Speaker 1: The knife is probably overcal for soft cheese, but it's
Speaker 1: one of those Friday evenings when presentation feels like all
Speaker 1: there is. I'm slicing triple cream brie into meticulous triangles,
Speaker 1: arranging them between walnuts and quartered figs. One more round
Speaker 1: tray on a kitchen island littered with olives, race bottle sweats,
Speaker 1: staccato texts from our group chat popping up on my phone,
Speaker 1: the splash of sunset against the condo's west facing glass.
Speaker 1: The prep is calming. I can almost believe everything is normal,
Speaker 1: that I'm just annoyed about the late start and not
Speaker 1: existentially uneasy. Six thirty The first ring at the door,
Speaker 1: Jamie and Priya, arms laden with wine and the same
Speaker 1: brand of artisanal crackers we always end up mocking for
Speaker 1: being more air than biscuit. We greet with the usual
Speaker 1: exhaustion laden hugs, a shared empathy for everyone's week. I
Speaker 1: nearly don't look at my phone nearly, but there there
Speaker 1: it is Michael's name. The teltal bars stuck at rehearsal. Sorry, babe,
Speaker 1: love you save me a glass. I stare at the message,
Speaker 1: my thumb hovering in the background. Jamie is laughing because
Speaker 1: Prias claimed Michael's usual spot on the arm chair, sprawling
Speaker 1: as if rehearsing to be him. They notice my pause
Speaker 1: at the text I'm about to make a joke, something
Speaker 1: about actors taking themselves too seriously, but the words catch
Speaker 1: He's not coming. Pria's concern is gently edged. He messaged,
Speaker 1: got held up again. I reply light as I can,
Speaker 1: which for me sounds like I'm reading off a checklist.
Speaker 1: We slide into small talk. Well, they try food a
Speaker 1: Netflix dock. Someone half watched Pria's new boss, Jamie's laundry disaster.
Speaker 1: But there's a stiffness, like my friends are over smiling
Speaker 1: every time Michael comes up his fantasy basketball league, the
Speaker 1: time he photo bombed Jamie's engagement shoot. Someone subtly re
Speaker 1: roots the subject, complaining about traffic, showing memes. I'm used
Speaker 1: to being the fixed point in our group seven years.
Speaker 1: Olivia and Michael, the dependable pair, the anchor friends. My
Speaker 1: husband is supposed to sweep in late play, charming host,
Speaker 1: refill everyone's glasses with a grin that insists on dessert
Speaker 1: at midnight to night. The energy is what muted jittery
Speaker 1: when Jamie starts stacking plates. Half Way through the meal,
Speaker 1: I overhear Priyer in the kitchen, her voice low. Well,
Speaker 1: at least he's found something he loves. There's a silence,
Speaker 1: then an awkward laugh. I have no idea who she's
Speaker 1: talking to. I can't see, but the words stick to
Speaker 1: me as I scrape plates, red sauce and fig flesh
Speaker 1: smeared and abandoned. Everything half eaten loves. Michael always dragged
Speaker 1: his feet to anything resembling culture. The one time we
Speaker 1: saw a musical he complained about overacting and jazz hands
Speaker 1: for the next week. Wander back into the open living area,
Speaker 1: cradling a tray. I should let it go, but something buzzes,
Speaker 1: restless as a trapped gnat behind my ribs. Since when
Speaker 1: does Michael love theater? It feels staged, almost the swipe
Speaker 1: from evening brightness to suspicion. Of course, most marriages run
Speaker 1: on routines, but ours always lived on running jokes. The
Speaker 1: first time we met a gallery opening, I attended because
Speaker 1: my office mate bilaid he was there for networking too.
Speaker 1: He'd been dumped for a mature filmmaker and had a
Speaker 1: vendetta against installation art. I liked how He made fun
Speaker 1: of everything, including himself, and how quickly he dropped the
Speaker 1: act when we snuck outside for air then kebabs. He
Speaker 1: spent the whole night ribbing gallery people and offering me
Speaker 1: pieces of Peter, like we'd always been on the same team.
Speaker 1: It worked for us. Michael's mouthy pragmatism and my steady calm.
Speaker 1: I do details. He does impressions, jumping from idea to idea,
Speaker 1: never letting anything get too sick. He hated artsy stuff,
Speaker 1: always said it was self indulgent. At our wedding, all
Speaker 1: our friends roasted us with stories about his total rejection
Speaker 1: of culture, his obsession with live sports, and how most
Speaker 1: of his wardrobe was branded Polos. We built our routines carefully.
Speaker 1: Friday nights here at the condo, friends every other weekend,
Speaker 1: Jim on Wednesdays, lazy Sundays with takeout and architectural digest spreads.
Speaker 1: No one read. We made time date nights, foundations. If
Speaker 1: you'd asked two months ago, I would have said Michael's
Speaker 1: devotion to me was his defining trait. It's a badge
Speaker 1: among our circle. My friends both roll their eyes and
Speaker 1: turn misty whenever he sets up an impromptu picnic on
Speaker 1: a rooftop, or brings me coffee at my desk. Maybe
Speaker 1: I struggled more with insecurity. I'm the practical one, the
Speaker 1: one with a spreadsheet for everything, the one who stashes
Speaker 1: away money, asks about cholesterol, fixes leaky forcets instead of
Speaker 1: calling building maintenance next time. Michael's bright burned charisma. I
Speaker 1: sometimes worried about being invisible. I used to laugh off
Speaker 1: his flirtations with flashier women at work parties, but never
Speaker 1: quite believed I'd keep his attention forever. I suppose I
Speaker 1: convinced myself he didn't want flash, just steadiness, someone who'd
Speaker 1: always come home. Things changed by degree. I first noticed
Speaker 1: when he mentioned the theater group. Two months ago, his
Speaker 1: boss volunteered him to help with ticket sales for a
Speaker 1: company sponsored amateur troupe. Within two weeks, Michael had been
Speaker 1: roped into rehearsals. One of the leads dropped out, he said,
Speaker 1: and they needed a guy who could fake not caring
Speaker 1: about Shakespeare. His texts became flecked with injoke references to
Speaker 1: theatre tropes, posts about the magic of team work, never
Speaker 1: about the play itself. He'd stay late, then come home
Speaker 1: light as air, telling elaborate stories about havoc in improv.
Speaker 1: Then he started skipping our Friday dinners altogether. The first
Speaker 1: time he apologized profure usely. They sprung new blocking on
Speaker 1: us last minute. I'm so sorry. Next week I'll cook.
Speaker 1: The second time he sent a pithy text rehearsal again,
Speaker 1: love you. Third time, barely a wave of explanation. The
Speaker 1: pattern was unmistakable. He never wanted to talk specifics. It's embarrassing, babe,
Speaker 1: and the worst on stage. You'd see me in file
Speaker 1: for divorce. He'd smile, but it felt distracted. Any time
Speaker 1: I pressed the play's name, the cast, even which theater
Speaker 1: he was using, he'd dodge. It's just the church basement, downtown,
Speaker 1: tiny place you'd be bored, always laughing, always steering me
Speaker 1: towards safer ground. Tried, God knows. I tried to tell
Speaker 1: myself this was me being controlling. I'd stand at the
Speaker 1: window after he left, glass of wine in hand and
Speaker 1: force myself to be the cool wife, independent, supportive, not
Speaker 1: the jealous sitcom cliche. Still, each time his phone sat
Speaker 1: on the counter, dark and silent, I'd find myself glancing
Speaker 1: just to see if the theory group was as all consuming
Speaker 1: as he claimed. For a guy who spent most waking
Speaker 1: moments broadcasting his life online, the quiet was jarring. No
Speaker 1: cast selfies, no stories, no tagged rehearsals. Nothing. One night,
Speaker 1: while folding laundry, I caught myself opening his Instagram, scrolling
Speaker 1: all the way back through his feed. Not a single reference,
Speaker 1: no mutual follows with any one from the theater group.
Speaker 1: I felt petty, almost childish, getting hung up on internet footprints?
Speaker 1: Was I really this possessive? Was I manufacturing tension out
Speaker 1: of thin air? And yet the feeling persisted, and all
Speaker 1: so persistent. It curled up with me at night, refusing
Speaker 1: to be reasoned into nothing. My friend's circle, once a
Speaker 1: reliable buffer for doubt, started offering more questions than comfort.
Speaker 1: Praya texted me after yoga one week, saw Michael at
Speaker 1: Kismet late. Was that a cast thing? He was with
Speaker 1: someone redhead cute, looked deep in convojoining him after rehearsal.
Speaker 1: I read the text twice. The last time I saw
Speaker 1: Michael's rehearsal schedule, they finished at nine, not after ten
Speaker 1: like last night. I replied, Probably theater drinks. Weird crowd, right,
Speaker 1: Priyer answered with a shrug emoji and a picture of cupcakes,
Speaker 1: nothing more. I sat with that for ten minutes, willing
Speaker 1: myself not to care. Then I found myself trying to
Speaker 1: recall had Michael ever mentioned a cast mate who fit
Speaker 1: Prior's description. I combed through our last few conversations, mentally
Speaker 1: replaying every dropped anecdote. The only name I remembered was
Speaker 1: the director, a man in his fifties. Maybe I'd missed something.
