Speaker 1: For days when I wake up sure of one thing,
Speaker 1: that whatever is happening between me and Eli, at some
Speaker 1: point it was undeniably good. I should start there, even
Speaker 1: if to night all I have is jittery uncertainty and clammy.
Speaker 1: Hands pressed around a porcelain mug in a cafe that
Speaker 1: suddenly feels too bright. The city's wound up tight for
Speaker 1: Friday rush hour, the lights outside blurring in the window's reflection.
Speaker 1: As I watch people spill into the street, their voices
Speaker 1: rickishing off the glass. I'm here earlier than I planned,
Speaker 1: the kind of eager that feels embarrassing once you're alone
Speaker 1: at the table, pretending to check your phone because what
Speaker 1: you're busy too. At least two texts sit unsent in
Speaker 1: the box, one to Eli's endless thread, the other a
Speaker 1: blunter check in with Meyer. I shift in my seat
Speaker 1: and go for a sip. I don't need. Eli had
Speaker 1: told me he'd make it this time. I can still
Speaker 1: hear his voice from that morning, half distracted with sleep,
Speaker 1: but warm, some off hand promise i'd learned to treasure.
Speaker 1: Let's grab a drink after work. I'll text Meyer. We'll
Speaker 1: all unwind for a change. Third time's the charm, I joked,
Speaker 1: and maybe the smile he gave me wasn't as certain
Speaker 1: as it used to be. Two minutes past the hour
Speaker 1: than ten, my phone pings swamped another client, fire, rain check.
Speaker 1: I ignore the other customers the way they look at me,
Speaker 1: Or maybe I only imagine it just a woman waiting
Speaker 1: for her boyfriend, or was he still that? My fingers twitch,
Speaker 1: my jaw sets. He'd bilad again, no explanation, No I
Speaker 1: love you, I hate letting you down, just that empty
Speaker 1: little plea for understanding. I type, okay, stay safe. It's
Speaker 1: mechanical now, the words too practiced. Footsteps outside a quick cadence,
Speaker 1: like someone's running late Meyer's faltering step, hair back in
Speaker 1: a rushed knot, blazer slipping up her arm. She passes
Speaker 1: the cafe window almost before I recognize her, too quick
Speaker 1: to see me. My first impulse is to knock and
Speaker 1: wave her in. Then I think better of it. She's
Speaker 1: already half way to the curb, scanning for ride shares
Speaker 1: or signals. Part of me wonders if she's dodging me.
Speaker 1: Another part, the one more inclined to make nice, tells
Speaker 1: me she's probably in a hurry. Because of course Eli
Speaker 1: and Meyer work together, and if he had a client emergency,
Speaker 1: she's probably just as slammed. It's shameful how the thought
Speaker 1: bugs me. The room presses in with other people's laughter.
Speaker 1: I stay anyway, not ready to go home. Ah home alone.
Speaker 1: It's like if I sit here long enough, the universe
Speaker 1: will reset and Eli will slide in a cross from me, apologizing,
Speaker 1: remembering how it was when he once made me feel
Speaker 1: like the most important person in the whole city. I
Speaker 1: picture the two of them together in some office, heads down,
Speaker 1: spinning stories to land some new account. But my mind
Speaker 1: gets prickly again. Why do they always both duck out?
Speaker 1: This is at least the fifth time are previously set
Speaker 1: group hang with both of them has gotten scuttled at
Speaker 1: the last minute. We're adults, we're busy, But every time,
Speaker 1: by the time I head out, the evening soured into
Speaker 1: a wind that's just a bit too cold. I replay
Speaker 1: the last few weeks Eli's new hobby of mapping my
Speaker 1: schedule with a professional's intensity. You're late Wednesday, right, you
Speaker 1: have happy hour Thursday, always confirming before he'd agree to
Speaker 1: anything else. At first, I chalked it up to type
Speaker 1: of planning, or maybe he was just caring for me
Speaker 1: in his odd procedural way. Now, walking the crowded block
Speaker 1: back to our building, I can't help but wonder if
Speaker 1: it's a symptom of something else, paranoia maybe, or just
Speaker 1: a failure on my part to trust. At our place,
Speaker 1: I find a new message. Sorry again, ratch, I'll make
Speaker 1: it up to you soon. Love you. For a moment,
Speaker 1: I clutched the phone. I want to believe him, I
Speaker 1: always have. I wish that was enough. Memory always wins.
