's
Speaker 1: favorite mug out, just in case I wasn't fooling anyone.
Speaker 1: He texted later that night, another round of meetings home late,
Speaker 1: don't wait up hard Omoji soft joke about hire in
Speaker 1: a life coach or a clone. It was easy to
Speaker 1: forget to resent him when he was funny. That night,
Speaker 1: as I tidied the living room, I found Mark's cell
Speaker 1: charger poking out from under the couch. It was the
Speaker 1: one he only used her on board game Knights. He
Speaker 1: liked charging while we played because he hated being the
Speaker 1: guy with three percent at the table. I was half
Speaker 1: way into stacking the games when I realized he hadn't
Speaker 1: been home, not officially, at least not while anyone else
Speaker 1: was around. Maybe he came by between meetings. He hadn't
Speaker 1: mentioned the break I put it aside, a simple forgetfulness.
Speaker 1: Mark was scatterbrained, always misplacing things when tired. Back in
Speaker 1: the kitchen, as I rinsed one glasses, my phone pined
Speaker 1: a charge notification from a joint credit card. Time stumped
Speaker 1: just after eight strange since Mark said he was dining
Speaker 1: with a client uptown at that hour. Maybe he swon
Speaker 1: by to grab something he left behind, but why not
Speaker 1: say so? Next morning, at breakfast, Mark looked tired, softer,
Speaker 1: rounded edges. He told me a story about a difficult
Speaker 1: client dinner, dropping in a jerk about Blueprints's love language,
Speaker 1: the same punch line raphaeled I'd used the night before,
Speaker 1: naming it amrck original. I laughed, but it felt rehearsed.
Speaker 1: I wanted him to mention stopping by for his charger,
Speaker 1: but he said nothing. I debated, asking, but bit my tongue,
Speaker 1: not wanting to sound petulant. We always told each other everything.
Speaker 1: I trusted he'd say if he stopped home, maybe he
Speaker 1: was sparing me. Feeling bad about missing another night, I
Speaker 1: let it go, But that was when I noticed the
Speaker 1: lettle space between us at the breakfast table. We both
Speaker 1: filled it with small talk. The following week, Mark missed
Speaker 1: another game, this time bashlely bicked off too, blaming a
Speaker 1: last minute Migrain. Natalie arrived them from her swing class,
Speaker 1: and Rafaele came bearing his usual absurdly generous snacks. Bryan
Speaker 1: drifted in near the end for one round and one beer.
Speaker 1: This time, Rafael and Natalie both made passing references to
Speaker 1: jokes that Mark had dropped last time vastly. When I
Speaker 1: facetimed her later insisted she hadn't seen Mark in weeks.
Speaker 1: Suggest you when the chat, babe promise, She looked off
Speaker 1: to the side. I was flickering. Maybe I was imagining things.
Speaker 1: The group fed, usually a blow of inside jokes and memes,
Speaker 1: kept buzzing with stories and language Mark used to bring
Speaker 1: in person. They'd mentioned Mark's move or the class at
Speaker 1: Mark debate as if he still attended. Once I sent
Speaker 1: a dumb meme to the group, and Mark responded with
Speaker 1: the one word joke he normally reserved for me. It
Speaker 1: was easy, too easy, I told myself, he's just trying
Speaker 1: to keep the connection alive. I started to notice nothing
Speaker 1: about our pattern felt right. The fridge was done a
Speaker 1: bier every Thursday. Bard game boxes would be lower on
Speaker 1: stack than I remembered. One night, after everyone left, I
Speaker 1: found a hoodie of Marks that was strewn across the
Speaker 1: arm of the sofa. I could have missed it earlier,
Speaker 1: but it looked newly worn, loose and sloud. She then
Speaker 1: there was Natalie, He said, while gathering her gin bag.
Speaker 1: I still think Mark's version of gesturing at the dice
Speaker 1: is better, but hey, you're the hostess now. I half
Speaker 1: smiled and asked, when did you see Mark's version? She hesitated,
Speaker 1: then shrugged. Oh, I meant like old times. She left quickly,
Speaker 1: but seemed rattled in a way I couldn't quite pin.
Speaker 1: Mars explained his late nights with architectural gibberish. He knew
Speaker 1: I didn't follow sematic design phase ran over, so owning
Speaker 1: committee wouldn't aprove the elevation. My eyes were glazed, and
Speaker 1: I'd now chastising myself for not caring enough about this world.
Speaker 1: When I called him during these supposed meetings, he really
Speaker 1: answered if he did. The background was never quite right,
Speaker 1: sometimes too silent, once with a burst of laughter I
Speaker 1: thought sounded familiar, but written off as a colleague. I
Speaker 1: turned to the calendar to impose some order. I started
Speaker 1: cross reference in the dates when Mark Clint to have
Speaker 1: meetings with the Tians, our friends canceled or made excuses.
Speaker 1: Patterns emerged, but were patchy, like a half drawn graph.
Speaker 1: Assy was always busy on the nights. Mark said he
Speaker 1: was at the firm. Brian too. Rafael, once so candid,
Speaker 1: now only commented on group texts with emojis or gifts,
Speaker 1: as if sincerity was dangerous. I tried to comfort myself
Speaker 1: with practicalities. Mark's job was demanding, my friend's lives were
Speaker 1: busy and overlapping. It made sense. Maybe I was just
Speaker 1: feeling left out, jealously guarding a ritual that belonged to
Speaker 1: all of us. The following Thursday, I locked into our
Speaker 1: joint decount to pay utilities bill. Whilst rolling through charges,
Speaker 1: a line item caught my eye. Three small dinner transactions
Speaker 1: at Brew and Company, a new restaurant he blocks from
Speaker 1: Ashley's apartment, each Thursday for three weeks, running not huge bills,
Speaker 1: twenty thirty bucks, sometimes with the dessert. Mark said it
Speaker 1: was routine dinners, explaining lightly, you know, the juniors have
Speaker 1: started buying the first round. It's sweet, but honestly I
Speaker 1: should just buy them dinner instead. I let the explanations
Speaker 1: down until I found the receipts crumpled in his coat.
Speaker 1: Two entrees never more, I asked, once, pointedly enough, did
Speaker 1: you have dinner with Bryan last night? There are always
Speaker 1: only two orders. Mark, ever light on his feet, said
Speaker 1: he and Brian were mentoring a new hire, Jess Barren.
Speaker 1: The Jess is a real introvert, eats nothing makes awkward
Speaker 1: small talk trying to encourage her to feel part of
Speaker 1: the team. His voice had the soft, steady humor he
Speaker 1: knew I trusted, but even nutfelt stretched. There was a
Speaker 1: psaic nest of the lie, almost formal, as if he
Speaker 1: thought it over, were told it before. My world began
Speaker 1: to strain. The apartment filled and emptied with our regulars,
Speaker 1: yet the air thick and with unsaid things. Ashley, who
Speaker 1: used to text me randam means at midnight, began answering
Speaker 1: in short bursts, each less enthusiastic than the last. For Rann,
Speaker 1: who once confided about office drama like I was his sister,
Speaker 1: now docked out of conversations involving Mark. Raphael, always first
Speaker 1: to R s v PI, increasingly said he was swamped
Speaker 1: at work before disappearing from chats for days. Even Natalie,
Speaker 1: so energetic in person, closed up when I mentioned Mark,
Speaker 1: choosing instead to deflect with talk about her new run
Speaker 1: issues or her training goals. I started questioning myself. Maybe
Speaker 1: I I was just jealous. Maybe I was too possessive
Speaker 1: about these friendships I'd adopted his hours. I wondered if
Speaker 1: I was projecting old and securities. Mark was always so
Speaker 1: well liked, Maybe people just preferred his company to mine.
Speaker 1: That's how fragile the ground fell, like the party could
Speaker 1: shift at any moment, and I'd have nowhere to stand.
Speaker 1: During a particularly weak Friday, I confess my loneliness to Mark.
Speaker 1: I waited until we were both too tired for pretense.
Speaker 1: The hour when words tangled less. He was lying on
Speaker 1: the couch, laptop balanced on his knee, eyes bruised from
Speaker 1: lack of sleep. Are you happy, I asked, not sure
Speaker 1: what I was really asking. I feel like our walls
Speaker 1: aren't lining up lately. Thursday nights keep getting empty here,
Speaker 1: and I miss you in them. Mark closed as laptop
Speaker 1: and looked at me, soft but firm. It's just work, Anna,
Speaker 1: I'm sorry. As soon as this project has done two
Speaker 1: more weeks, promise I'll take a break. I've been looking
Speaker 1: at weekend getaways Montana, maybe just us. I know I've
Speaker 1: been a ghost. It's not you. His hand covered mine.