Speaker 1: I brought up the subject that evening casual as I
Speaker 1: could manage, as Michael was changing into jogging pants, Priya,
Speaker 1: saw you at Kismet last night? Which cast mate was
Speaker 1: the redhead? For an instant so quickly I almost missed it.
Speaker 1: He paused hoody half way over his head. Then he laughed,
Speaker 1: that's Cassie. She's hilarious. Total theater nerd into improv. We
Speaker 1: were talking lines. He darted to the fridge, You want
Speaker 1: green tea? Or are you still on your water cleanse?
Speaker 1: I let it go, but I watched his hands shake
Speaker 1: as he poured the water. I told myself, he just
Speaker 1: hates being teased about theater. I tried harder to be supportive.
Speaker 1: Later that week, I offered to swing by rehearsal and
Speaker 1: drop off snacks. Actors work best when they're fed, right,
Speaker 1: I joked. Michael hesitated just slightly, then forced brightness. No visitors,
Speaker 1: it's kind of a director's rule. We're supposed to be
Speaker 1: building group trust with no outsiders. But thanks. He kissed me,
Speaker 1: but his jaw was tight. Next morning, as I was
Speaker 1: sorting work emails, I noticed an unread message request in
Speaker 1: my Facebook inbox. No profil picture, first name only, not
Speaker 1: someone I recognized. I opened it. Might want to ask
Speaker 1: Michael about the car after parties, friendly advice, no punctuation,
Speaker 1: no signature. The time stamp was from midnight. I took
Speaker 1: a screen shot, then, embarrassed deleted it. Why would someone
Speaker 1: send that? Was it just a prank? Someone misdirected a message.
Speaker 1: I tried not to read into it, but my heart
Speaker 1: rate was pinging. The next weekend, Michael's phone buzzed just
Speaker 1: as he showered before heading out for notes and blocking.
Speaker 1: I saw the preview on the lock screen, Miss you
Speaker 1: already x Cass. He came out towel drying his hair.
Speaker 1: I kept my voice light. Cass S missing you already.
Speaker 1: Big theater romance, ha he blinked, then recovered fast group chat.
Speaker 1: She's always sending weird memes. Wait, look, he scrolled through
Speaker 1: a chat labeled act I Misfits, showing me a cover
Speaker 1: photo of a dog in a crown and a stream
Speaker 1: of dumb jokes. There was no X in sight. Too
Speaker 1: much or exactly enough, he smiled. See grown adults reduced
Speaker 1: to theater camp vibes. Sorry, you've got the boring spouse.
Speaker 1: He put his phone away so quickly I almost didn't
Speaker 1: notice screen pressed tightly to his chest as he crossed
Speaker 1: to the bedroom. That evening, alone in our glowing kitchen,
Speaker 1: I scrolled through our credit card bills as an act
Speaker 1: of self soothing. If this was a phase spending more
Speaker 1: socializing differently, I'd see it right. What I found made
Speaker 1: my fingers go cold. I end restaurants too in neighborhoods
Speaker 1: we rarely visited, both expensive enough to be special occasions
Speaker 1: for us charges on Thursday nights and again on Mondays.
Speaker 1: Ebers across the city, well outside his supposed rehearsal spaces,
Speaker 1: sometimes at midnight. None of this matched up with anything
Speaker 1: in our shared eye cow. I could picture his face,
Speaker 1: semi bored, semi mischievous, as he'd explained away big mysterious
Speaker 1: charges before client took the check. I put the drinks
Speaker 1: on my card. He'll venmow me later. But these weren't
Speaker 1: one offs. This was a pattern. I wanted desperately to
Speaker 1: be wrong. Maybe he'd hit a new client dinner streak.
Speaker 1: Maybe theater was his way of socializing now that work
Speaker 1: had shifted remote. I told myself for years that Michael
Speaker 1: didn't have privacy, that we lived out loud, shared everything.
Speaker 1: But I had changed too. Maybe I was policing him unfairly,
Speaker 1: clamping down because his new life was strange to me.
Speaker 1: But there were new rituals. Michael suddenly preening before group outings,
Speaker 1: ironing shirts, changing cologne, spiking his hair just so, asking
Speaker 1: my opinion, then ignoring it. He wore one of his
Speaker 1: date night watches to rehearsal. I observed him watching himself
Speaker 1: in reflective windows. He always said, you're overthinking, Let me
Speaker 1: have this. But he wouldn't let me in, not even
Speaker 1: a little. One Thursday, as we passed in the kitchen
Speaker 1: before he left, my hand brushed his shirt. That's new,
Speaker 1: he smiled, too. Sharp gift from the cast you like
Speaker 1: it's bold. I tried to make it light inside. I
Speaker 1: cataloged bright blue, unfamiliar sleeves, rolled up to show off
Speaker 1: his arms. He barely said good bye, and the door
Speaker 1: closed too hard. When I pressed a bit too much,
Speaker 1: sliding a little closer to accusation, he turned defensive fast.
Speaker 1: Can I have something that's just mine? He snapped some
Speaker 1: edge I barely recognized in his tone. You drill me
Speaker 1: like I'm cheating at monopoly, Olivia. I wish you'd just
Speaker 1: be happy for me for once. It's strung. I tried
Speaker 1: to walk it back, apologizing, trying to explain that I
Speaker 1: only wanted to share, but he'd retreated. Face closed, hurrying
Speaker 1: out for his call time. For the first time, I
Speaker 1: called Jamie, hoping her dry humor would steady me. Does
Speaker 1: Michael seem different to you lately? I asked, voice lower
Speaker 1: than I intended. Jamie hesitated, He's Michael, always charming, probably
Speaker 1: just caught the theater bug new people. You know he
Speaker 1: can't do anything by halves. If you're worried about something,
Speaker 1: just say so. I wanted to, but something in Jamie's
Speaker 1: tone set my teeth on edge. Too fast, too polished.
Speaker 1: I let it drop. The next day, Michael surprised me
Speaker 1: with flowers, bright gaudy tulips spring for my spring. He
Speaker 1: held out tickets, a grin stretching across his face. Come
Speaker 1: see my disaster dress rehearsal. I owe you a night out,
Speaker 1: don't I. It was what I thought I needed, visible
Speaker 1: public proof for a brief, disorienting second. I let myself hope,
Speaker 1: I let myself want to be overreacting. The night of
Speaker 1: the rehearsal, I wore a dress that always got compliments.
Speaker 1: Our euber was quiet. Michael fidgeted with his phone, texting
Speaker 1: cast mates, you'll love Cassie by the way. She's a riot.
Speaker 1: His words were measured, almost too casual. The theater, such
Speaker 1: as it was, was a church basement with wheezing radiators,
Speaker 1: temporary plywood set, a cast barely keeping it together. Cassie
Speaker 1: the Redhead was charismatic, loud. She greeted Michael with an
Speaker 1: exaggerated Curtsey, then hugged me, arms warm, conspiratorial. He's talked
Speaker 1: about nothing but you since day one, she said to me,
Speaker 1: teasing but fond. She made a few jokes at her
Speaker 1: own expense. She even called Michael brother Michael in some
Speaker 1: theater in joke way and made fun of his lack
Speaker 1: of rhythm. I watched the play. It was amateur, a
Speaker 1: little cringy, but the mood backstage cast, calling out to
Speaker 1: each other, trading snacks, passing around lint rollers and extra
Speaker 1: bobby pins felt plausibly benign. If there had been something there,
Speaker 1: I couldn't see it. Michael seemed nervous, but in the
Speaker 1: way of a guy wanting to impress his wife. He
Speaker 1: flubbed his lines, pulled a face, made everyone, including me laugh.
Speaker 1: For three days after the air was gentler. At home,
Speaker 1: Michael cooked dinner, made plans for date nights, even skipped
Speaker 1: a rehearsal because we need us time. For a few days,
Speaker 1: my faith returned. The embarrassing panic I had felt was
Speaker 1: just that my anxiety, my unwillingness to let Michael have
Speaker 1: something for himself. I tried to believe it. On Thursday morning,
Speaker 1: I opened my email over coffee and found a mistake,
Speaker 1: the sort that makes time slow down. Michael's email was
Speaker 1: set up on my phone for calendar invites. I saw
Speaker 1: a new message in his inbox, subject line, thank you
Speaker 1: for your stay the body, thank you for booking with
Speaker 1: urban nest ere b n B four slash eight four
Speaker 1: slash nine. Host Cassie Sullivan, Guests Cassie Sullivan, Michael Radner.