Speaker 1: When I close my eyes around mid night and the
Speaker 1: city sweats through the window, I let myself fall backward,
Speaker 1: land in the beginning, a different world, pre loft, pre
Speaker 1: shared routines, pre this ache in my sternum that won't
Speaker 1: let me sleep. Eli and I met on a Wednesday
Speaker 1: in a room full of art and strangers and late
Speaker 1: spring humidity that frizzed my hair. Oddly, he was standing
Speaker 1: by a mixed media piece, tumultuous, unnecessary, perfect for the
Speaker 1: confusion in my twenties. We laughed about the same artist's
Speaker 1: cryptic statements while elbowing through the crowd. I'd worn my
Speaker 1: work lanyard by accident, he teased me. For it, before
Speaker 1: swapping me his own staff badge from the creative agency
Speaker 1: down the block. Trade for luck. He'd said, cocky in
Speaker 1: a measured way, like someone who knew how to risk
Speaker 1: just enough for it to count. The hours after that
Speaker 1: bled together. He walked me home. We found a bar
Speaker 1: that let you carve your initials into the table, and god,
Speaker 1: this sounds like a script. He kissed me outside and
Speaker 1: told me I was precise the kind of person who
Speaker 1: never bored him. It felt honest, then, maybe the purest
Speaker 1: kind of honesty. Two weeks later he moved in for coffee,
Speaker 1: which became four years of loft living. We built routines,
Speaker 1: late runs for pastries, movie nights, borrowing the neighbor's projector
Speaker 1: waking up on weekends to debate whether the world needed
Speaker 1: another art magazine. Eli was solid. He'd been there for
Speaker 1: every ugly step of my ambitious climb. When my last
Speaker 1: manager tried to underhand my project, when my mother's health
Speaker 1: scared me, when I doubted if I deserved any of it.
Speaker 1: He was the one who brought soup, who picked up
Speaker 1: my deadlines when I snapped, I'm not stupid. We weren't perfect,
Speaker 1: but in our friend group, the clutch of creative types,
Speaker 1: young professionals tripping over each other's dreams at rooftop parties.
Speaker 1: It's been said more than once that ours was the
Speaker 1: pair no one even bothered worrying about rock solid. They'd say,
Speaker 1: you're the example. Eli almost relished being seen that way,
Speaker 1: the stable one. He was comfortable with attention when people
Speaker 1: toasted us. I felt lucky. Even Maya God Maia. She'd
Speaker 1: been in the circle before me, another agency fixture, sharp,
Speaker 1: slightly intimidating, whip smart, the rare friend who could joke
Speaker 1: with Eli about campaigns and yet check in on me
Speaker 1: with coffee and career advice. I actually liked that she
Speaker 1: and Eli had so much trust, a history, a fit.
Speaker 1: My trust in him was so absolute. I found her
Speaker 1: presence reassuring, not competition, never that she was just one
Speaker 1: of us. The three of us and the wider group
Speaker 1: threaded our week ends, collaborations, and parties together like a
Speaker 1: tapestry of no secrets. Illy's phrase, the city felt tiny
Speaker 1: and intimate. Back then, we'd pile into bars and nobody
Speaker 1: worried about alliances. I used to marvel at that so
Speaker 1: many friends lived in coupledoms, defined by side glances and
Speaker 1: whispered suspicions, not us. When work stressed me out, when
Speaker 1: my last contract turned volatile six months ago, it was
Speaker 1: Eli who told me you're not alone. I believed him
Speaker 1: down to my bones. I leaned on him, trusted his patience.
Speaker 1: That's why I resent the feeling growing inside me now.
Speaker 1: The old solidity I clung to is suddenly less than certain.
Speaker 1: Suspicion once it starts can be so small you almost laugh.
Speaker 1: Almost After a tanked meeting, desperate for relief, I messaged
Speaker 1: Eli dinner out a treat, my victory lap for surviving
Speaker 1: a day that should have ended hours ago. He replied
Speaker 1: with a long pause, the kind of ellipses that says,
Speaker 1: wait for the excuse. I ah need to pull a
Speaker 1: late one with Meyer. We need to finalize a campaign.
Speaker 1: It's behind, and the client moved up the deadline again.
Speaker 1: He didn't offer for me to join, said it'd be
Speaker 1: all spreadsheets, no fun, laughed awkwardly at his own joke.