Speaker 1: The warmth anchored me for a few breaths. The old
Speaker 1: steadiness returned. He leaned over and nuzzled my cheek. I
Speaker 1: wanted to believe him. I let myself. He showed up
Speaker 1: at the next game night right on time, arms full
Speaker 1: of take out in that familiar easy grin the evening
Speaker 1: fizz with his humor. He listened intently to Bryan and teas.
Speaker 1: Raphael made Natalie laugh so hard she spit wine across
Speaker 1: his score sheet. I watched him as if from a distance, thinking, see,
Speaker 1: you were just being paranoid. That night he was gentler
Speaker 1: than he'd been in one's touch lingered conversation leaped back
Speaker 1: to us. Later, winding down upstairs, he suggested we pause
Speaker 1: the group for a week so we could have a
Speaker 1: Thursday alone like old times. I said yes. Gilp pulled
Speaker 1: in my chest. I was ashamed of my suspicions. For
Speaker 1: a few days, the wolf righted itself. It worked, he worked.
Speaker 1: We made plans for a road trip where researched cheap flights,
Speaker 1: browsed der and blistings. I told Ashley, who sent a
Speaker 1: million hard emojis and insisted we send photos. I started
Speaker 1: to rebuild the scaffolding of our normal, letting myself believe
Speaker 1: the season of distance was ending. Then, one afternoon, running
Speaker 1: late to send an email to a publisher, A grab
Speaker 1: Mark's laptop. He had left it open, brows a tub
Speaker 1: scattered as I typed in the address bark Jess baron
Speaker 1: Otto filled on the recent contacts, it's now to my attention.
Speaker 1: There was a Jess in one of Ashley's recent Instagram photos,
Speaker 1: a stranger in the background of a group shot, tagged
Speaker 1: and grinning. The only unfamiliar face the name stuck pink
Speaker 1: by the odd mention in Mark's mentoring stories, I clicked
Speaker 1: glance in over my shoulder, as if a breeze had
Speaker 1: just chilled the room. The email showed a thread mark
Speaker 1: to Murad, but I forced myself not to open it.
Speaker 1: I told myself it was nothing. That night, over dinner,
Speaker 1: I let my curiosity bubble up. Ashley's doing this group
Speaker 1: thing next week. Should I bring anything? It's Jess coming.
Speaker 1: Marx fok paused on the plate. Jess, Oh, I think so,
Speaker 1: but not sure you'd like her. She's really smart, shy though,
Speaker 1: reminds me of you. It was a soft, careful answer,
Speaker 1: but a new one. I've replayed the conversation later, hearing
Speaker 1: the hitch that you'd like her. The next morning, I
Speaker 1: felt restless and able to focus on my editing. I
Speaker 1: found myself scrolling through Uslie's Instagram grid, clicking through tags
Speaker 1: seeming interfaces in the background until Jess's profile appeared private,
Speaker 1: but her likes were visible and nearly every recent group photo,
Speaker 1: specially the ones from Thursday nights. My heart started a slow,
Speaker 1: sick drum beat. I tried to shake it off. These
Speaker 1: were small things, explainable things. I couldn't leave it at that.
Speaker 1: In the days that followed, Mark's present seemed at once
Speaker 1: too near and too far. He'd make breakfast, linger at
Speaker 1: the table with his coffee, brush my knee, and ask
Speaker 1: about my project, but he dodged erect questions about work,
Speaker 1: or he'd say he was too swamped to think, or
Speaker 1: just wanted to live in the prison with you. There
Speaker 1: were stolen glances at his phone, abrupt changes in conversation.
Speaker 1: When I mentioned our friends, my approach shifted. I paid
Speaker 1: more attention. I started checking the Shade calendar, scrolling back
Speaker 1: through old invites for boll game nights. The dates didn't
Speaker 1: match my memory. Some more changed at the last minute,
Speaker 1: shifted to Wednesdays or Fridays, always on the nights I worked. Later.
Speaker 1: I had client calls. Mark would say, tough week, everyone's
Speaker 1: got something. I'd smile, nod. But the architecture of Alfe
Speaker 1: felt warped. I messaged Raphaele under the guise of catching
Speaker 1: up something breezy and impersonal. He responded late, pleasant but brief.
Speaker 1: When I asked if he was coming to the next game,
Speaker 1: he hesitated, claiming a light shift. I made a joke
Speaker 1: about Mark being harder to schedule than the Pope, whilf
Speaker 1: I al barely replied, then finally sent, sometimes Mark comes
Speaker 1: by on other nights. It's been weird. He should talk
Speaker 1: to Mark directly. That phrase stuck the way he moved
Speaker 1: the conversation away from himself, that echo of guilt. I
Speaker 1: began looking for more evidence. I scrolled through old email
Speaker 1: threads between Mark and me found a handful of message
Speaker 1: notifications to a ja erron re Thursday. The snippets below
Speaker 1: the subject line reference to our tradition, choked about not
Speaker 1: letting any one else to snipe the want, teased about
Speaker 1: a running and joke involving dice and wine. I felt
Speaker 1: a chill work its waigh up my spine, both relieved
Speaker 1: and horrified that my hunt was right there, hidden in
Speaker 1: plain sight. But it was never explicit, never damning on
Speaker 1: its own. It could mean anything. Emails about games and
Speaker 1: running jokes not love letters or naked longing. I wanted more,
Speaker 1: needed more. I went through Mark's pockets again, the practical bits,
Speaker 1: receipts for Brew and Company on random days, more than
Speaker 1: once on Thursdays, but sometimes on Tuesdays and Fridays. The
Speaker 1: bills were always for two people, usually split desserts and lottes.
Speaker 1: I check his calendar. One private appointment every Thursday for
Speaker 1: six straight weeks, dinner slash downtime, never more specific. On
Speaker 1: my phone looking back, there was a cluster of group
Speaker 1: messages in which Mark would chime, and always from the
Speaker 1: restaurants whiless My billing app recorded the loggins. On three occasions.
Speaker 1: The times marched up with supposed slate meetings at work,
Speaker 1: but also with game night froths tagged on Instagram photos
Speaker 1: where my friends looked slightly furtive smiles a little more strained.
Speaker 1: A could have questioned him, but the evidence still felt circumstantial.
Speaker 1: I told myself, don't destroy something over a half case.
Speaker 1: May be there's an explanation. As I spiraled, my social
Speaker 1: group grew prickly. Ashley, who used to snap me daily updates,
Speaker 1: shrank from conversations. If I so much as mentioned Thursday nights.
Speaker 1: Bryan always garrulous now and at game nights, early begging
Speaker 1: off with the text and long apology two hours later.
Speaker 1: Raphaele became harder to reach, less likely to reply to
Speaker 1: random jerkes or commentary. The old lightness was gone. When
Speaker 1: we saw each other in person, each of them app
Speaker 1: did like they were handling a front agile secret, but
Speaker 1: terrified to break it. I turned my attention to practicalities,
Speaker 1: every day things, anything to take my mind off the
Speaker 1: jagged edge inside my own home. I threw myself into work,
Speaker 1: took long walks, scheduled yoga twice as often. Even then,
Speaker 1: I'd passed the Brew and Company window and wonder whether
Speaker 1: Mark was seated at table five with some one else.
Speaker 1: Mark was always careful. He double checked the locks when
Speaker 1: he left, folded his laundry, texted when he was running lay.
Speaker 1: I started to watch the tiny gaps, how he lingered
Speaker 1: in the doorway after board game nights, the extra ten
Speaker 1: minutes in his car, answering emails, the way he'd smiled
Speaker 1: with his mouth but not his eyes when I asked
Speaker 1: about the next game. One night, Growing restless, I called
Speaker 1: Natalie and asked her if she wanted to grab dinner.
Speaker 1: She hesitated, then said, I'm actually doing something with Mark
Speaker 1: and you know the old crew. It was a slip.
Speaker 1: They usually only spent time together during game nights. Bo,
Speaker 1: do you mean ravile and Ashley? Is it a board night?