Speaker 1: I read it two times, then three, though each word
Speaker 1: imprinted itself backwards on my tongue. Ere B n B
Speaker 1: receipts are sent automatically when a stay concludes, Cassie Michael
Speaker 1: a night together. The listed address a boutique row house
Speaker 1: in South End, know whe near the theater, nowhere near
Speaker 1: any one's reasonable after party. I clicked the receipt. There
Speaker 1: it was itemized. I felt my vision narrow, the rest
Speaker 1: of the world buzzing at the corners. Everything I'd tried
Speaker 1: to rationalize uppended itself, Flowers for guilt, preening to impress,
Speaker 1: skipped dinners that weren't about the creative process. I closed
Speaker 1: the email, hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped my cup.
Speaker 1: The rational, meticulous part of my mind briefly surfaced. Tried
Speaker 1: to manufacture explanations. Maybe it was a group, Maybe he
Speaker 1: reimbursed her for the stay. Maybe, but the lies couldn't
Speaker 1: fill the empty spaces any more. I didn't touch the
Speaker 1: subject that day. I needed to know more I needed
Speaker 1: the facts laid out so clearly that even my most
Speaker 1: practical self couldn't rewrite them. Over the next few days,
Speaker 1: whenever Michael left for rehearsal, I felt the air shift,
Speaker 1: molecules rearranged. I didn't ask, and he didn't offer. He
Speaker 1: returned late and didn't crawl into bed until long after midnight,
Speaker 1: always with apologetic murmurs about cast notes, running late or
Speaker 1: grabbing late wings with the group. The next morning, feigning
Speaker 1: a forgotten charger, I started searching for more obvious evidence.
Speaker 1: Michael's laptop password hadn't changed. My hand barely trembled as
Speaker 1: I entered it, heart pulse thrumming in my ears. I
Speaker 1: clicked open the EMIL client, feeling each click bounce in
Speaker 1: my chest. What I found, thread after thread, labeled by
Speaker 1: first initials, by rewrites, by notes, wasn't definitive, not yet.
Speaker 1: The messages between Michael and Cassie, though almost vibrated with intimacy,
Speaker 1: a code switching playfulness had never seen from him, jokes
Speaker 1: about cast mates, a flurry of gifts and remember last
Speaker 1: time missives. The more direct stuff was rare, flirtatious, then
Speaker 1: eventually something that made my vision slow can't believe we
Speaker 1: risked that again, But I can't stop wanting you. Cassie's
Speaker 1: replies were sometimes full of bravado, Sometimes guilty. Can't help
Speaker 1: it feels wrong, can't say no another When do I
Speaker 1: see you? Not through a curtain of secrecy. I stopped
Speaker 1: my hand hovered over the mouse, uncertain if clicking further
Speaker 1: would kill me or free me. I realized then how
Speaker 1: little I wanted to keep going. I closed the laptop
Speaker 1: and sat on the sofa for a long while, watching
Speaker 1: the light change across our living room, bouncing soft and
Speaker 1: urgent off the art we'd hung together. The lamp, he insisted,
Speaker 1: made the space. My own brain tried to conjure alternate explanations,
Speaker 1: but the words clumped together around a central theme, this
Speaker 1: is real. Every one around me became complicit, or at
Speaker 1: least suspect by omission. I texted Priya, asking if we
Speaker 1: could meet for coffee, just us. She agreed right away,
Speaker 1: which felt like confirmation in itself. We sat in a
Speaker 1: tiny place near our old apartment. I tried to be gentle,
Speaker 1: as if I could coax the truth to be softer,
Speaker 1: if I didn't force it so about Michael and Cassie.
Speaker 1: You saw them together just once. I watched her face,
Speaker 1: the way her eyes flicked away. Priya sipped her latte,
Speaker 1: lips pressing together. I saw them a couple of times, honestly,
Speaker 1: sometimes after rehearsal or sitting in his car. Cassie's really friendly.
Speaker 1: But I got a vibe, you know. She hesitated, then added,
Speaker 1: I thought maybe you guys were working things out. You
Speaker 1: seemed quieter lately. I figured if there was anything you
Speaker 1: d tell me. Were they Did they look together? The
Speaker 1: question scratched my throat on the way out. Priya's sympathetic
Speaker 1: WinCE was answer enough. I pushed for no more details,
Speaker 1: The space between us filled with the inescapable hum of truth.
Speaker 1: That evening I called Jamie. She sounded frazzled, but I
Speaker 1: pressed harder than I had before, catching her between meetings. Jamie,
Speaker 1: I need you to be honest. Did Michael ever ask
Speaker 1: you to cover for him? Or did you know about Cassie.
Speaker 1: Jamie was quiet longer than comfort would allow. Finally, she
Speaker 1: exhaled words, tumbling, more whispered than spoken. He asked me
Speaker 1: to say I'd gone for drinks with him one night.
Speaker 1: He made it seem like it was nothing. Just didn't
Speaker 1: want you to worry about caste stuff. I thought it
Speaker 1: was just Michael being Michael. I'm sorry, Olivia, I didn't
Speaker 1: want to get involved. I hate this. I'm really sorry.
Speaker 1: A bitterness crept up, unexpected and sharp, at Jamie, at Michael,
Speaker 1: at everyone embroiled in this performance, I hung up polite
Speaker 1: in my rage, heart jackammering. My friendships no longer felt safe.
Speaker 1: Every conversation was rewritten. Later, hunger for confrontation magiced itself
Speaker 1: into my mind. Maybe Cassie needed to answer for herself.
Speaker 1: I knew the address of a cast party Michael was
Speaker 1: scheduled to attend. For thirty minutes, I sat in my
Speaker 1: car outside their rented cottage, hands gripping the steering wheel,
Speaker 1: rehearsing lines I'd never say. Then I drove home, shaking.
Speaker 1: Throughout all this, Michael never seemed to notice my absence.
Speaker 1: His routines never faltered. In fact, he grew lighter, almost relieved.
Speaker 1: The tension ratcheted up on a night I didn't expect
Speaker 1: take out dinner, me pushing lettuce around while Michael drank
Speaker 1: a beer. His phone perched, precariously, buzzed, urgently screened flashing
Speaker 1: a notification. I glanced before he could flip the phone over.
Speaker 1: I wish it was you beside me to night. He
Speaker 1: moved to pocket the phone, stumbled, and the phone skittered
Speaker 1: across the table toward me. For a moment, everything stopped.
Speaker 1: He watched my face as I read. I looked up
Speaker 1: at him, waiting, not even knowing which approach would force
Speaker 1: the truth. Soonest he laughed, but it was brittle strained. Cassie,
Speaker 1: she's got a show to night. Total drama queen. It's
Speaker 1: a cast thing, inside joke, she texts. Everyone does she?
Speaker 1: I asked, voice flat. He shrugged, You know, theater people
Speaker 1: over the top. She means nothing. He wouldn't meet my eyes.
Speaker 1: The next day, I changed every password I could think of,
Speaker 1: stashed cash in my sock drawer, and started making notes dates, places, expenditures.
Speaker 1: It felt both shameful and quietly empowering, like I was
Speaker 1: regaining control over the manuscript of my own life. I
Speaker 1: started observing his theater friends, the small ensemble of artists
Speaker 1: and techys I only ever saw fleetingly. They'd stopped inviting
Speaker 1: me to group outings when I did show up once
Speaker 1: at a pretty cafe after a Saturday matinee. They'd smile, thinly,
Speaker 1: make forced small talk, then scatter the minute Michael walked away,
Speaker 1: I was a ghost in my own orbit. At home,
Speaker 1: nights grew colder. We went from joking about messy rooms
Speaker 1: and bills to near silence at dinner, a brittle politeness
Speaker 1: that tasted of truce, not comfort. Michael looked through me,
Speaker 1: not at me. Worse, I found myself pretending as well,
Speaker 1: laughing at jokes. I barely heard responding to how was
Speaker 1: your day? With autopilot answers in the mornings, he'd begone
Speaker 1: before sunrise, texts promising he'd make it up next week,
Speaker 1: always just out of reach. The place felt emptier, his
Speaker 1: presence a bruise, not a comfort. My mother called to
Speaker 1: invite us to a family event. I made an excuse
Speaker 1: for Michael, the first of our marriage. She didn't press
Speaker 1: for details, but something in her voice told me she
Speaker 1: sensed my strain. I felt nauseous for the rest of
Speaker 1: the day, aware for the first time just how profoundly
Speaker 1: alone I was, even surrounded by evidence of everything we'd built.
Speaker 1: By week's end, I was barely sleeping. I'd lie awake
Speaker 1: and run mental calculations on how long it would take
Speaker 1: me to pack up, how much notice I'd need to
Speaker 1: give at work before taking time off, whether or not
Speaker 1: I could to tell Priya the whole truth. Several times
Speaker 1: I found myself tempted to simply confront Michael flat out,
Speaker 1: but there was always something unresolved. A dinner he'd already
Speaker 1: promised to cook, a Friday plan with friends, an imagined
Speaker 1: apology just around the corner. Each time, I'd talk myself
Speaker 1: out of it, bargaining with fate for more time, more certainty.