Speaker 1: I tried, honestly to believe him. Who was I to
Speaker 1: recent his dedication? He never made it seem like a chore,
Speaker 1: only a priority. Still, the phrasing left to mark. Why
Speaker 1: wouldn't they want me to swing by, even for a
Speaker 1: quick hug. We'd all pulled late work slogs before. Occasionally
Speaker 1: we'd bring in food and commiserate. Wasn't that what being
Speaker 1: a close knit group meant? But I swallowed it, smiled
Speaker 1: and ordered sushi for myself, telling my inner voice to
Speaker 1: sit down and hush. Maybe I was tired, Maybe I
Speaker 1: was being possessive. That weekend rooftop drinks at Jake's place,
Speaker 1: one of those wrap around terraces with paper lanterns, and
Speaker 1: half the city's design crowd crowded around folding tables. Meyer
Speaker 1: showed up. She was gracious, quick with a greeting, but
Speaker 1: seemed distant, her eyes skittering over mine when I mentioned Eli.
Speaker 1: Eli arrived half an hour later, blaming a phone call.
Speaker 1: When he went to Meyer, I helped myself to another
Speaker 1: glass of wine, then drifted over to them. The mood
Speaker 1: felt off, close and muffled. They broke into laughter abruptly,
Speaker 1: too loud, like actors. As soon as I joined, Meyer
Speaker 1: excused herself, just remembered call with my sister. She squeezed
Speaker 1: my arms, smiled, and vanished. Eli was left shifting awkwardly.
Speaker 1: He tried to steer the chat to my day, but
Speaker 1: his attention flickered to his phone. It almost made me laugh,
Speaker 1: the abrupt switch, the almost visible relief, How quickly he
Speaker 1: dove into the safety of my mundane work complaints. I
Speaker 1: poked lightly, Wow, you two are getting cryptic, something big happening.
Speaker 1: He grinned, fake casual, hands shoved deep in his pockets,
Speaker 1: just tired, deadline brain, Sorry, babe. I left it there,
Speaker 1: a joke, a glance, but inside I considered what I
Speaker 1: had overheard. I hated myself for noticing how quickly Meyer
Speaker 1: returned after I wandered away, for clocking how Eli visibly
Speaker 1: let out a breath, his posture softer. I remember thinking,
Speaker 1: not this, not us. It had never been a question before.
Speaker 1: But later that night, lying together elis scrolling me reading
Speaker 1: the news. I tried again to dismiss the knot in
Speaker 1: my gut. I didn't want to start seeing shadows in
Speaker 1: corners that used to be sunlit. But the doubt lingered,
Speaker 1: nipping at my resolve like a cold draft through an
Speaker 1: old window frame. The weeks stacked up. One day, Eli
Speaker 1: returned from the office at a weird hour. He was
Speaker 1: fixated on what I be doing that Friday. Are you
Speaker 1: definitely out with Leela? Late? Is the dinner on? For sure?
Speaker 1: I thought nothing of it. He's always been practical, co
Speaker 1: ordinating rides, figuring out who has the car. Lately, though,
Speaker 1: his relief was visible when I had independent plans. Great,
Speaker 1: I'll just hold up at Meyer's place and finish our pitch.
Speaker 1: An odd thing happened. Then I felt proud, almost at
Speaker 1: his dedication. I told myself, this is what commitment looks like.
Speaker 1: This is what confident couples do. We trust, run our
Speaker 1: own lives, celebrate each other's independence. Except the next time
Speaker 1: I left for drinks with colleagues. I messaged Eli around ten,
Speaker 1: hoping he'd be wrapping up. Maybe I could stop by
Speaker 1: him ice cream. The response was painfully brief, can't talk,
Speaker 1: still at it rain check. An hour later, no update.
Speaker 1: I'd seen him text through client drama before. Now it
Speaker 1: felt like I was being managed, not included. I tried
Speaker 1: showing up to one of their after hours sessions unannounced,
Speaker 1: A risky move, but my schedule really did open up.