Speaker 1: I pressed voice as neutral as I could manage. Natalie
Speaker 1: went quiet, then laughed nervously. Nothing big, just m Mark
Speaker 1: text as if he wants to play when he can't
Speaker 1: make Thursdays. It's been as thing late. They don't be mad.
Speaker 1: She rushed the end and hung up, leaving me more
Speaker 1: unsettled than before. I tried steps closer to the truck
Speaker 1: to reaching out to Bryan, asking what the next make
Speaker 1: up game was schedule for. I don't know, haven't heard
Speaker 1: anything you okay, Tea replied a little too quickly. If
Speaker 1: I asked Ashley, o't writ she come up? I was
Speaker 1: sure of it. I found myself wanting to vent, but
Speaker 1: ensure who to trust. Instead. I rifled through the calendar
Speaker 1: once more, growing boulder in my snooping the events on
Speaker 1: Mark's worth calendar were recurring set for those day staff
Speaker 1: dinners with vague location tags, but in my own iical
Speaker 1: there was no such of integer blank spaces or my
Speaker 1: own client calls. I realized he was managing two parallel
Speaker 1: sets of invites. The overlap was never complete. It was
Speaker 1: as if he'd hampered which friends to involve, when and how.
Speaker 1: His private life was like a blueprint being revised, co
Speaker 1: ordinates manipulated to produce the right intersections. I tried to
Speaker 1: act normal. When Mack was home. Our routine continued, shared dinners, Netflix's,
Speaker 1: trips to the market. He'd fill me in on work,
Speaker 1: sometimes in too much detail, but never mentioned which fra
Speaker 1: ends he'd seen or how often. When I tried to
Speaker 1: bring it up gently, Raphael seems off lately, he'd kiss
Speaker 1: my temple and say you or overthinking it. Everyone's just stressed.
Speaker 1: It'll blow over. One night, I noticed Mark's phone buzz
Speaker 1: with a notification from a Jay Baron. I saw it
Speaker 1: from across the table, quick and unobtrusive. He tilted the
Speaker 1: phone away thunder reply, then plays it face down between us.
Speaker 1: When I asked what it was, he chuckle, Just Jess
Speaker 1: lost our keys again. Poor girl. I'm helping her with
Speaker 1: her new least. She's totally helpless outside of work. His
Speaker 1: tone was apologetic, even maternal, as if helping the new
Speaker 1: kid was a duty. He couldn't avoid. The justification verged
Speaker 1: on the absurd, but I couldn't deny the bridge between
Speaker 1: his absences and the growing anxiety that pulsed under each
Speaker 1: board game night. The anchoring richel that had heeled our
Speaker 1: group together now felt hollow, as if everyone was performing
Speaker 1: the memory of laughter instead of the thing itself. Desperate
Speaker 1: for answers, I scheduled drinks with Athlee, insisting she meet
Speaker 1: out our usual spot. I played it casual at first,
Speaker 1: leaning into our shared hissor until her god softened. When
Speaker 1: I asked about Thursday nights and whether she ever played
Speaker 1: outside of those, she hesitated, then said sometimes we shuffle its,
Speaker 1: just with your schedule and marks. People try to be flexible.
Speaker 1: I asked if Jess was there. She flushed, eyes drifting
Speaker 1: to her cocktail, muttering, Jess as nice. Really, it's not
Speaker 1: what you think. I felt a wave of nausea as oppress,
Speaker 1: what do I think, Ashley? She shook her head, gave
Speaker 1: that brittle little laughser for dangerous topics, and pivoted you
Speaker 1: know I love you. Right. As the conversation moved on,
Speaker 1: I realized as he was choosing not to answer, the
Speaker 1: one question that mattered Back home, I closed out the
Speaker 1: day by staring at the board game shelf, hands lingering
Speaker 1: over the battered boxes that represented our little tradition. I
Speaker 1: tried to picture all of us around the table, laughter
Speaker 1: and force, trust and tact, but the image slipped away.
Speaker 1: I wondered if Mark, sitting somewhere else with someone else,
Speaker 1: ever missed it, or if the game had simply changed
Speaker 1: and I was the last person to notice the humiliation
Speaker 1: of being left out side of being shielded or condescended
Speaker 1: to by people I'd chosen. As my family settled into me,
Speaker 1: I kept moving, doing the work, feeding the rituals, hoping
Speaker 1: the next clue would shatter this feeling, even if it
Speaker 1: also split my life Cleaning that weekend, I woke determined
Speaker 1: to reclaim some normalcy. I opened my laptop, filled it
Speaker 1: emails for work, scheduled a batch of copy atits that
Speaker 1: would lost me through the next fortnight. I tried to
Speaker 1: present myself as someone occupied, immune to paranoia, but every
Speaker 1: task felt like embroidery over a hole I didn't want
Speaker 1: to see. I checked the calendar every hour, tracing other
Speaker 1: people's collars and reminders, looking for anything familiar mark was
Speaker 1: scheduled for a sight visit and then coffee with a vendor.
Speaker 1: He tuxeded mid morning, wished me luck contractors about to
Speaker 1: lose it. I sent a thumbs up and went for
Speaker 1: a long run, pushing my body until my lungs burned.
Speaker 1: When I got home, my key downd slightly in the
Speaker 1: front door. For a second. I wondered if some one
Speaker 1: else had used it that morning. I was being ridiculous.
Speaker 1: I knew his gate, the way he tristed keys, the
Speaker 1: softened n to shoes made at the threshold. But wasn't
Speaker 1: the charger under the couch a small senseless mistake too.
Speaker 1: With the house quiet, I turned to the game shelf, instinctively,
Speaker 1: running my hands over the worn edges. I pulled dun
Speaker 1: cox on. It felt light. The cloth bag for the
Speaker 1: game pieces was missing a tile mark always noticed these things.
Speaker 1: Scavenged lost pieces from between cushions, insisted on a restoring
Speaker 1: order like a real city. The thought made me laugh,
Speaker 1: then wilt. When had he last played the game with
Speaker 1: just me? Months? Surely he complained work left him too
Speaker 1: fried for anything that required strategy After six p m.
Speaker 1: Maybe he played with the others on a night I
Speaker 1: wasn't home. The image left a sour taste. The next
Speaker 1: day I forced to tax straight with Natalie. Want to
Speaker 1: take the dog for a hike this week? I need
Speaker 1: nature in someone to mock my terrible cardier. It always
Speaker 1: used to be that simple, She replied, rain this week?
Speaker 1: Can we rain? Check and a laughing dog gift? The
Speaker 1: chat faded. I stared at her last message, reading into
Speaker 1: the space behind it. I almost sent another, asking upright,
Speaker 1: but lost nerve. That evening, with the sky sliding towards dusk,
Speaker 1: Mark came in earlier than expected. He dropped his keys
Speaker 1: into the bowl by the door, took off his shoes
Speaker 1: and set a supermarket bag on the island. Got stuffed
Speaker 1: for tacos, he announced, figured we deserved a little Thursday
Speaker 1: in the middle of the week. He moved around the
Speaker 1: kitchen with easy familiarity, dicing tomatoes, tossing Solandra, humming under
Speaker 1: his breath. The light pulled round him, gold and forgiving.
Speaker 1: I watched him sweep as palm over the countertop, catch
Speaker 1: the tiny specks of onionskin, and flick them into the
Speaker 1: trash of small, methodical kindness. I almost trusted the calm
Speaker 1: He poured us both a glass of wine without asking,
Speaker 1: and clinked my glass with his long day I managed.
Speaker 1: I let my gaze hold him lightly interrogative. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: imagined being one of those women whose husband felt every
Speaker 1: question as a caress instead of a diagnostic. He grinned
Speaker 1: a real one, I thought, yeah, Zoningbor tried to move
Speaker 1: the project's dart date, but I talked them out of it.
Speaker 1: He told me a story about a client with a
Speaker 1: taste disorder who demanded tuscanarchist in a postmodern loft. It
Speaker 1: was a classic Mark monolog arch knowing full sly winks
Speaker 1: in mimicry. I laughed at the right places, but I
Speaker 1: noticed how he didn't ask about my day, or mention
Speaker 1: game nights, or reference anything to their in us, to
Speaker 1: our friends. There were no stories about Bryan losing at
Speaker 1: Settler's or Raphael's wild accusations. It was just Mack and
Speaker 1: his world, loosely stitched together by anecdotes I could only
Speaker 1: witness from the outside. Over Tacco's he checked his phone twice.