Speaker 1: I grew increasingly painfully aware of everything at stake, every mug,
Speaker 1: every set of keys, every photograph on the wall, decisions made,
Speaker 1: life built, years spent. The cost of the truth would
Speaker 1: be monumental. The realization strung even as I scraped for facts.
Speaker 1: I wanted to be wrong, to find a sliver of
Speaker 1: possibility beneath the rotting surface. But I knew, deep down
Speaker 1: the curtain on this act was closing, whether I was
Speaker 1: ready to see the ending or not. The next Saturday,
Speaker 1: voices echoed through the hall outside our condo, our neighbor's
Speaker 1: dog barking, the metallic clang of someone dragging a suit case,
Speaker 1: I stood in the kitchen, peering at our coffee maker
Speaker 1: as if it might offer advice. The clock blinked ten
Speaker 1: twenty one. Michael should have been home by now. The
Speaker 1: schedule taped above our calendar, His scribbled black marker over
Speaker 1: my blue fine tip read sat full, run through nine twelve,
Speaker 1: Maybe brunch twelve thirty came and went. I ran a
Speaker 1: load of towels, checked my in box, texted pre and
Speaker 1: nothing of substance, and tried to focus on an article
Speaker 1: for work. Every few minutes a microburst of panic. Would
Speaker 1: it be weirder to call him? Was I being the
Speaker 1: nag knocking on her husband's locked office door. Finally I
Speaker 1: hit call, Three rings, then his voicemail, the breezy, bad
Speaker 1: British accent greeting he'd recorded for a joke but never replaced.
Speaker 1: I hung up, walking circles through the living room. A
Speaker 1: message came two minutes later. Sorry, Babe, ran long, getting
Speaker 1: food with the group. Won't be too late, I typed,
Speaker 1: a smiling face, fingers stiff. When the knock sounded at
Speaker 1: one thirty, I leapt to answer, heart in my throat,
Speaker 1: But it was just our neighbor dropping off a package
Speaker 1: Michael had signed for yesterday when I hadn't seen, addressed
Speaker 1: to him a luxury men's shop label on the front. Later,
Speaker 1: I brought it up over a late lunch, determined to
Speaker 1: sound off hand you get something from Channing and Row.
Speaker 1: Kendra dropped it off. This afternoon, Michael was already half
Speaker 1: way through his sandwich. Eyes on his phone. He barely
Speaker 1: looked up Oh yeah, socks for the play. I think
Speaker 1: the director is obsessed with every one looking period appropriate.
Speaker 1: Don't get me started. He put the box aside, not
Speaker 1: opening it, and never mentioned it again. I waited, expecting
Speaker 1: him to show me the way he'd once shared every
Speaker 1: minor purchase, every shirt or coffee gadget. But now it
Speaker 1: was nothing. That afternoon, we fought over almost nothing. A
Speaker 1: dish towel left on the oven handle, the wrong groceries,
Speaker 1: the fact that I'd used his favorite water glass. The
Speaker 1: real issue vibrated underneath unspeakable. He stormed out, claiming he
Speaker 1: needed to clear his head for lines alone. I wiped
Speaker 1: counters with an intensity that would have been funny had
Speaker 1: any one else seen. When he returned hours later, he
Speaker 1: was quieter, nearly contrite, sorry for earlier rehearsals just exhausting.
Speaker 1: I'm still figuring it out. He pressed his lips to
Speaker 1: my hair and held on a fraction too long. I
Speaker 1: wanted comfort desperately, but the arms around me felt borrowed
Speaker 1: from another life, one in which I believed what I
Speaker 1: was being told. On Sunday, we had brunch with Jamie
Speaker 1: and her girlfriend at a noisy neighborhood place. Michael performed
Speaker 1: as his usual self, joking about being corrupted by the
Speaker 1: theater crowd, charming the board server, making Jamie laugh so
Speaker 1: hard she nearly choked on her mimosa. For a while,
Speaker 1: even I was swept along. Most of me wanted to
Speaker 1: believe if my fears were left over anxiety, evidence of
Speaker 1: my own insecurities, trying to spoil what was, at its heart,
Speaker 1: just a husband in a new environment. As we waited
Speaker 1: for the bill, Jamie looked at Michael and said, so,
Speaker 1: are we getting comp tickets or is this a friend's
Speaker 1: pay situation. Michael winked at her, for you, I'll get
Speaker 1: you back one day when I'm famous. I chanced a
Speaker 1: question voice light, how's Cassie? Sounded like she was in
Speaker 1: every group chat. Michael didn't even blink, queen of the emojis.
Speaker 1: She organized the after party last week total disaster. He
Speaker 1: turned to Jamie, launching into an anecdote about a cast
Speaker 1: member who tried to break dance and pulled a muscle.
Speaker 1: Jamie met my gaze for just a second, something almost
Speaker 1: pleading in the look, then snapped back to the story. Outside,
Speaker 1: as we waited for our rides, Michael pulled me in,
Speaker 1: arm heavy across my shoulders. See you worry too much.
Speaker 1: It's all silly. You should come next time. The caste
Speaker 1: is obsessed with meeting the wife, but the invitation never materialized.
Speaker 1: Over the next week, he became even harder to pin down.
Speaker 1: Meetings multiplied. There was a tech run, a costume crisis,
Speaker 1: an emergency meeting for set construction vision. Every explanation came
Speaker 1: with a joke or an apology, but his smile never
Speaker 1: quite reached his eyes. My own behavior, by now felt foreign.
Speaker 1: Paranoid secretive. I started saving receipts, scribbling dates in the
Speaker 1: margins of grocery lists. I'd never known myself to keep
Speaker 1: secrets from Michael, but now my whole day orbited around
Speaker 1: his absences. Priya messaged, one afternoon, you free for coffee.
Speaker 1: I need a break from my inbox, and you sound
Speaker 1: like you do too. We met at a bakery that
Speaker 1: did tiny scones and over frothed cappuccinos. She watched me
Speaker 1: uncharacteristically hesitant. You look tired, Live everything okay? At home?
Speaker 1: I wanted to lie, could feel the words forming, but
Speaker 1: what came out instead was do you ever get the
Speaker 1: feeling you're the only one who hasn't been let in
Speaker 1: on a joke? She gave me a careful look, then
Speaker 1: squeezed my hand. If something feels off, sometimes it is.
Speaker 1: She didn't go further, and I didn't press. That night,
Speaker 1: my carefulness escalated into methodical obsession. I dug through our
Speaker 1: joint closet, found nothing unusual, checked our shared medicines for
Speaker 1: no reason except a vague suspicion that I needed to
Speaker 1: be thorough. I even checked the back of his dresser
Speaker 1: drawers for evidence, knowing how absurd it was. There were
Speaker 1: only socks and unopened button duns, all as carefully untouched
Speaker 1: as they'd always been. The Next morning, I found myself
Speaker 1: staring at Michael's laptop open and humming on our desk.
Speaker 1: I didn't touch it. Couldn't quite make myself cross that
Speaker 1: line again. Instead, I examined the browser windows visible on
Speaker 1: the screen, sports news, a Google doc labeled caste list,
Speaker 1: spring play notes, and briefly, a personal Gmail logged in,
Speaker 1: not his work email, not the address tied to our
Speaker 1: family calendar. Some part of me reasoned, if I have
Speaker 1: to look this hard, there's nothing to find, right. But
Speaker 1: another part, the part that lay wide awake every night,
Speaker 1: knew better. Two days later, I got the receipt from Priya.
Speaker 1: Coffee again. She texted on a Thursday. This time I
Speaker 1: said yes without thinking, desperate to escape my own home
Speaker 1: for even an hour. We sat in a park watching
Speaker 1: people go by. Priya fidgeted with her bracelet, finally offering.
Speaker 1: I ran into Michael again last night with Cassie again.
Speaker 1: I wish I could say it was definitely innocent, but
Speaker 1: she looked at him like she was the only one
Speaker 1: in the world. Maybe it's nothing, but I didn't want
Speaker 1: to keep it to myself. The park seemed to tip
Speaker 1: slightly under me. Thank you for telling me my voice sound,
Speaker 1: but I was gripping the edge of the bench so
Speaker 1: tightly my fingers ached. I mean, look, sometimes people just
Speaker 1: get excited about new friends. Priya said hurriedly, it could
Speaker 1: be that, But Michael looked, I don't know, not like
Speaker 1: he does with you, like he was performing for her.
Speaker 1: I nodded, unable to assemble words that wouldn't betray how
Speaker 1: much this shook me. Priya took the cue, falling silent
Speaker 1: back at the condo. Michael's pattern continued, bursts of affection,
Speaker 1: jokes about method acting. Then another late night, another hurried shower,
Speaker 1: another clutch of unexplained bills. That's Saturday. I checked our
Speaker 1: joint credit card, something I normally left to my practical
Speaker 1: wife persona. I scrolled through the entries again, noticing another pattern.
Speaker 1: I'd missed ride shares to an address in the South End,
Speaker 1: same as the air b n B from his email
Speaker 1: several times in the past month. I texted him at rehearsal,
Speaker 1: king of trying that cafe you mentioned in South End.