Speaker 1: That evening, I stopped by the agency, hoping to deliver
Speaker 1: bubble tea in a surprise grin the conference room was
Speaker 1: lit up, the two of them inside. I never made
Speaker 1: it fully in. Eli spotted me through the glass, did
Speaker 1: a visible double take, looked, almost panicked Meya mid sentence,
Speaker 1: tensed and immediately said she had to step out and
Speaker 1: catch a call. Vanishing so quickly her tote bag toppled
Speaker 1: onto the floor, and Eli stooped, red faced to gather
Speaker 1: her things. The scene was nothing on the surface. Meyer
Speaker 1: was always rushing, always busy, but there was something unnatural
Speaker 1: about the way their conversations app to part, like a
Speaker 1: string yanked too hard. I tried to brush it off
Speaker 1: and sat with Eli anyway. He was oddly stiff. Did
Speaker 1: you text? I didn't see. The room seemed too large,
Speaker 1: Every keystroke deliberate. I made light, joked about Meyer's name
Speaker 1: being on the door with his, given how much time
Speaker 1: they spent in here. He snorted, but the laughter didn't
Speaker 1: reach his eyes. Later that week, we join a few
Speaker 1: friends for dinner. During a lull in the conversation, Abby says,
Speaker 1: smirking Meyer and Eli are like their own power couple
Speaker 1: at workha insufferable. Someone else jokes, they'll forget the rest
Speaker 1: of us even exist. It's meant as friendly jabbing, but
Speaker 1: I watch my blush and ELI look uncomfortable. All eyes
Speaker 1: turn to me. I raise a glass and say, well,
Speaker 1: if anyone can wrangle this crew, it's them. My voice
Speaker 1: feels thin. I play the game, but the comment lingers.
Speaker 1: Later at home, I get curious enough to open our
Speaker 1: shared ride hailing app. Most months, the charges are predictable
Speaker 1: late dinners rides to events, but lately I notice odd
Speaker 1: fares around midnight, drop offs that land nowhere near Meyer's
Speaker 1: building or the agency. A ride last Thursday, after one
Speaker 1: of his supposed late work sessions ends in a neighborhood
Speaker 1: famous for boutique hotels, not at our place. The next morning,
Speaker 1: I bring it up carefully. Did your phone get lost?
Speaker 1: Or there's a charge out to river Market? Late last week,
Speaker 1: He's defensive so fast it almost whiplashes me. Work drinks
Speaker 1: after a client meeting, everyone went why. His tone is sharp,
Speaker 1: almost irritated that I'd noticed just seemed weird. I say,
Speaker 1: backing down, long as you weren't stranded. He softens, leans
Speaker 1: in paranoia, Babe, no secret's right. He kisses my forehead
Speaker 1: and disappears into the shower. I stand by the window,
Speaker 1: the city lighter than before, But my reflection frowning. Tired,
Speaker 1: curiosity nags, so I try a different route. I find
Speaker 1: Meyer at the agency's open work space, bring her coffee
Speaker 1: as peace, offering you and Eli surviving the late night's okay?
Speaker 1: She laughs, all polite charm, but her eyes slide away.
Speaker 1: It's a mess. Honestly, can't wait to be done with
Speaker 1: this campaign. I press softening my voice. You seem wiped. Really, thanks,
Speaker 1: don't let him work you too hard. She thanks me,
Speaker 1: but the conversation feels thin surface level. She's not evasive exactly,
Speaker 1: just keenly uninterested in elaborating. I accept it, leave her
Speaker 1: be back home. Eli senses my tension. You're acting weird?
Speaker 1: Are we okay? I admit that I feel him pulling away, distracted,
Speaker 1: may be burned out. Maybe it's not about me at all.
Speaker 1: He stands up, takes my hand, stares hard at the floor.