Speaker 1: Both times he apologized siding contracted confusion. I tried to
Speaker 1: catch the no facation flashy across the lock's green, but
Speaker 1: he tilted the phone away as flickering. I didn't say anything.
Speaker 1: My hands smelled of lime, My muscles felt tight endorment. Later,
Speaker 1: after dinner, we watched two episodes of a show we
Speaker 1: both liked. Mark let meeling against him, head tucked below
Speaker 1: his chin. His harpy seemed steady, his hand tray slow
Speaker 1: arcs crossed my upper arm. I lay there, rigid and
Speaker 1: sure if the comfort was mutual, or if I was
Speaker 1: clinging to a memory of intimacy, something easily performed. When
Speaker 1: we climbed into bed, he reached for me, unhurried, gentle.
Speaker 1: I let him, wanting to feel real, to convince myself
Speaker 1: that this was the necessary proof that nothing could be
Speaker 1: that wrong. He was attentive, quiet. The comfort was sweet
Speaker 1: and mechanical. As we drifted together, I caught myself scanning
Speaker 1: the room for his phone, wondering if he'd left it
Speaker 1: out of reach on purpose, if the screen would flicker
Speaker 1: with someone else's name. After I closed my eyes. The
Speaker 1: next morning, the I felt lighter, first from the afterglow
Speaker 1: and then from something else. Mark was in a playful
Speaker 1: mood at breakfast, spinning the milk cotton on the table top,
Speaker 1: promising to walk the contract through city hold as if
Speaker 1: it were a small dog. When I asked about the weekend,
Speaker 1: he suggested a farmer's market run and let's find the
Speaker 1: weirdest seasonal vegetable you can pronounce. He offered his city
Speaker 1: cards so I could buy the coffee, and Pistres joked
Speaker 1: that Bryne's idea of European breakfast was a cold pop tart.
Speaker 1: We fell into the banter easily, but I still watched
Speaker 1: for the weak points. I checked the fridge for beer
Speaker 1: on Thursday, a bottle gone replaced in the same spot.
Speaker 1: The colanderer was wet, as if recently used and not
Speaker 1: fully dried. Small signs easily explained, but now each one
Speaker 1: glimmered with double meaning. My suspicion grew less like a
Speaker 1: sudden blow, more like a bruise oppressed, testing its tenderness.
Speaker 1: I began saving receipts, lining them up in a kitchen drawer.
Speaker 1: Brew and Company always doubles mark now and then dropped
Speaker 1: a casual jerk about his protegee Jess, quoting her awkward
Speaker 1: attempts at small talk. She reminds me of a version
Speaker 1: of you defends every grammatical Hill. Can't stand people missusing little,
Speaker 1: he said, a warmly hinting affection, trying to make me
Speaker 1: a co conspirator in her awkwardness. Ashley, after days of
Speaker 1: dodge text final leaping me about Ada. Why night need
Speaker 1: another perfection as to judge my thrift flips. Her message
Speaker 1: sounded light, but I heard anxiety sifting beneath the exclamation points.
Speaker 1: I agreed and brought over a bottle of wine. Her
Speaker 1: apartment was half lit, boxes everywhere. She claimed she was
Speaker 1: replacing bookshelves, but I suspected affordance. For now, we painted
Speaker 1: old frames, detailing corners in silence. I steered the conversation
Speaker 1: toward the group, drifting toward the old rhythm, nudging her
Speaker 1: with stories from last winter. Finally, I asked, do you
Speaker 1: think our game nights have changed this year? She still
Speaker 1: to brush poisoned air change? How like the mood or
Speaker 1: who comes? I feel like it's always some one missing?
Speaker 1: Is it weird that I miss how it used to be?
Speaker 1: Ashley hesitated, then sat down her brush, rolling her wrist.
Speaker 1: I do too, honestly, but everyone's got staff. Brian's working
Speaker 1: week end, Raphaele's dating again, Natalie's training for a marathon.
Speaker 1: Mark's project is eating him alive. Right. She didn't meet
Speaker 1: my eyes, so jess as fitting in. I asked soft
Speaker 1: as I could. Ashes shrugged. She's nice, really quiet, needs
Speaker 1: to be pulled in by the group. Mark wants everyone
Speaker 1: to feel comfortable. He's good at that stuff. I think
Speaker 1: he feels responsible for her. Has she been to a
Speaker 1: lot of group stuff? I pressed? Ashley looked at me,
Speaker 1: her expression gentle and evasive. A few times when you
Speaker 1: have client calls or the schedule was wird. Honestly, I
Speaker 1: think she has a crush on Brian. She smiled, a
Speaker 1: washed out imitation of her old grin. Don't worry so much, Anna,
Speaker 1: I promise nothing is happening that you wouldn't want to
Speaker 1: know about. She squeezed my hand, her fingers cold. I
Speaker 1: wished I could believe her, but I sensed the relief
Speaker 1: as soon as I let her change the subject. Back home,
Speaker 1: the errand my own apartment tasted recycled. Mark was already asleep,
Speaker 1: slack faced, mouth open. I lay next to him, trying
Speaker 1: to let his familiar breeding anchor me. It didn't. Saturday
Speaker 1: morning arrived with a headache. I ran errands, bought groceries,
Speaker 1: wandered into brewing company. You're anna right at the borist asks,
Speaker 1: smile profession wide Mark's wifer. I nodded, surprised, and she laughed.
Speaker 1: He's here all the time with that friend, just short hair,
Speaker 1: big glasses. They always split the carrot cake. Her tone
Speaker 1: was oblivious friendly. I paid and left too quickly. The
Speaker 1: carrot cake box a weighed in my hands. I almost
Speaker 1: called Mark, almost spun something out of the encounter, but
Speaker 1: I didn't trust my voice. After lunch, my restlessness went out.
Speaker 1: I logged into my freelance email accounts, then clicked over
Speaker 1: to Mark's calendar tap open in the background. Under his
Speaker 1: work logan, there were a handful of blocked private colors
Speaker 1: nested alongside meetings in sight walks de slast g T
Speaker 1: a personal staff dinner. The recurring Thursday staff dinner was
Speaker 1: never matched in his work mandated tracking spreadsheet, sometimes moved
Speaker 1: to Friday O Wednesday, always paired with the brewing company receipt.
Speaker 1: I clicked deeper, the guilt in my stomach growing heavier.
Speaker 1: The other entry sat innocently, but reading the details of
Speaker 1: meeting with j I saw strings of inside jokes embedded
Speaker 1: in the calendar description Cork's unromatch. Jesso is a woman
Speaker 1: the Wine's last settlers remind her no dice jokes. Even
Speaker 1: his calendar was littered with evidence of a life just
Speaker 1: out of sight. My mind looped. He could just be
Speaker 1: mentor in her. He could be the world's most generous boss.
Speaker 1: He could be lying. The different explanations tangled and entangled
Speaker 1: as I listed them, but the balance kept shifting. That evening,
Speaker 1: Mark cooked again, improvised posta with leftover vegetables and crisptual arts.
Speaker 1: He played a podcast at low volume, something about the
Speaker 1: secrets of urban design. I watched him, marveling at how
Speaker 1: it all seemed so deliberate, every movement practiced. We talked
Speaker 1: about the news, my work, his ongoing battles with the city.
Speaker 1: He didn't mention jess I didn't ask. Later, I checked
Speaker 1: my phone in the bathroom, notifications for upcoming group events,
Speaker 1: including one labeled game Night one Friday. I hadn't been
Speaker 1: invited to that one. My mouth turned dry. I closed
Speaker 1: the app, quickly, washed my hands and practiced my smile
Speaker 1: in the mirror before returning to him. Sleep evaded me.
Speaker 1: I messaged Trophile at one, Um, hay, what's the verdict
Speaker 1: on Friday? Still and for the whole group? His answer
Speaker 1: came at two five m. Probably not the whole group.
Speaker 1: Mark and Bryan are figuring out timing. It's flas Sorry
Speaker 1: for slow replies were really buried at work, I stared
Speaker 1: at the message, passing the blanks. Next morning, eggs conjelled
Speaker 1: in the pan as I read Jess Baron's name and
Speaker 1: marks frequently contacted on his laptop on click Away, staring
Speaker 1: at me like a d air. I hesitated, then opened
Speaker 1: the most recent thread. The subject line made my pulse nap.