Speaker 1: Good idea. Within minutes. His reply wouldn't bother so slow
Speaker 1: last time we waited forever. Try the place by the river.
Speaker 1: He'd never mentioned hating new places before. I started a
Speaker 1: secret tally in my phone, writing each day's weirdness in
Speaker 1: short antiseptic phrases, sat pre exciting s n charge, no
Speaker 1: show at dinner that evening. Determined not to spiral, I
Speaker 1: invited Jamie over for movies. She arrived with wine and chocolate,
Speaker 1: chattering too brightly about work as we sprawled on the couch.
Speaker 1: I waited until the third glass before attempting again, be honest.
Speaker 1: Do you think Michael likes this theater stuff? Or is
Speaker 1: he just trying to get away from work? Maybe? Jamie
Speaker 1: stared at the screen. He always finds these phases. Remember
Speaker 1: when he was obsessed with trivia nights. She smiled, but
Speaker 1: it drooped at the edges. You know, Michael, he'd he
Speaker 1: doesn't stay bored long. My phone buzzed the sort of
Speaker 1: late night unexpected message that used to mean bachelor party,
Speaker 1: mischief or forgotten errands. To night it was Michael rehearsal
Speaker 1: ended late, will crash at Jamie's if roads are icy
Speaker 1: only The weather outside was dry, not a cloud in sight.
Speaker 1: I looked at Jamie, who glanced at my phone, recognized
Speaker 1: the alert, but said nothing. I could barely trust my
Speaker 1: own vision by then? Was I reading too much into
Speaker 1: a dozen little things? Had I become the kind of
Speaker 1: wife who cataloged slight pauses in her husband's stories and
Speaker 1: texted friends for back up. Was I wasting energy I
Speaker 1: could have spent fixing things, or at least ending them
Speaker 1: more cleanly. On Sunday, Michael was bright and eager, practically
Speaker 1: bouncing dress rehearsal, weak live. It's finally happening, but you're
Speaker 1: sick of hearing about it. Even Cassie's tired of me
Speaker 1: practicing lines. He leaned in, eyes shining, wish me luck.
Speaker 1: Was the closest he'd come to letting me in for weeks.
Speaker 1: I wished him luck, and when he hugged me, I
Speaker 1: let myself relax once into his arms, breathing in the
Speaker 1: familiar scent of his cologne. He changed back into his
Speaker 1: oldest T shirt, my favorite, too loose and soft with washing.
Speaker 1: That evening we made pasta side by side. He brought
Speaker 1: up Jamie, saying she's coming to see the play. Wouldn't
Speaker 1: let me out of it. Something about the way he
Speaker 1: said her name, the way his voice bobbed at the
Speaker 1: end like bait landed wrong. I pressed, did you guys
Speaker 1: hang out after rehearsal the other night? I tried to
Speaker 1: keep my tone neutral. He laughed too loudly. No, just
Speaker 1: said high on the street. I think you know Jamie.
Speaker 1: She's everywhere. Why nothing you mentioned her in your text?
Speaker 1: He blinked just for a moment, then shook his head.
Speaker 1: You're overthinking again, seriously, babe, it's just plain nerves. You
Speaker 1: want cheese on yours. In bed that night, his breathing
Speaker 1: sounded almost exaggeratedly. Even I lay awake, staring at the
Speaker 1: shadows cast by our dresser, listening for a hint of
Speaker 1: guilt in his every sigh. Monday, late afternoon, as I
Speaker 1: was sorting receipts for my own work trip, I noticed
Speaker 1: something else buried in Michael's pile, a crumpled ticket stub
Speaker 1: for an art film screening I knew he'd never have
Speaker 1: gone to without cajoling, dated two weeks ago. The film
Speaker 1: was at a small independent theater near the cafe prementioned.
Speaker 1: It was the same night he told me he'd stayed
Speaker 1: late at rehearsal because Cassie was working through a monolog
Speaker 1: with the director. When I brought it up, light, always light,
Speaker 1: he shrugged, Oh, that Cassie dragged the cast. It was
Speaker 1: her idea of team building. Then, after a pause, boring
Speaker 1: as hell, but something in his eyes was tense in hiding,
Speaker 1: as if the memory of the night was something other
Speaker 1: than boring, something he wished he could raise. Finally, Michael
Speaker 1: handed me a blue envelope one night after dinner, our
Speaker 1: wedding anniversary, forgotten by both of us until Jamie texted
Speaker 1: congratulations on the group chat that morning. There was a
Speaker 1: card inside, scribbled over with lines too neat to be
Speaker 1: spontaneous to us and the life we keep finding together.
Speaker 1: Can't wait for next year's adventures, Signed better half sometimes actor.
Speaker 1: It reeked of someone trying desperately to paper over a
Speaker 1: crack while whistling. I read and re read it after
Speaker 1: he'd gone to shower, examining every curve of his handwriting
Speaker 1: for sincerity. The card stood on our mantelpiece for days,
Speaker 1: until one morning I found it tossed in the bin,
Speaker 1: wedged between a receipt from a cocktail bar I'd never
Speaker 1: visited and a takeout container I didn't remember ordering. Later
Speaker 1: that week, dress rehearsal night, he pressed tickets into my hand,
Speaker 1: made a show of racing around our living room, asking
Speaker 1: if I wanted to help him pick a tie. Be
Speaker 1: kind when you review my acting. Please. Cassie's already told
Speaker 1: me I'm doomed. I rolled my eyes, but played along.
Speaker 1: At the church basement theater, people milled about in nervous
Speaker 1: little clusters. Michael introduced me to his cast, each one
Speaker 1: offering a different version of bemused welcome. Cassie's arrival was unmistakable,
Speaker 1: her energy filling the room, Smile wide as she looped
Speaker 1: her arm through Michael's for a staged photograph. Finally get
Speaker 1: to meet the fabled Olivia, she gushed, Michael, you seriously
Speaker 1: undersold her. I like you already. She seemed so rawly open,
Speaker 1: so ordinary in her friendliness, that for a brief moment,
Speaker 1: my fear threatened to evaporate. Her jokes were broad, her
Speaker 1: compliments sincere, and when I caught her rolling her eyes
Speaker 1: at another cast members overacting, I almost liked her. On stage,
Speaker 1: the show was messy and charming. Michael flubbed a line,
Speaker 1: Cassie added libbed a rescue, and afterwards there were cookies
Speaker 1: and paper cups of cheap wine. Every one Exultant. Cassie
Speaker 1: clapped Michael on the shoulder. You lived, see told you
Speaker 1: the world wouldn't end. We posed for a silly group selfie.
Speaker 1: Cassie flung her arm around both of us, shouting one
Speaker 1: for the intermission wall. I envied her easy confidence, her
Speaker 1: ability to smooth over awkwardness without trying. When Michael kissed
Speaker 1: my cheek, making the group cheer, I blushed and felt
Speaker 1: momentarily at home. If you'd ask me that night, I
Speaker 1: would have sworn I'd been proven wrong. For a few
Speaker 1: days after Michael was present, cooking, cleaning, even suggesting movie marathons,
Speaker 1: I let myself answer to friends, texting to check in.
Speaker 1: We're great. Honestly, just a rough patch until Thursday, when
Speaker 1: the e mail appeared, thank you for your stay, addressed
Speaker 1: to Michael, booked by Cassie, their names listed together under guests.
Speaker 1: I showed up to work, sat through meetings, nodded a
Speaker 1: long but every interior monologue fell out of me like
Speaker 1: water through a sieve. Nothing made sense except the cold,
Speaker 1: perfect line of truth. They'd shared a night, a sweet,
Speaker 1: a story I'd never be told. After work, when Michael
Speaker 1: went out, claiming a cast wrap party, I sat on
Speaker 1: our bed, laptop open, hands perfectly steady as I typed
Speaker 1: his g mail inbox, unfolded thread after thread, details spilling
Speaker 1: like ink. Cassie's messages playful and teasing, then worried Michael's
Speaker 1: replies full of covert affection and guilt tinged apology. Can't
Speaker 1: believe we risked it again, can't stop wanting you. The
Speaker 1: familiarity in their banter made my skin crawl. Another thread
Speaker 1: earlier in the spring, Should we stop? Feels wrong. I
Speaker 1: don't want to ruin what you have, Michael. I wish
Speaker 1: I could keep both my lives lined up. You're the
Speaker 1: only one who understands being with you is the only
Speaker 1: time I feel like myself. For every common there was
Speaker 1: more plans to meet in private, rentals, coded references to
Speaker 1: after parties, midnight snack on the dock. The memory of
Speaker 1: rehearsals twisted into secret rendezvous. By midnight, I'd stopped reading.
Speaker 1: I left every document open testament to my new reality.