Speaker 1: Work is nuts. Meyra and I are just trying not
Speaker 1: to screw up this project. Please trust me. I nod
Speaker 1: and say I do, but the phrase echoes hollow. I
Speaker 1: wish I could believe it was that simple. Things escalate
Speaker 1: when we all convene at a creative mixer A week later,
Speaker 1: a proper event gallery wine, dim lights, curated chaos. Eli's
Speaker 1: charm is in high supply. He's buoyant, tossing in commentary
Speaker 1: that makes the group laugh. But I'm watching now. Meyer
Speaker 1: is radiant, sharp as ever. At one point, her hand
Speaker 1: rests on Eli's shoulder, just behind his jacket, a subtle
Speaker 1: touch that lingers a shade too long. They stay close,
Speaker 1: even while mingling, whispering their shared glances, private, charged. I
Speaker 1: want to be wrong. I try to enter their orbit,
Speaker 1: the three of us like old times, but Meyer steps
Speaker 1: gracefully out of the ring. Almost every time I draw near,
Speaker 1: Eli's energy is split, never fully present with me, but
Speaker 1: never distant enough for confrontation. I drink too much for courage,
Speaker 1: wander the bathroom line, try to collect myself. On the
Speaker 1: way home, he apologizes again, Sorry, was just hyped about
Speaker 1: landing the project. I nod, but say nothing else. Eli
Speaker 1: misses the anniversary of the day we made things official,
Speaker 1: a date we usually celebrate with take out sushi and
Speaker 1: a marathon of old movies. Another fire at work. He apologizes,
Speaker 1: same refrain. I find out later via Instagram that Meyer
Speaker 1: posted stories from an art exhibit the very same evening
Speaker 1: images of a gallery I'd mentioned wanting to visit the
Speaker 1: night he missed our date. I scroll through notice a
Speaker 1: man's blazer sleeve reflected in one's selfie, so like Eli's
Speaker 1: favorite navy jacket. It makes my stomach clench. I bring
Speaker 1: it up awkwardly. You and Meyer went to the gallery
Speaker 1: last night. Eli fumbles, then recovers we ducked out between meetings. Yeah,
Speaker 1: you didn't say you wanted to come. I try to laugh,
Speaker 1: but he's already reaching for another subject. My work project,
Speaker 1: my friend Leela's engagement drama, anything but this. Our friends
Speaker 1: start retreating. Nobody pick sides. They're loyal to both Eli
Speaker 1: and me. Sometimes they tease them as the work married couple.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I sense an awkwardness, a bracing in their posture.
Speaker 1: When I approach Leela, my oldest friend asks gently if
Speaker 1: I'm okay. I tell her it's just work, just stress,
Speaker 1: But I can see the question still floats between us.
Speaker 1: Are you sure you know what's happening? It comes to
Speaker 1: a head after another botched dinner. I can't take it
Speaker 1: any more. I sit Eli down and say, what's been
Speaker 1: circling my head for weeks? I feel ignored. I say,
Speaker 1: you and Meyer have crossed from close to secretive. At first,
Speaker 1: he scoffs, but then his face falls. He paces hands
Speaker 1: in his hair. He admits he's been keeping things from me,
Speaker 1: but it's only to protect Meyer's privacy, her family, he says,
Speaker 1: her crisis. She's sworn everyone to secrecy. She'd hate me
Speaker 1: breaking a promise. Rachel, I'm stunned. There's shame in his
Speaker 1: voice and what sounds like genuine concern for Meyer's wishes.
Speaker 1: Why didn't you just tell me? I ask? He looks haunted.
Speaker 1: I thought I could fix it. I thought it'd blow over.
Speaker 1: But you're right. I've been a crap boyfriend, he assures me.
Speaker 1: His distance isn't about us, but I can tell his
Speaker 1: hands as shaking. I cry quietly, oologize for doubting him
Speaker 1: and Meyer. I feel ridiculous, selfish. We hold each other,
Speaker 1: and for a few days the air between us lightens.
Speaker 1: Eli goes out of his way to be sweet. He
Speaker 1: makes coffee, rubs my shoulders, reminds me why we ever
Speaker 1: built a life together. We do dinner with Meyer, a
Speaker 1: reunion of sorts. She's tired but gracious. Her story's funny
Speaker 1: and irreverent. Whatever strain I imagine seems to be gone.
Speaker 1: I convince myself of it, determined to trust, But harmony
Speaker 1: doesn't last. A week later, right around midnight, after Eli's
Speaker 1: fallen asleep, my phone buzzes with a hidden number alert.
Speaker 1: The message is a single cruel shot. You really don't
Speaker 1: know what's going on. Check the gallery event last month.
Speaker 1: My throat closes, my heart pounds in ways had almost
Speaker 1: forgotten were possible. Now I realize the investigation has only
Speaker 1: just begun. The next day, I'm a woman divided, one
Speaker 1: part furious, one part ashamed to even entertain suspicion again.
Speaker 1: After the relief of having had things explained, I pace
Speaker 1: our apartment, dusting nothing, re arranging everything. I log onto
Speaker 1: Eli's laptop, something I've never felt compelled to do in
Speaker 1: four years. I know his password, He's never hidden it.
Speaker 1: It's all there, the same emails, the same work chatter.
Speaker 1: But then I notice a folder under his cloud drive,
Speaker 1: marked client inspiration. It's locked, but I can see it
Speaker 1: shared with Meyer. Only two names. Nobody else on the
Speaker 1: team c Seed, no other collaborators. I can't get inside.