Speaker 1: Next time vengeance for the lost one on you below
Speaker 1: string of messages mostly jokes, but woven through her invitations
Speaker 1: to make up for lost week and gentle jabs at
Speaker 1: winning without Anna's oversight, my own name invoked as an absence.
Speaker 1: I felt feverish. Every word was plausible as friendship, a mentor,
Speaker 1: and over eager junior, some one who needed a social anchor.
Speaker 1: But then Jess's email missed the way you settled the
Speaker 1: table Thursday wasn't the same without you. She signed it
Speaker 1: with a winking emoji mark only used for me. I
Speaker 1: was still staring at the email. When Mark called from
Speaker 1: the next room, coffee ready, if you wanted cross us too,
Speaker 1: I went out. I couldn't answer right away. I sat back,
Speaker 1: flat to the chair, fighting to keep the ground from tipping.
Speaker 1: The need for direct confirmation seats under my skin. But
Speaker 1: I couldn't yet bring myself to confront him, not without
Speaker 1: something irrefutable, not with so many small ways to wriggle out.
Speaker 1: Over brunch, Mark behaved as if nothing was wrong. He
Speaker 1: offered by ites of pastry, recounted to sy accidant involving
Speaker 1: a drop beam. Don't worry, no one was hurt, just
Speaker 1: a mass of insurance headict, he laughed, crowding out silence,
Speaker 1: filling every gap. I let the conversation drift, content to
Speaker 1: watch the collision of his obvious affection and alimenting mystery.
Speaker 1: I wondered what else he planned? A second life, A
Speaker 1: sequence of game nights elastically arranged to slip by unnoticed,
Speaker 1: the same rituals with different plays. Monday brought vrain and
Speaker 1: with it a sense of stasis. I work longer than usual,
Speaker 1: sending out four pitches and fielding edits from a particularly
Speaker 1: fussy client. Mark texta twice Missy let's order in to night.
Speaker 1: I agreed, grateful for a distraction. The evening passed with movies,
Speaker 1: idle hands brushing, familiar bodies moving through well Warren grooves.
Speaker 1: The ordinary felt artificial. Even his laugh echoing off our
Speaker 1: living room walls hit some strange register in my gut.
Speaker 1: The routine repeated, Mark vanishing too, sometimes three days a
Speaker 1: week for meetings, project deadlines, dinners with the team. Most
Speaker 1: explanations featured Jess or Brian, or a late city call.
Speaker 1: I press sometimes asked who came, what they ate, if
Speaker 1: he'd had time to play anything fun. He always had
Speaker 1: a story, Brian's bad luck at dice, Jess's weird order
Speaker 1: a brewing company. The boredom grew shopper, little omissions, piling
Speaker 1: on each so small and rational that woven together they
Speaker 1: built a net I couldn't escape. I wanted to talk
Speaker 1: to Brian, but Mark's presence at work was too variable,
Speaker 1: and Brian's replies in chass grew vague. Once he wrote,
Speaker 1: saw Mark quick check in after hours, hope you're broth good.
Speaker 1: It felt like a party. I hadn't been invited to
Speaker 1: a ritual reserve for insiders only. Frustrated I begged Natalie
Speaker 1: for a long run on Saturday. She relented, meeting me
Speaker 1: on the river trail in her wind break, a breath
Speaker 1: steaming in the morning light. I pet put her with
Speaker 1: questions about the group per training anything. She answered cursp
Speaker 1: and cheerful, would shifted every board game reference away from specifics.
Speaker 1: I pointed out that Mark's been missing a lot of games.
Speaker 1: She replied, he still finds time somehow manages to when
Speaker 1: around and disappear. She paused, catching my eye, you too,
Speaker 1: Still okay, we're fine, I lied, Just busy. He's working more,
Speaker 1: you know how it is. Natalie smiled a little too
Speaker 1: wide and picked up the pace. The conversation never returned
Speaker 1: to the group on Impulse. That afternoon, A dropped by
Speaker 1: Brian's office, carrying a coffee in a carrier as an excuse.
Speaker 1: His surprise was visible. Anna didn't expect her. Are you
Speaker 1: here for Mark? He's out at sight to day, I think,
Speaker 1: I smile, No, just checking in, missing everyone at games.
Speaker 1: Feels like we're all circling different planets lately, Brian laughed, awkwardly,
Speaker 1: glancing at his desk. Yeah, it's been a weird few months.
Speaker 1: People grow up I guess, did you ever play without
Speaker 1: telling the rest of us? I tried to sound innocent,
Speaker 1: like off Thursday. He froze, then glanced up. Sometimes if
Speaker 1: Mark can't make Thursdays, he'll nudge a couple people for
Speaker 1: another night. I don't always go too tired, you know
Speaker 1: how it is. His voice was friendly but defensive. I
Speaker 1: wanted to press, but he turned his computer screen back
Speaker 1: toward himself, not meeting my gaze. I finished my coffee
Speaker 1: and left the conversation, echoing within complete truths. At home,
Speaker 1: the mug on the shelf was positioned differently again. This
Speaker 1: time the handle pointed away from the wall, the way
Speaker 1: only Mark liked it. An empty carroct cake box sat
Speaker 1: folded in the recycling There were two forks in the sink,
Speaker 1: not one outside. The late autumn wind whip leaves crossed
Speaker 1: the window. I felt suspended in a life that was
Speaker 1: rearranging itself around mere relationship, buckling and resettling, friend shifting
Speaker 1: into each other's orbits, secrets, creeting behind practice smiles. Yet
Speaker 1: every time I resolved to demand answers, the prospect of
Speaker 1: the final rupture kept from me. Mute. You couldn't unring
Speaker 1: that bell. I stared at Mark's email window, the subject
Speaker 1: lines still glaring, chest crawling with heat and dread. Every click,
Speaker 1: every tiny discovery had been building toward this ugly rush
Speaker 1: of clarity. It hit with a force that was almost relief.
Speaker 1: The not knowing was finished, but something colder weighted in
Speaker 1: its place. From the kitchen, he called out again, Anna
Speaker 1: you good, as if nothing could possibly be wrong on
Speaker 1: a quiet Sunday morning with cossos and city sunlight. I
Speaker 1: stood up, smoothed my shirt with tramping hands, and closed
Speaker 1: the lap up. My brain felt split, one part scrambling
Speaker 1: for more evidence, the other already retreating. I busied myself
Speaker 1: pouring coffee, the clatter of the mug on the counter
Speaker 1: sharp enough to steady me. Mark's face appeared convincingly neutral.
Speaker 1: He kissed my temple, and I pulled away, just slightly,
Speaker 1: so faint no one could accuse me of anything. Thanks
Speaker 1: for breakfast, I said, my voice, flat to my own ears.
Speaker 1: He watched, I buzz nodded, but didn't push. I forced
Speaker 1: a question about a slight visit, listening but not hearing
Speaker 1: his answer. I measured every word, every gesture, collecting microscopic
Speaker 1: evidence were trust used to live. I snapped a photo
Speaker 1: of the receipts and calendar entries on my fern auf
Speaker 1: day he left for a walk to clear his head
Speaker 1: before work, not that I needed them for any legal reason.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure if I would ever confront him, or
Speaker 1: if I was looking for the courage to do what
Speaker 1: needed to be done. The hours hollowed out. Even email
Speaker 1: ping startled me. I answered war queries, edited articles, met
Speaker 1: every professional obligation with brittle precision. At lunch, I texted aiclete,
Speaker 1: need to talk to day. She didn't reply at two
Speaker 1: o'clock while I al said it same angle, heart MODI
Speaker 1: to an old group thread, not in response to anything,
Speaker 1: just a soft, helpful noise into a vacuum for while.
Speaker 1: I tapped at the window, stretching every shadow. I reheated
Speaker 1: left of repulsa for myself, not bothering with vegetables or plating.
Speaker 1: I stared at the game shelf, picking at the label
Speaker 1: of a half empty wine bottle, remembering how Mark always
Speaker 1: insisted on saving the best roll for last. I wondered
Speaker 1: if he was repeating the same joke in a parallel
Speaker 1: living room, laughing with some one y the apartment felt different,
Speaker 1: like I had moved into a version of our life,
Speaker 1: staged for strangers to tour, everything arranged to seem perfectly normal.