Speaker 1: The next morning, I called Priya. My throat so raw,
Speaker 1: I barely recognized my own voice. I need to stay
Speaker 1: with you, just for a day, may be longer, she
Speaker 1: answered at once, of course, live anything, Come now if
Speaker 1: you need. Her voice was the softest kindness I had
Speaker 1: heard in weeks before leaving. I made myself confront Jamie again,
Speaker 1: you have to be honest this time, as Michael asked
Speaker 1: you to cover for him lately, A crackle of nerves
Speaker 1: over the line, then defeat. Yeah. A couple weeks ago,
Speaker 1: he asked me to say I was with him at
Speaker 1: a bar. He said he needed space. You deoverreact. He
Speaker 1: felt misunderstood by every one. Right now, I'm sorry, Live,
Speaker 1: I should have told you. She sounded close to tears,
Speaker 1: her contrition nearly too much to bear. I thanked her,
Speaker 1: My words clipped and hung up another bead in the
Speaker 1: chain of betrayals. There was only one confrontation left. At
Speaker 1: dinner that night, the atmosphere was sticky with false comfort.
Speaker 1: Michael chatted about nothing. I watched his phone perched upright
Speaker 1: beside his glass. As he reached for his fork, it
Speaker 1: lit up a message in plain view. I wish it
Speaker 1: was you beside me to night. Michael moved to snatch
Speaker 1: it up, but I met his eyes and we both froze.
Speaker 1: His mask slipped live He started, but I stood and
Speaker 1: walked to our bedroom, closing the door behind me. My
Speaker 1: heart at last quieted into certainty. I spent the night
Speaker 1: on Jamie's couch, sleepless by morning, I'd made my decision.
Speaker 1: The truth had weaight, rough and final, and there was
Speaker 1: nothing left to salvage except my own dignity. But first,
Speaker 1: for the first time in our marriage, eye would demand answers.
Speaker 1: Michael couldn't side step in the cold clarity of daylight
Speaker 1: beneath the eyes of every unopened message, every scripted half
Speaker 1: truth piling up in our shared home. The apartment was
Speaker 1: unnaturally quiet when I returned after my night on Jamie's couch,
Speaker 1: the city outside still dim and heavy with early morning hush.
Speaker 1: I waited in the corridor for a moment, my key
Speaker 1: pressed into my palm. I rehearsed in my mind the
Speaker 1: conversation that was no longer avoidable. My body felt disconnected
Speaker 1: from my thoughts, like I was watching myself step into
Speaker 1: a performance, vulnerable to every sound made by my own breath. Inside,
Speaker 1: the stale warmth of our condo hit me, mingled scents
Speaker 1: of Michael's spicy cologne and the ghost of burnt toast.
Speaker 1: The bedroom door was open, the covers tangled and empty.
Speaker 1: Michael's jim bag sat slouched against the arm chair, a
Speaker 1: damp t shirt half spilling out a sign he'd come home.
Speaker 1: After I had left, or perhaps never slept at all.
Speaker 1: I dropped my purse on the table, carefully, as if
Speaker 1: sudden noise might scatter the fragile resolve I'd gathered over
Speaker 1: the sleepless night. I could sense him moving around somewhere,
Speaker 1: probably in the bathroom, judging by the faint whine of
Speaker 1: the vent. My heart quickened as I listened for footsteps.
Speaker 1: When he finally emerged, hair wet, stubble, overgrown, eyes rimmed
Speaker 1: in exhaustion. He started at the sight of me, seated
Speaker 1: calmly in the living room, laptop open, a mug of
Speaker 1: untouched coffee at my elbow. He froze, holding his phone. Hey,
Speaker 1: he said, wary as if I might detonate into accusation
Speaker 1: at any wrong move. Didn't hear you come in? We
Speaker 1: need to talk, I said, choosing my words with more
Speaker 1: steadiness than I felt. He watched the blue glow of
Speaker 1: the laptop screen, the stacked browser tabs, the single incriminating document,
Speaker 1: Cassie's latest emil, blunt and erect in its longing. Something
Speaker 1: in his jaw twitched. No attempt at charm, no attempt
Speaker 1: at small talk. I gestured to the seat across from
Speaker 1: me for a moment. He hovered at the threshold, then
Speaker 1: set his phone face down and sat. I studdied every movement,
Speaker 1: the rubbing of his thumb along the seam of his
Speaker 1: sweat pants, the way he braced his feet apart, as
Speaker 1: if preparing for impact. I gave him a line of rope,
Speaker 1: not explanation, not comfort. I know about Cassie, I know
Speaker 1: about the air B n B. I know you asked
Speaker 1: Jamie to cover for you. He shut his eyes. The
Speaker 1: world shrank to that small living room, the mute plea
Speaker 1: in his posture, the flickering pulse beneath his skin. Olivia,
Speaker 1: He began voice splintered, Ay, don't insult me with half
Speaker 1: truths this time. My tone surprised even me. Flat measured
Speaker 1: a teacher chiding a badly behaving child rather than a
Speaker 1: wife confronting the destruction of her life. His hands shook
Speaker 1: as he looked down. I never meant for any of
Speaker 1: this to happen. When I started at the theater, it
Speaker 1: was like that I was just blowing off steam. Then
Speaker 1: that night, at the after party, Cassie and I just
Speaker 1: kept talking. It was new and I was He stumbled lonely.
Speaker 1: I guess God, that sounds pathetic. I wanted to ask
Speaker 1: if he'd ever been truly lonely with me, but the
Speaker 1: question felt too small for the scale of the betrayal.
Speaker 1: I should have told you earlier, he said. I tried
Speaker 1: to stop it. She wanted to stop too, but it
Speaker 1: happened again, and I thought I could handle it, compartmentalize
Speaker 1: you and me. That was still real. I swear I
Speaker 1: just got carried away. I crossed my arms, drawing in
Speaker 1: steady breaths. You didn't forget our anniversary, you threw it away.
Speaker 1: Did you ever consider what this would do to me?
Speaker 1: Not just you, not just Cassie. I was selfish, he said,
Speaker 1: chest hitching. I know every time I lied, I told
Speaker 1: myself it would be the last time. I never wanted
Speaker 1: to hurt you. What did you want? I asked her
Speaker 1: or me? He frowned, massaging his temples. I don't know,
Speaker 1: both neither. Something easy, something that made me feel alive.
Speaker 1: I fucked everything up. I nodded, feeling a cold kind
Speaker 1: of confirmation spread through me. You had help, I said,
Speaker 1: our friends, your cast mates. You recruited allies, Michael, you
Speaker 1: built a second life in all my blind spots. Live.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, he whispered, voice hoarse. I'm so so sorry.
Speaker 1: He started crying then, not the dramatic sobs of confession,
Speaker 1: but ugly, silent tears. His face turned away, shoulders shaking.
Speaker 1: Part of me wanted to comfort him, to reach across
Speaker 1: the ruined space between us, as if that could unwind
Speaker 1: all the months of lies. The larger part of me
Speaker 1: sat perfectly. Still. Is it over? I asked, when he calmed,
Speaker 1: Are you still seeing? He hesitated, then shook his head.
Speaker 1: I ended it, or tried to. She's still she wants
Speaker 1: to talk to be friends, but I told her after
Speaker 1: the show was over. I couldn't. I couldn't keep it up.
Speaker 1: The disgust in me edged over. So you were managing
Speaker 1: a schedule. You waited for your big exit before ending it.
Speaker 1: Is that what I'm hearing? His eyes closed again. It
Speaker 1: sounds awful. I know I've failed you. All I can
Speaker 1: say is that it's done. I'll do anything to make
Speaker 1: this right, couples counseling, quitting the theater, getting everyone together
Speaker 1: to come clean, whatever it takes. I stood, rolling my
Speaker 1: shoulders to release the tension that had knotted there. You
Speaker 1: think this can be fixed with therapy, a few tearful
Speaker 1: group chats. You burned it down and want to repint
Speaker 1: as if nothing happened. I can't unread what I've seen, Michael.
Speaker 1: You don't get to decide when forgiveness happens, or if
Speaker 1: it ever will. He reached for my hand, but I
Speaker 1: stepped back. Don't don't say you did it because I
Speaker 1: was distant or practical or not fun enough, or I
Speaker 1: shook my head voice catching tell me the truth because
Speaker 1: I need it for myself, not for you. Did you
Speaker 1: ever think even once that I wouldn't find out? He
Speaker 1: looked utterly defeated. I hoped you de never have to.
Speaker 1: I lied because I thought I was protecting you. Really,
Speaker 1: I was just hiding from myself. A long silence, heavy
Speaker 1: and fraught, stretched between us. The clock ticked so loudly
Speaker 1: it felt like a metronome. I thought about the seven years,
Speaker 1: every meal, every shared bottle of wine, every night we'd
Speaker 1: held each other and promised that whatever happened, we'd be honest.
Speaker 1: I wiped my face with the heel of my hand.
Speaker 1: I can't be here right now. I'm done playing this part.
Speaker 1: He started to get up, reaching for me live. Please
Speaker 1: just listen. I walked to the bedroom, grabbing my suit case,
Speaker 1: shoving in whatever I touched first, Jeanne's notebooks, toiletries. I
Speaker 1: left the closet half open, pajamas pooled on the floor.