Speaker 1: I click around anyway, hope for a stray password saved
Speaker 1: something obvious, but nothing. The folder sits there, silent and impenetrable.
Speaker 1: I log out, pulse ringing in my ears. Maybe it's nothing,
Speaker 1: Maybe it's the final nail. I meet with Leela for coffee,
Speaker 1: neading her steadiness. She listens, lets me talk myself into circles.
Speaker 1: When I mention the message, her jaw tensed ratch. You
Speaker 1: ever notice weird energy with those two at the gallery event?
Speaker 1: I try to recall fragments, nothing definite. Leelah hesitates. I
Speaker 1: overheard an argument Meyer and Eli outside where nobody else was.
Speaker 1: They thought nobody could hear. She sounded upset. He sounded
Speaker 1: like he was begging her not to say something. I
Speaker 1: ask about what, but Leela just shrugs. She never caught
Speaker 1: the specifics. I walk home shaken that evening. I text
Speaker 1: friends who attended the gallery, vague, searching for confirmation. Abby's reply,
Speaker 1: honestly thought you left with Eli. I saw him and
Speaker 1: Meya go out the back. They looked cozy. Maybe she
Speaker 1: just needed a ride. Cozy that word again. I returned
Speaker 1: to examining the records, my last recourse before giving up.
Speaker 1: In my half hearted digging, I find a receipt for
Speaker 1: a drink's tab at a hotel bar dated the same
Speaker 1: night as the gallery event. Eli told me he was
Speaker 1: at a client dinner. When I check his old calendar,
Speaker 1: the client meet is scheduled for the next day. My
Speaker 1: phone nearly slips from my hand. I text Maya, then Eli.
Speaker 1: Nothing accusatory, just standard pleasantries. Mayer goes radio silent for days,
Speaker 1: no response even to more professional queries. ELI is brusque,
Speaker 1: distracted under current of nerves in every call. Now the
Speaker 1: familiar rooms in our home feel strange, imprinted with clues.
Speaker 1: I wish I could forget. I see the place as
Speaker 1: it is, and as it was, the kitchen where Eli
Speaker 1: first said I love you, the couch where we played
Speaker 1: host to half our friend group. Now the silence between
Speaker 1: us is wide and echoing. I cannot ignore it any longer.
Speaker 1: But some childish part of me still wants a clean,
Speaker 1: innocent explanation, Maybe something even I've missed. Maybe it's all projection,
Speaker 1: the universe's cruel joke. Maybe I don't want to know.
Speaker 1: But the city outside our windows refuses to slow, and
Speaker 1: somewhere across town, both Eli and my I are moving
Speaker 1: through a world where maybe I am no longer the
Speaker 1: person he protects or chooses. The truth, whatever it is
Speaker 1: is gathering speed, and I know I will have to
Speaker 1: catch up sooner or later. It's hard to describe the
Speaker 1: color of panic, how its spikes blue, then fades to
Speaker 1: something pale and lingering, like a bruise. In those days
Speaker 1: after the anonymous message, my head ran lapse. Even when
Speaker 1: my body was exhausted. I was wary in my own skin,
Speaker 1: every nerve, skinned thin against the edge of the unknown.
Speaker 1: I couldn't eat breakfast. The cereal box stood accusingly on
Speaker 1: the counter. Eli's half empty mug beside it, the swirl
Speaker 1: of grounds turning the milk dirty. I'd always loved how
Speaker 1: comfortable weed become, the shorthand mess of two people living
Speaker 1: in tandem. Now I catalog the evidence of his existence,
Speaker 1: shoes not quite lined up, Denim's shirt draped over a chair,
Speaker 1: and it felt almost forensic. I couldn't tell Eli about
Speaker 1: the message, not yet. I tried to look at him
Speaker 1: like it was a regular Thursday. He shaved in the
Speaker 1: mirror and whistled some Phoebe Bridges song off key, then
Speaker 1: circled for a quick hug. Want me to bring lunch
Speaker 1: to day, he asked, like a partner, my partner, or
Speaker 1: are you in meeting hell again? I wanted to say yes,
Speaker 1: but something twisted in me. I tried on a smile.