Speaker 1: I lingered at the kitchen sink, wondering who would notice
Speaker 1: if I vanished for a few days. The urge to
Speaker 1: just pack a bag and walk out pressed at my ribs,
Speaker 1: But each time I tensed to act, I found myself paralyzed,
Speaker 1: waiting for something clear, for Mark or one of the
Speaker 1: others to shatter the silence with the truth. When he
Speaker 1: finally came home, he moved carefully, like someone expecting glass underfoot.
Speaker 1: I saw the fatigue in his face and the slight
Speaker 1: red at the tip of his nose, a tel after
Speaker 1: he'd been outside too long or thinking too hard. He
Speaker 1: set down his keys, made ashore, fussing over the mail,
Speaker 1: his gifts skittering off mine. I went to brush my teeth,
Speaker 1: lingering until the steam made hard to see the mirror.
Speaker 1: When I returned, he stood stirring at the calendar I
Speaker 1: had left open on the laptop. He didn't say anything,
Speaker 1: but I saw a trimmer in his hands, Something charged
Speaker 1: han in the air, a readiness to leap or run.
Speaker 1: The next day, it tried again to reach Ashley, then raphile,
Speaker 1: nothing direct, just can we get coffee? I miss you.
Speaker 1: The evasions were consistent, always crazy week, so much going on,
Speaker 1: let's plan when everyone's less white. I collected the non
Speaker 1: answers like puzzle pieces that would only fit one way.
Speaker 1: Late afternoon, a group text pinged with the new invitation
Speaker 1: game night at our place Friday. All welcome, sent by
Speaker 1: Natalie as if shuffling the deck herself. No mark for
Speaker 1: who was expected, no classic marked debate in the invitation morning,
Speaker 1: just neutrality, so carefully constructed. I wanted to scream. I
Speaker 1: hesitated them, hovering over the reply button, then led it
Speaker 1: fade to the background. As a day stacked up, Mark's
Speaker 1: affection became more deliberate, more present. He made breakfast every morning,
Speaker 1: texted but moji hearts, left notes under my coffee mug.
Speaker 1: It had an almost descer for a frequency, a misake
Speaker 1: of guilt or clumsy over compensation. I'd watch him sometimes,
Speaker 1: see his hands tremble ever so slightly as he but
Speaker 1: a toaster, folded the laundry, as if he was trying
Speaker 1: to arrange more than just our clothes. That Wednesday, as
Speaker 1: I finally wrote back, sorry, busy COMI rainchek promised next week.
Speaker 1: The message felt perfunctory, its warmthed old. Even her punctuation
Speaker 1: looked tired. The old messinist was gone, replaced by clinical distance.
Speaker 1: Mark meanwhile played his part. He sent me half a
Speaker 1: dozen listings from Montana cabins, including dog friendly ones, though
Speaker 1: we had no dog, and asked if I liked the
Speaker 1: rustic looked better than Altramodon. In each message, I saw
Speaker 1: a man desperate for distraction, maybe even for redemption, but
Speaker 1: the vineyar only highlighted the rot underneath. Out of explanations
Speaker 1: from my friend's sudden caginess, out of plausible scenarios for
Speaker 1: Mark's intersecting absences, and the growing archive over seats and messages,
Speaker 1: I felt the last hope draining air. I scrawled through
Speaker 1: old photos, count and faces, the configurations who stood with
Speaker 1: him on much week, which smiles looked hollow in hindsight.
Speaker 1: I saw Jess's name in one fourto attacked at Mark's side,
Speaker 1: the caption by Raphael blaring tradition upheld there. I was
Speaker 1: not even tagged. Thursday arrived and asking for plans. By dinner,
Speaker 1: Mark still hadn't answered if he'd be home on time
Speaker 1: only of egg trying board running late, I set the
Speaker 1: table for one heap prickling at my scalp. At eight thirty,
Speaker 1: when Mark still wasn't home, I steeled myself. I pulled
Speaker 1: at the battered filefolder, where I'd begun tucking a weary seats,
Speaker 1: calend of print outs, coppies of female fragments. My hands
Speaker 1: studied with purpose. To night would be the night. I
Speaker 1: couldn't keep living with this silent ache, couldn't keep layering
Speaker 1: performance over hollow space. Half an hour later, the front
Speaker 1: door opened quietly. Mark slipped inside, shoulders hunched, his messenger
Speaker 1: bag thumping the floor. He looked tired, but not surprised
Speaker 1: to find me awake, filefold open on my lap, My
Speaker 1: face set, hey, he said, voice trying for casual. They
Speaker 1: didn't mean to be so late. Got stuck debriefingly anew
Speaker 1: in turn their hopeless interior elevations. He let out a
Speaker 1: forced chuckle. I didn't move. Sit down, Mark, I heard
Speaker 1: the control in my voice, lower in calmer than I felt.
Speaker 1: He hesitated, then dropped into the chair across from me,
Speaker 1: glancing from the file to my face and back. I
Speaker 1: watched for defiance, for evasion, for the old mark who
Speaker 1: could charm his way out of traffic, tickets and tense dinners. Instead,
Speaker 1: I saw him shrink by a degree. We need to talk.
Speaker 1: I said about Thursday Nights, about Jess, about brewing company,
Speaker 1: about all of it. His first denial was automatic, almost bored, Anna,
Speaker 1: you're overthinking again. Jess is just She's some one I
Speaker 1: mentor sometimes people cancel. Last minute, I fell space with
Speaker 1: whoever's around. He reached for a receipt, as if he
Speaker 1: might pucket from the pile and revise the charge of
Speaker 1: the story. Rather than reply, I slid the file toward him.
Speaker 1: Don't insult me, the emails, the calendar, the receipts. I
Speaker 1: talked to Rafael, to Bryan, to Natalie, even Ashley. Their
Speaker 1: names felt like blades, naming each person who'd held up
Speaker 1: the scaffolding of deceit. You were running parallel game nights,
Speaker 1: sometimes with me, sometimes without, sometimes just with Jess, sometimes
Speaker 1: deliberately leaving me out. Were any of them ever really mine?
Speaker 1: He put his hands on the table, pressing down until
Speaker 1: his knuckles blanched. For a moment he seemed to want
Speaker 1: to reach for me, plead, but he stayed fixed. It
Speaker 1: wasn't supposed to be like this, he started, voice shaking.
Speaker 1: You know I love you. I never meant I mean ay.
Speaker 1: He faltered and tried to start again. Jess isn't was
Speaker 1: it Christ's Anna? It started as a way to let
Speaker 1: off steam. She loves games, she gets the sarcasm, and
Speaker 1: then fuck he did. His knuckle hit his face. It
Speaker 1: felt easy, something about being with someone who didn't already
Speaker 1: have the whole file on me. I was new to her,
Speaker 1: but nothing happened, nothing physical, not for months, I swear
Speaker 1: to God. I slammed my palm on the table, startling
Speaker 1: us both. That's not the point. You made a life
Speaker 1: around me, then sliced it in half and handed the
Speaker 1: extra piece to some one else. You let our friends
Speaker 1: help you do it for You forced him to choose.
Speaker 1: Do you have any idea what that makes me? Mark?
Speaker 1: He shook his head out, tear standing in his eyes.
Speaker 1: I'm a coward, and I lied because I thought I
Speaker 1: could hold it all. I didn't want to lose you.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to lose the life we built, and
Speaker 1: gest she was a distraction. Okay, I thought if I'd
Speaker 1: just fixed enough, if I worked harder. Nobody would notice.
Speaker 1: I pressed him, voice cracking, so you gasped me for months,
Speaker 1: pretended nothing was wrong. Every morning, made breakfast, me links
Speaker 1: for fake vacations while dating some one else in my
Speaker 1: own living room. He covered his face, then forced himself
Speaker 1: to meet my eyes. Jess and either was a line,
Speaker 1: but eventually yes acrossed it. The group knew well, some
Speaker 1: of them, I think Assi he suspected Rafole looked the
Speaker 1: other way. Brian was just passive. He sobbed, then ragged
Speaker 1: and raw. I'm sorry, Anna, I didn't stop loving you.
Speaker 1: That's the fucked apart. I never stopped you let every
Speaker 1: one else hold your secret, But I'm supposed to. What
Speaker 1: forgive you for not being man enough to tell me yourself?
Speaker 1: Or did the thrill matter more? He bowed his head,
Speaker 1: shame radiating from him. I wanted both. I wanted to
Speaker 1: be good and also be new again. She laughed at everything.