Speaker 1: Michael watched from the doorway, unmoving, saying my name over
Speaker 1: and over, as if that might undo the finality of
Speaker 1: my actions. When I was nearly finished, he said, where
Speaker 1: will you go? Pray ye s for now, I'll figure
Speaker 1: it out after that. Can we talk later, Please say
Speaker 1: something I can fix. I met his gaze. All that
Speaker 1: was left in me burned down to an ember. You
Speaker 1: can't fix this, Michael, you can't. He stayed where he
Speaker 1: was as I zipped the suit case outside, the city
Speaker 1: brightened by degrees. Unbothered by our crisis, I grabbed my
Speaker 1: phone charger and the laptop. Watched him still standing there,
Speaker 1: arms hanging useless, eyes red and wide. As I turned
Speaker 1: to leave. The last thing he managed was a whispered
Speaker 1: I'm sorry. But I kept my face forward, throat tight,
Speaker 1: and walked out without replying. The hallway was empty, each
Speaker 1: footstep echoing the suit case, wheels silent on the carpet.
Speaker 1: I made it to the elevator, and pressed the button,
Speaker 1: feeling my keys heavy in my pocket and the beginnings
Speaker 1: of a rush of air in my lungs, as if
Speaker 1: my body was finally realizing it was leaving for good. Downstairs,
Speaker 1: Priya was waiting outside in her car. She got out
Speaker 1: before I could wave. Her presence, solid and silent, filled
Speaker 1: the space. Michael appeared in the lobby doorway, as if
Speaker 1: still unable to accept the finality. Priya squared her shoulders
Speaker 1: as he started toward me, and, with a look that
Speaker 1: brooked no argument, stepped between us, blocking his path. He
Speaker 1: stopped unsure, hands splayed in a gesture of surrender. Olivia.
Speaker 1: He tried, but Priya glared, and the words died. I
Speaker 1: slipped into the car without looking back. Inside, I pressed
Speaker 1: my head against the window, closing my eyes. Priya drove
Speaker 1: one hand, reaching over to rest on my knee, squeezing gently.
Speaker 1: I let myself melt into the seat, every muscle trembling
Speaker 1: with adrenaline and grief. The drive to Priya's was a blur,
Speaker 1: the city, passing lights blurring the edges of my vision.
Speaker 1: I texted my boss words clumsy but true, family emergency,
Speaker 1: need time will update. My phone buzzed with replies, Michael's
Speaker 1: name lighting up in message after message, first apologies, then please,
Speaker 1: then anger, then silence. As I finally blocked his number
Speaker 1: and Cassie s two. At Priya's apartment, I collapsed on
Speaker 1: her couch. She brought me water, then sat beside me,
Speaker 1: holding my hand as the silence stretched. Somewhere in the background,
Speaker 1: her phone buzzed. My mother worried, and I mouthed to Priya,
Speaker 1: not now, please. She nodded, promising she'd handle it. Eyes
Speaker 1: bright with unspoken fury. That night's sleep was thin and fractured.
Speaker 1: I woke twice to the urge to check my phone.
Speaker 1: Each time I resisted. I lay there, daring at the
Speaker 1: ceiling mine, spinning through every scene, every false apology, every
Speaker 1: piece of evidence I'd tried to rationalize away. When the
Speaker 1: sun crawled in, everything ached, But for the first time
Speaker 1: in ages, I wasn't pretending. Later that morning, while Priya
Speaker 1: made coffee, I sat at her kitchen table, staring at nothing.
Speaker 1: The condo i'd called home felt like a continent away
Speaker 1: its art, it's sunlight, every piece of it, redrawn as
Speaker 1: a monument to what I'd missed. My work inbox filled
Speaker 1: with concern from co workers, automatic reminders meetings I'd never attend.
Speaker 1: I answered only the most pressing, taking a few days.
Speaker 1: We'll return important calls when I can. Each reply was
Speaker 1: a way of marking distance, promising a future I couldn't
Speaker 1: yet picture. In the days that followed, I made arrangements
Speaker 1: through Priya to retrieve my things from the condo without
Speaker 1: seeing Michael. She texted me updates, practical and spare about
Speaker 1: boxes and keys, a favorite sweater found folded in the
Speaker 1: linen closet. Each message made the break more real. Michael's
Speaker 1: attempts to reach me grew desperate before he fell silent.
Speaker 1: A long email promising to give you space to do
Speaker 1: whatever you need to wait until you're ready. I read
Speaker 1: only the first line before dragging it to the trash,
Speaker 1: closing the lid on the past with one decisive click.
Speaker 1: Ex Friends, mutual acquaintances, even Jamie now seemed distant, their
Speaker 1: loyalty fractured. Jamie texted once, no details, just a heart
Speaker 1: emoji and a here if you need. I left it unanswered.
Speaker 1: At night, I stared at my phone in the dark,
Speaker 1: sometimes opening old photos, sometimes simply pressing the block button again,
Speaker 1: as if that could erase the residual fear. The world
Speaker 1: shrank to manageable size, one room in Priya's apartment, the
Speaker 1: rhythm of coffee and take out the cubic ache of
Speaker 1: suddenly being alone, but not yet utterly lonely. One morning,
Speaker 1: my mother called Priya's line, sounding worried and soft on speaker.
Speaker 1: I took the call, and when the truth slipped out,
Speaker 1: her voice crumpled with sympathy. I asked her as gently
Speaker 1: as I could, to give me time, to please not
Speaker 1: call Michael, to let me have this silence for a while.
Speaker 1: She agreed, promising, whatever you need, honey, I'm right here.
Speaker 1: Through it all, the condo lingered in my mind, not
Speaker 1: as home, but as something to be crossed off, a
Speaker 1: place too filled with shadows and echoes to be claimed
Speaker 1: any more. I told Priya to arrange for my boxes
Speaker 1: to be left with the doorman. I'd have them delivered
Speaker 1: to wherever I ended up. In odd hours, I scrolled
Speaker 1: through listings for apartments under my own name, a small,
Speaker 1: practical space, enough sunlight, not too much memory. The search
Speaker 1: was meticulous, almost soothing. By the end of the week,
Speaker 1: my new lease was signed and I packed the bare
Speaker 1: minimum a suit case, my phone, a battered cop be
Speaker 1: of a favorite novel, one half empty box of kitchen items.
Speaker 1: The rest could wait. Moving was silence and logistics. Michael
Speaker 1: did not appear. I collected my keys from the rental office,
Speaker 1: rode the narrow elevator to the fourth floor, and stepped
Speaker 1: into the blank, echoing living room of my new place.
Speaker 1: There were no curtains yet, just sunlight pouring straight through
Speaker 1: the glass. I set down my bags, feeling the weight
Speaker 1: gather and settle, lifting only incrementally as I began to
Speaker 1: move in, now alone, I opened my phone one last
Speaker 1: time to change every lingering password, emil shared apps account's
Speaker 1: I d once trusted enough to link to another. When
Speaker 1: the last notification pinged, a final apologetic voice mail from Michael,
Speaker 1: I pressed delete without listening. It was a small action,
Speaker 1: but it felt monumental, a refusal to prolong ceremony, for
Speaker 1: a relationship to threadbare, to repair. In the clean, unfamiliar,
Speaker 1: I sat cross legged in the afternoon sun, breathing high
Speaker 1: and slow, feeling the jagged edge of my new solitude everywhere,
Speaker 1: but also something else, a possibility I didn't dare name.
Speaker 1: A little later, I unpacked my tote onto the kitchen counter,
Speaker 1: washed two mugs, and watered the single plant prier had
Speaker 1: handed me. At the door, light angled across the bare walls,
Speaker 1: as if searching for something new to illuminate. I stood
Speaker 1: quietly for a long moment, savoring the simple hush, painful,
Speaker 1: but wholly my own. The new apartment felt hollow, even
Speaker 1: with the swirl of late afternoon sunlight, but that hollowness
Speaker 1: was its own raw invitation. In that empty kitchen, I
Speaker 1: traced the unfamiliar edges, the clean counter, devoid of Michael's
Speaker 1: breakfast crumbs, the new set of keys with no sports
Speaker 1: team logo. Keechin and breathed through the wrench of displacement
Speaker 1: and relief. I had days now where time slowed, no
Speaker 1: texts blowing up my foe, no dinner plans to fill
Speaker 1: the silence, no Michael calling from rehearsals or the gym,
Speaker 1: or anywhere he never actually was. Each action, boiling water,
Speaker 1: closing the blinds at night, stacking fresh white towels became deliberate.