Speaker 1: Don't stress it, I'm slammed anyway. I watched him watch me,
Speaker 1: searching for reassurance. I offered none. He hesitated, like debating
Speaker 1: another attempt, then grabbed his bag and left with a
Speaker 1: hurried see you to night. Yeah. When the door clicked shut,
Speaker 1: the apartment held its breath. If there was anything to
Speaker 1: be found, it would have to be while I still
Speaker 1: had some plausible deniability before confronting him became unavoidable. Before
Speaker 1: my own mind spun any further out of control, I
Speaker 1: scrolled back through our old group texts, the endless emoji
Speaker 1: chains and memes, looking for something out of sink. Months ago,
Speaker 1: Me had been right there in the banter dumb work
Speaker 1: complaints set up jokes with ELI support about Leela's break.
Speaker 1: Around six weeks back, it got clipped. Meyer was briefer.
Speaker 1: ELI replied more at odd hours, sometimes with flaming gifts
Speaker 1: late at night. I must have missed than nothing for days.
Speaker 1: If Eli was hiding anything, it was in plain sight.
Speaker 1: I spent the afternoon in a daze. The world smudged
Speaker 1: around the edges. Every email at work became a gnat,
Speaker 1: every meeting and interruption from the drumbeat of what was
Speaker 1: happening in my own life. Sometimes the pain was manageable,
Speaker 1: so ordinary it almost felt like boredom. I half laughed
Speaker 1: at myself. This is what happens to other people. I'm
Speaker 1: not supposed to be the one charting ride. Shehaer receipts
Speaker 1: and watching friends for sidelong glances. That evening, I tried
Speaker 1: to catch Meyer as she left the office. I waited
Speaker 1: by the building's glassy lobby, pretending to scroll my phone.
Speaker 1: When she appeared, she seemed startled to see me, but
Speaker 1: smoothed her expression so quickly I almost doubted i'd seen it. Rachel,
Speaker 1: you waiting for Eli, she spoke, brightly, A little too brittle,
Speaker 1: actually for you. Do you have a second? I asked,
Speaker 1: and something in her eyes flashed, almost like fear, but
Speaker 1: it vanished behind her well practiced warmth, Of course, she said,
Speaker 1: glancing at her phone as though bracing for a different message.
Speaker 1: We walked down the block together, small, talking about roof
Speaker 1: top plans and the sorry state of our parking. Finally,
Speaker 1: I said, careful. I know work's being chaos, but I
Speaker 1: miss how things used to feel simple. You and Eli,
Speaker 1: are you guys? Okay? You just seemed distracted lately. It
Speaker 1: was an opening, not an accusation. Meya, let the question
Speaker 1: hang in the air, she drew in her breath. We're
Speaker 1: just stretched thin. I think we're all tired. Ratch. I'm
Speaker 1: sorry if I've seemed off. I swear it's just the job.
Speaker 1: She managed a tired smile, fiddling with her phone strap.
Speaker 1: Let's do drinks soon, just as I owe you a
Speaker 1: real vent session. Yeah, I'd like that. I tried to
Speaker 1: meet her eyes. She looked away too quickly. Maybe it
Speaker 1: was gilt, or maybe just exhaustion. After a fourteen hour day,
Speaker 1: we parted at the subway entrance. I watched her take
Speaker 1: the stairs, phone out, thumbs flying. I had the urge
Speaker 1: to call after her, to demand the truth right there
Speaker 1: where the city would drown it, but I didn't. I
Speaker 1: took the long way home instead, as if walking could
Speaker 1: shake off the weight tangling in my gut. That night,
Speaker 1: Eli was home before me. For once, He'd cooked nothing elaborate,
Speaker 1: just passed her with too much red pepper and garlic
Speaker 1: bread that could stun a vampire. Look at me, domestic,
Speaker 1: he joked, winking as he poured me wine. It was
Speaker 1: so much like old times that for a moment I
Speaker 1: let myself believe it. Maybe I was spiraling for nothing.
Speaker 1: Maybe he was making up for being absent for the
Speaker 1: weeks of neglect. With burnt toast and Pinot noirs. The
Speaker 1: normalcy broke something small and hopeful in me. But as
Speaker 1: we ate, he kept glancing at his phone, angling the
Speaker 1: screen away. When I reached to refill our glasses, I
Speaker 1: caught a flash of Meyer's name on his lock screen notification.