Speaker 1: She didn't know all my worst habits. But you knew me, Anna,
Speaker 1: You actually knew me. My words tumbled together, bitterness and
Speaker 1: grief in equal measure. You didn't protect me. He didn't
Speaker 1: even give me the dignity of the truth. He turned
Speaker 1: our home into a stage and sold tickets to strangers.
Speaker 1: He grout for my hand, I jerked it away. For
Speaker 1: a long, suffocating minute, we stared across the table, twin
Speaker 1: points of mutual ruin. Neither of us spoke, neither of
Speaker 1: us blinked. Finally, I stood, stacking the folder, the physical
Speaker 1: evidence of my own humiliation. You need to leave to night.
Speaker 1: I don't care where you go. He nodded, and done
Speaker 1: in a way I'd never seen. I'll pack a bag,
Speaker 1: he whispered, and turned away, shoulders heaving. The silence that
Speaker 1: followed felt like the echo of something old being shattered.
Speaker 1: I watched Mark disappear into the bedroom and heard Dresser
Speaker 1: draws open and close the zip of his bag, his
Speaker 1: breath hitching in fits. A pang of six sympathy flared,
Speaker 1: but collapsed under the weight of everything. In the living room,
Speaker 1: the faint scent of silantro from last night's dinner still
Speaker 1: hung in the air, clashing with the chemical tang of
Speaker 1: lemon clender. When he came out, he didn't look at me,
Speaker 1: just set his keys on the counter and paused, like
Speaker 1: he wanted to say something else. I stared past him.
Speaker 1: He waited, then slipped out the door, which stud itcha
Speaker 1: behind him. The sound plane and absolute The hallway was quiet,
Speaker 1: my phone buzzing only once, a message from Mark breaking
Speaker 1: through my block, simply saying I'm so sorry. I know
Speaker 1: it's too late. I turned off the screen, refusing the
Speaker 1: loop of his apology. I pulled up Ashley's number and cold.
Speaker 1: After several rings, she picked up, her voice, tentative. I
Speaker 1: didn't bother with preambles. How long did you know? I asked.
Speaker 1: She was silent, then confess for shaking. She'd guess for weeks,
Speaker 1: maybe months, and rationalized her silence. I didn't want to
Speaker 1: betray you, Anna, I just I thought he'd come clean.
Speaker 1: I'm so sorry. My reply was brief and raw. I
Speaker 1: needed you to pick me goodbye, ash I hum up, shivering.
Speaker 1: I texted Raphael, Brian and Natalie, telling them simply, I
Speaker 1: know what's been happening. I'm stepping away. Please don't reach
Speaker 1: out unless there's something I need to know. I left
Speaker 1: the group chat, the thread dissolving instantly. By the time
Speaker 1: the Knight's little, the apartment felt calvenus. The corners hiding
Speaker 1: shadows were tress. Once lived, I opened my email to
Speaker 1: find a message from Mark subject line blanc the body
Speaker 1: of babble of apologies and explanations. I deleted it on read.
Speaker 1: I gathered my things, a change of clothes, charger favorites,
Speaker 1: cuff into a tote. I couldn't spend another night breathing
Speaker 1: the same air. I texted a friend from work, Saborena,
Speaker 1: asking if I could crash on her couch. She responded instantly,
Speaker 1: of course, doors o wine chilling. I set the board
Speaker 1: Gamesmark Love Most into a bag for donation, pausing only once,
Speaker 1: fingers lingering on the battered code name's box. The apartment
Speaker 1: looked stripped even before I left, a memorial to happiness
Speaker 1: that had never really belonged to me. I scanned the
Speaker 1: room one last time before turning off the lights, pausing
Speaker 1: to straighten a coaster and realign a chair. I hesitated
Speaker 1: at the shelf, then packed away the last stray game piece,
Speaker 1: the green tower Mark always reserved for himself. Vag Slung
Speaker 1: over my shoulder, I stepped into the hallway, pulling the
Speaker 1: door shut behind me until it clicks off the final
Speaker 1: In the near dark, I returned inside one last time,
Speaker 1: standing in the echoing hush of the living room. The
Speaker 1: place where Richells died was suddenly a blank waiting space.
Speaker 1: I set the apartment key on the console table, the
Speaker 1: small weight of it, deliberate and clean, a sign to
Speaker 1: myself of leaving what had broken behind. I pressed the
Speaker 1: key flat against the wood, listening to its faint scrape,
Speaker 1: and stood a moving for a full minute, ladding the
Speaker 1: details of the room eve in this island stubb an
Speaker 1: air draw taut around me, in nut suspended hush. Every
Speaker 1: surface felt haunted by the after image of what we'd
Speaker 1: built and of the people I thought we'd become. I
Speaker 1: finally stepped out, shutting the door behind me, a lass,
Speaker 1: decisive time, shutting in the echo chamber of secrets. The
Speaker 1: hallway silence hit differently, no soft music from a neighborer,
Speaker 1: no hum of the elevator. Everything felt exceled. I took
Speaker 1: the stairs, clutching my toe as if it might ballast me.
Speaker 1: In the lobby, I saw my reflection bone tired and smudged,
Speaker 1: but unmistakably myself. The dorman, eyes flicking up from his phone,
Speaker 1: started to nod a greeting. Then took him my overnight
Speaker 1: bag and the set of my jawn simply offered a
Speaker 1: quiet good night, Ms. Lyons the courtesy stone. I must
Speaker 1: have looked like a woman escaping a fire. She soaked
Speaker 1: herself outside coldwind, brush up the avenue. I let it
Speaker 1: hit my cheeks, drawing out a little real, feeling, painful, bracing.
Speaker 1: It'd be a long walk to Sabrinus if I didn't
Speaker 1: call a car, but I needed the time and distance
Speaker 1: to drain the residual venom, to organize my shock into movement.
Speaker 1: My phone buzzed with a series of notifications, Mark's apology,
Speaker 1: lingering or off ile, reacting in the group chat with
Speaker 1: a single broken hearted emoji, Ashley attempting to call three
Speaker 1: tries in quick succession. I turned the phone to silent, then,
Speaker 1: after a mad urge to smash it against the lamp post,
Speaker 1: shoved it deep into my coat pocket. My feet felt numb,
Speaker 1: partly from the stones in my butts, partly from exhaustion.
Speaker 1: But I made myself walk block after block through the
Speaker 1: erratic oornge chase of city lights. Every sol window reflected
Speaker 1: the impossible truth. I wasn't going home Somewhere. Mark was
Speaker 1: packing his life into a borrow duffel. Our friends were
Speaker 1: probably whispering awkward condolences or showed defenses, staking out emotional
Speaker 1: territory now that the center wouldn't hold. By the time
Speaker 1: I reached sabrinas my lashes were crusted from wind and
Speaker 1: tears I hadn't meant to let pass. She hugged me
Speaker 1: at the door with her usual ful fright warmth led
Speaker 1: me into her tiny living room, where a bottle of
Speaker 1: wine and a two large glass waited on the table.
Speaker 1: I didn't have the words yet, so she filled the
Speaker 1: silence with simple hospitality, and I was grateful. The next
Speaker 1: morning broke Ali and I hitch my body, springing awake
Speaker 1: before dawn for and catch pitching my back into its
Speaker 1: own apology. Outside the window, traffic built gradually indifferent to
Speaker 1: my dismantled life. I doze and end up the steady
Speaker 1: buzz of Sabrina's morning routine, rising and falling around me
Speaker 1: her gentle checkpoints, sleep at all or coffee. I didn't
Speaker 1: tell her the whole story, only enough forered mentary details
Speaker 1: to raw a boundary. There'd been a betrayal, a deep
Speaker 1: one mark was gone, and I couldn't go back. That
Speaker 1: was enough for now. Within hours, reality began bleeding through
Speaker 1: the seams. My in books swelled with full out test,
Speaker 1: apartment manager note about good tenancy concerns, and automated reminder
Speaker 1: of the upcoming rent deer. A single sympathetic email from
Speaker 1: Brian so carefully worded it made me want to laugh
Speaker 1: and cry at once while I messaged it, he would
Speaker 1: always be in my corner, whatever side. That was a
Speaker 1: text so indirected it both infuriated and hardened me. Ashley,
Speaker 1: more persistent than the others, sent a voice memo I
Speaker 1: barely dare blay when I finally listened her voices, raw, apologetic, stuck.