Speaker 1: I let the grief enter in waves, sometimes catching myself
Speaker 1: reaching for a voice that wasn't coming back. Simple things hurt,
Speaker 1: folding a shirt, the way he liked seeing a carton
Speaker 1: of his favorite yogurt in Priya's fridge, smelling a cologne
Speaker 1: sample in the drug store. I winced, but I kept moving,
Speaker 1: unspooling the rituals of togetherness into one person tasks. It
Speaker 1: was impossible not to replay everything, especially when a stray
Speaker 1: emil popped up, or when Jamie sent a text asking simply,
Speaker 1: are you safe? I responded yes, thanks, but kept it short.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to drag Jamie or Priya through the
Speaker 1: looping confusion that still sometimes froze me in place, a
Speaker 1: plate hovering above the sink, or a half written work
Speaker 1: met message forgotten mid thought. The fall out spun in
Speaker 1: strange directions. My mother's concerned checkins kept coming less frequent,
Speaker 1: now that I'd made it clear I needed distance. She
Speaker 1: sent me a pot of herbs for my window sill, basle,
Speaker 1: mint and rosemary, which I arranged carefully in the kitchen
Speaker 1: for fresh starts. Her card read in her quick, looping script.
Speaker 1: I ran my thumb along the edge, grateful for her softness.
Speaker 1: Priya stayed a near constant presence, a guardian in text,
Speaker 1: a quiet source of logistics and occasional laughter. Always ready
Speaker 1: to run interference if Michael tried to reach me through
Speaker 1: any one else. She guarded my boundary with the same
Speaker 1: fierce loyalty I d once bristled at when we were
Speaker 1: younger roommates, worried about lost friendship over spilled wine. Now
Speaker 1: it felt like protection. When a shared acquaintance emailed asking
Speaker 1: for my side, I ignored it, deleting the message without
Speaker 1: a moment's sadness. But not everything I felt was grief.
Speaker 1: Days stacked up, wherein flashes I found myself smiling at
Speaker 1: something small. Praya texting a photo of her latest kitchen disaster,
Speaker 1: a neighbor complimenting my dress that first time the laundromat
Speaker 1: machine didn't eat my quarters. With each decision hanging a print,
Speaker 1: choosing a new grocery store, deciding on exactly what I
Speaker 1: wanted for dinner, my own preferences surfaced again, sharp, undampened
Speaker 1: by compromise. A week in, another email from Michael slipped
Speaker 1: through subject blank, addressed only to me. I stared at
Speaker 1: it for a long time, not opening it. I could
Speaker 1: read the first line in the preview. I promise this
Speaker 1: is the last message I owe you the truth. No
Speaker 1: editing this time I hovered, considering. Then the weight heavy
Speaker 1: on my chest, I clicked it open because it felt
Speaker 1: like the only way to close a door i'd left
Speaker 1: Ajar in the body, Michael wrote, nothing I can say
Speaker 1: will excuse the things I did. I tried lying to
Speaker 1: cover my mistakes and ended up losing the best person
Speaker 1: in my life. I want you to know none of
Speaker 1: it was your fault. It had nothing to do with
Speaker 1: how practical or loving or steady you were. I wish
Speaker 1: I had been braver, or kinder, or just honest at
Speaker 1: the start. If you hate me, I get it. I
Speaker 1: hope some day you don't. I don't expect forgiveness, but
Speaker 1: I want you to have the truth. I ended things
Speaker 1: with Cassie because I was ashamed of myself, not because
Speaker 1: I chose you or her. Really, I chose to hide.
Speaker 1: I know how much I broke inside you. You deserved
Speaker 1: more than that. I read it through once twice, not
Speaker 1: out of hunger for details, but searching for a sliver
Speaker 1: of the man i'd trusted, the voice i'd loved through
Speaker 1: our best and worst. There it was stripped of all
Speaker 1: his usual fast talk, finally small and honest, Too late,
Speaker 1: ruinously late, It didn't make me feel better, it did
Speaker 1: at least answer the last lingering question. My marriage hadn't
Speaker 1: failed because I was too practical, or not fun enough,
Speaker 1: or less than whatever Cassie was. Michael was lost, and
Speaker 1: he went looking elsewhere because he didn't know how to
Speaker 1: ask for help. That clarity didn't bring peace, but it
Speaker 1: brought an end. I archived the email, storing it as
Speaker 1: proof of the past I wouldn't revisit. Consequences rippled outward,
Speaker 1: sometimes in curious ways. The friends who'd played along with
Speaker 1: Michael's stories faded, phone calls dwindling from Jamie, a kind
Speaker 1: of tacit apology in the space between her messages. Cassie's
Speaker 1: name cropped up nowhere, except once in a theater newsletter.
Speaker 1: Priya showed me with an amused roll of her eyes.
Speaker 1: Her cast had recast the next season, Michael nowhere in
Speaker 1: the list. A tangled knot inside me began to loosen,
Speaker 1: not with forgiveness, and certainly not with forgetting, but with
Speaker 1: the quiet acceptance that I couldn't fix what had broken.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to fight for scraps with someone who'd
Speaker 1: failed to fight for me. One afternoon, weeks after moving in,
Speaker 1: Jamie called voice, hesitant, wanting to meet for coffee. I
Speaker 1: could still hear the gilt curled around her words, but
Speaker 1: there was warmth too, a plea for honest repair rather
Speaker 1: than another round of secrets. When she arrived, she hugged
Speaker 1: me tight, then started crying before she could finish her
Speaker 1: first sentence. I should have told you, she said. I
Speaker 1: thought I was being loyal, or at least neutral, but
Speaker 1: that was cowardly. I'm sorry, Live. I don't blame you
Speaker 1: if you can never forgive me, but I had to
Speaker 1: say it in person. I hope you're okay. There was
Speaker 1: a freedom in not performing forgiving because I wanted peace,
Speaker 1: not because I needed to salvage a ruined story. I
Speaker 1: appreciate it, I told her, but I need some time.
Speaker 1: I don't know what friendship looks like now, but I
Speaker 1: do know I can't pretend none of this happened. Let's
Speaker 1: just not lie to each other any more. We sat
Speaker 1: in tentative silence, the coffee cooling between us, and I
Speaker 1: realized how much I had adapted to discomfort. Not everything
Speaker 1: hurt the same way any more. Some pains began came, signals,
Speaker 1: reminders to pay attention. Later that week, Priya came over
Speaker 1: in her work clothes, plopping down on the futon with
Speaker 1: sushi and her favorite wine. We talked about nothing and everything,
Speaker 1: her boss's micromanaging, my new neighbor's habit of practicing trumpet
Speaker 1: at midnight, the mutual relief of no men allowed within
Speaker 1: walls for once. She asked quietly, do you want me
Speaker 1: to tell Michael anything? He texted me again. I ignored him,
Speaker 1: but I can hit block if you want. I shook
Speaker 1: my head. No, just let it go quiet. Praya grinned conspiratorial.
Speaker 1: Soon as you're ready, we'll celebrate, not survival, just new
Speaker 1: furniture and window sills. In the following days, the routines
Speaker 1: began to settle, not into sameness, but into something more honest.
Speaker 1: I got used to the small silences, to cooking what
Speaker 1: I loved, to Netflix half watched in pajamas that didn't
Speaker 1: have to be shared. Some mornings I woke up missing
Speaker 1: Michael's joke, But more often I just breathed, grateful not
Speaker 1: to be constantly on alert for the next shift. The
Speaker 1: next wound, but there was one thread still loose, one
Speaker 1: part of the performance I hadn't yet closed out. My
Speaker 1: wedding ring sat in a jewelry dish by the bed,
Speaker 1: an afterthought, A weightless band that had once felt like
Speaker 1: a promise and now a relic. I found myself fiddling
Speaker 1: with it absent mindedly, whenever something unresolved pressed at my edges.
Speaker 1: So I made a decision. On an ordinary evening, after
Speaker 1: another day spent answering work, emails and reorganizing the new kitchen,
Speaker 1: I picked up the ring, hesitated once, then slid it
Speaker 1: into a padded envelope. I addressed it to Michael, not
Speaker 1: out of hope, not to reopen a door, but to
Speaker 1: give the final prop of our old play back to
Speaker 1: where it belonged. I texted Priya that I'd mailed it,
Speaker 1: and her reply, proud of you always landed with more
Speaker 1: comfort than I would have believed possible a few months ago.
Speaker 1: When I dropped the envelope in the mail box, it
Speaker 1: felt like letting go of the last script line I'd
Speaker 1: been forced to recite. For the first time, the apartment
Speaker 1: felt fully mine. The sunlight, not a spotlight, but just light,
Speaker 1: bright and real and indifferent. Standing by the window, I
Speaker 1: pressed my finger tips to the glass, exhaled, and realized
Speaker 1: I hadn't thought about Michael in hours. There was pain,
Speaker 1: of course, and the echo of humiliation, but there was
Speaker 1: also a sharp, unclaimed edge to this life, uncertain, fragile,
Speaker 1: but fully mine. Again. For a moment, I let myself
Speaker 1: imagine what might come next. The city beyond my window
Speaker 1: offered nothing and everything, noise, possibility, space to be unfinished
Speaker 1: and unafraid. I deleted Michael's final lingering message, set my
Speaker 1: phone aside, and in the hush that followed, managed my
Speaker 1: first real, unguarded breath, letting it out slow and deep,
Speaker 1: trusting only in the truth that the rest was mine
Speaker 1: to shake.