Speaker 1: I kept thinking he'd come clean, Anna. I told myself,
Speaker 1: if he didn't, maybe I could tell you, or maybe
Speaker 1: you deserve the chance to have it all come out
Speaker 1: another way. But I see now, I was just paralyzed.
Speaker 1: I wanted to keep everyone, and I kept no one.
Speaker 1: I am so sorry her self. Indebtment arrived too late
Speaker 1: to matter. Mark, for his part, flooded my inbox with
Speaker 1: diomed overtures. A string of messages grew more desperate, tripping
Speaker 1: over themselves with self justification and apology. The first few
Speaker 1: repenitent essays trying to explain the whole in me. I
Speaker 1: never showed you the friction between wanting discovery and creaving safety.
Speaker 1: The last one was blunt, almost incoherent. If I couldn't
Speaker 1: pick everything, I would I know that's not possible. I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: I hope some day you can forgive me, if not
Speaker 1: for my sake, then for yours. I deleted them all
Speaker 1: and read after skim in the first sentences for practical details.
Speaker 1: Nothing about needing the apartment, no mention of anything urgent.
Speaker 1: The bottom had dropped out. There was nothing left to
Speaker 1: pause between us except logistics, and I couldn't bring myself
Speaker 1: to care about those. Yet. Sabrina, tatful as ever, offered space,
Speaker 1: warm and no advice. Later that day, the practicality snapped
Speaker 1: back into folks, the dull, carnal needs of modern grief.
Speaker 1: I had to gather a few more things from the apartment.
Speaker 1: Saverna volunteered to come, but I refused. I returned alone,
Speaker 1: letting myself in through door that now belonged to neither
Speaker 1: of us. Mark's shoes were gone from the front closet,
Speaker 1: his favorite todyover's eyes and periwinkle was missing from the hook.
Speaker 1: The f felt overly still, the usual such as cleaners
Speaker 1: and faded into the dusty air. Emptied dodor, I moved
Speaker 1: through the space, silently, gattering what I'd come for, my
Speaker 1: workbooks afoldo with taxi, the batted flask my mother had
Speaker 1: given me for my thirtieth birthday. I paused at the bookshelf,
Speaker 1: finger tips grazing the spines. Each won a momento from
Speaker 1: a trip at dinner party A sheared afternoon, I debated
Speaker 1: taking down the framed blueprints in the hallway, but left them.
Speaker 1: There were evidence in memory and art, but they now
Speaker 1: belonged to our pass, no longer fit for my present.
Speaker 1: As I finished, my phone vibrated a new email, subject line,
Speaker 1: game night update NAT only this time, Hey, all things
Speaker 1: are weird, but if anyone needs a save spot, our
Speaker 1: place is open. No drama, just games. The thread that
Speaker 1: had once tied everyone together now pink with uncertainty and
Speaker 1: a nervous kind of hopefulness. Some offers of comfort, some
Speaker 1: attempts at neutrality, some just silence. I closed the laptop,
Speaker 1: unplugged my charger, and set it beside my totes, oveying
Speaker 1: the living room. On last time, lights splintered across the
Speaker 1: board game shelf. The batted Codenain's box, perched on top
Speaker 1: a silent relic. For a moment, my hand hovered over
Speaker 1: it and urged to hell. It scattered the cards across
Speaker 1: the floor to make the damage visible, but instead I
Speaker 1: placed it quietly in the bag for donation, then turned
Speaker 1: to the windows to absorb a sliver of the city
Speaker 1: outside the motion, sand and mess, the world that continued turning.
Speaker 1: I left without locking, the door, marks still at keys,
Speaker 1: the lock still set to the old rhythm. My exit
Speaker 1: was neither triumphant nor tragic, just precise, deliberate, a muscle
Speaker 1: memory of leaving a space that was once safe. In
Speaker 1: the elevator, I smoothed my hair with one palm, knuckles
Speaker 1: still rolled from clutching too hard. For days, news trickled
Speaker 1: through our friend grew vied digital channels, word of what
Speaker 1: had happened, each recounting partial truth, some extending support, others
Speaker 1: retreating in self protection or discomfort. I responded only as necessary. Yes,
Speaker 1: I was safe. No, I would not be returning to
Speaker 1: the group chat. Yes, my heart was broken, but I
Speaker 1: didn't require their pity. I would not become the pain
Speaker 1: center of anyone's sympathy gesture, nor the reminder of collective cowardice. Instead,
Speaker 1: I decided on one final note. That evening, from Sabarina's apartment,
Speaker 1: I drafted a message and sent it not only to
Speaker 1: the five who had been closest, but to the whole
Speaker 1: extended whip of our Thursday group, the ones who sometimes
Speaker 1: drifted and end out, the acquaintances who had wandered through
Speaker 1: our living room and laughed at Mark's quips. I wrote,
Speaker 1: you all know by now what's happened, or know enough.
Speaker 1: I'm stepping away from our old rituals and from the
Speaker 1: people who made silence a weapon. Please respect that I
Speaker 1: wish you well, but I am not available for reconciliation,
Speaker 1: debate or explanation. I hope you treat your next host better.
Speaker 1: After I hit send a weight I hadn't realized I
Speaker 1: was carrying, lifted just slightly. I blocked the group text,
Speaker 1: locked out of the showed Google calendar, and deleted the
Speaker 1: forteo folders that still showed marks smiles stretched wide beside
Speaker 1: my own. I keep what I wanted. If my chosen
Speaker 1: family could be rebuilt or replaced, but not salvage from
Speaker 1: this wreck. Night settled again, heavy with the strangeness of
Speaker 1: waking you rally alone. I let myself sob for exactly
Speaker 1: five minutes, then washed my face and set to cleaning
Speaker 1: up my things, e mails, files, the last dregs of
Speaker 1: sentimental communications. I send a single message to my parents,
Speaker 1: asking only for a phone call later that week. I
Speaker 1: needed quite more than comfort. A knock at Soprinas door
Speaker 1: jolted me half way through the process. She appeared with
Speaker 1: a mug of tea and a look that asked nothing.
Speaker 1: We sat together, companionable but silent, and told the mug emptied,
Speaker 1: and my head drooped with exhaustion. I realized with a
Speaker 1: small start that I could sleep as long as I liked,
Speaker 1: wake on my own scheduled, choose every rich from scratch
Speaker 1: if I wanted that realization too. Burned with a sadness
Speaker 1: that felt almost clean, I dreamed that night of endless
Speaker 1: hallways and disappearing doors, and of mine own voice calling
Speaker 1: a number no one answered. When I woke, the sun
Speaker 1: slanted across my borrowed bed, and the world was different
Speaker 1: and fixed but possible. As the days stretched jaggedly ahead,
Speaker 1: I moved through the basic motions of survival, work, errands,
Speaker 1: the occasional force meal people reached out less and less,
Speaker 1: the story of Mark's deception already fading into background chatter.
Speaker 1: I kept to myself, trusting the bruce center with knit
Speaker 1: eventually or at least bruised to deeper, bearable color. And
Speaker 1: when it came time to finally formally let go, I
Speaker 1: returned to our apartment, to my apartment for the last time,
Speaker 1: walking in, slowly letting the hush press close. As I
Speaker 1: surveyed the last debris of our life together. I stirred
Speaker 1: at the edge of the living room, beside the board
Speaker 1: game chef that had survived every call and donation, hands
Speaker 1: resting on the battered cardboard boxes, stat with their own
Speaker 1: private history. For a while, I just looked at the space,
Speaker 1: the faint indentations in the rug where friends had sat,
Speaker 1: the odds scuffs on the skirting board, the little MOUs
Speaker 1: of hard won happiness and bitter discovery, the laughter, the
Speaker 1: bright rituals and marks voice ferting through every shadow, all
Speaker 1: that was gone or moving on to haunt some one else.
Speaker 1: I packed away my favorite game, careful with each piece.
Speaker 1: The room emptied of noise, and what filled it instead
Speaker 1: was a steadiness. I hadn't owned, but could now choose.
Speaker 1: I gathered the final things I intended to keep straight
Speaker 1: in my jacket, and left the shulful little bearer but mine.
Speaker 1: I locked the door behind me, setting the key down
Speaker 1: on the table, with the fine old gentleness, stepping out
Speaker 1: of that home and that life would the knowledge that
Speaker 1: what I built next would be for me alone, And
Speaker 1: that is the end. Thank you for listening, and I
Speaker 1: will see you in the next one.