Speaker 1: He turned the phone face down. Just a work reminder,
Speaker 1: he said, off hand, not looking at me. The lie
Speaker 1: passed so easily between us that I hardly recognized it
Speaker 1: as a lie. Anything I should know about, I asked
Speaker 1: voice light. He shook his head, mouthfull, Just deadlines. Don't worry. Later,
Speaker 1: I texted Leela, ever get the feeling you're the only
Speaker 1: person not in on a joke. She sent a bunch
Speaker 1: of heart emojis, then, want to talk? I said no.
Speaker 1: I was fine. I wasn't, but the urge to keep
Speaker 1: this private, to spare myself the shame was stronger than
Speaker 1: my need for comfort. It's hard to be the person
Speaker 1: whose doubts become contagious. Harder still to imagine that the
Speaker 1: person you've built a life with is rehearsing a story
Speaker 1: for every shared evening. The next morning, my calendar pinged
Speaker 1: with a reminder for Eli's upcoming agency breakfast, the one
Speaker 1: I'd always attended is plus one for team building. This year,
Speaker 1: he hadn't invited me, citing new leadership, different crowd, pointless
Speaker 1: for partners. But as I scrolled through social media, I
Speaker 1: saw Maya hugging another coworker in a group breakfast selfie.
Speaker 1: Eli's blue shirt clear in the corner, unmistakable. My stomach lurched.
Speaker 1: It hadn't been a work people lonely thing. It had
Speaker 1: only been not for me. I called Eli at lunch
Speaker 1: voice careful, how's the leadership mixer? He stalled, tripped through
Speaker 1: his answer, Oh, dead, boring, you miss nothing. They barely
Speaker 1: had bagels. I hesitated, then asked, were you and Meyer
Speaker 1: in the same group A nervous laugh she popped in, yeah, why.
Speaker 1: I couldn't make sense of the casual evasion, never mind,
Speaker 1: just sounded like a wild time I said, letting it drop.
Speaker 1: Did he lie because he was protecting me or because
Speaker 1: he was hiding something? The two can look so similar
Speaker 1: from the wrong angle. By the time I got home
Speaker 1: a plan had formed, small but desperate. If nobody would
Speaker 1: show me the truth, I'd have to set a few
Speaker 1: traps of my own. I started by telling Eli, I
Speaker 1: had a training dinner late one. I'll probably crash at Leela's.
Speaker 1: Save the ride share. I lied easily. He pressed for details,
Speaker 1: which restaurant? When will you know if you're staying? That
Speaker 1: strange persistent need to plot out my whereabouts down to
Speaker 1: the hour. I left the apartment at seven, circled the block,
Speaker 1: and doubled back, waiting in the lobby of the next building.
Speaker 1: Foone clutched tight. Around nine, I saw the push notification
Speaker 1: Eli's ride share at a pine hotel. Again, that boutique
Speaker 1: hotel district. My heart thudded hard, like I could hear
Speaker 1: the blood in my teeth. I debated getting in a
Speaker 1: calm myself following the thought felt insane t V level obsessive. Instead,
Speaker 1: I sat watching ride dots move on the map, unable
Speaker 1: to decide if I wanted proof or plausible deniability more.
Speaker 1: I waited nearly an hour before returning home, heart galloping
Speaker 1: in my throat. The loft was dark and quiet, a
Speaker 1: single lamp on in the corner. I half wished for
Speaker 1: him to be there, A benign explanation ready. He was.
Speaker 1: His location on the phone map winked out. Just past midnight.
Speaker 1: He stumbled in close to one, smelling of gin and spearmint. Gum. Hey,
Speaker 1: he slurred lightly, you're up. I pretended to be half asleep.
Speaker 1: He stripped down, crawled under the covers, and pressed a
Speaker 1: too casual kiss into my hair. I counted the seconds
Speaker 1: until his breathing evened out. The next afternoon, I ran
Speaker 1: into abbey from our friend's circle at the bagel place
Speaker 1: around the corner. She grinned, slipped off her sunglasses. Saw
Speaker 1: your boy late last night, fancy drinks with Mayah. They
Speaker 1: waved but looked wiped. I tried to mask my reaction.
Speaker 1: Really where she frowned, you know River Market. I was
Speaker 1: grabbing a friend's car any how Esleiela. She moved on,
Speaker 1: but I stood there, hands shaking the sesame bag in
Speaker 1: my basket, suddenly irrelevant. Back in the privacy of the apartment,
Speaker 1: I let myself shake properly. This time. This was no
Speaker 1: longer paranoia, a story that could be wished away. Too
Speaker 1: many facts, each stacking on top of the other, until
Speaker 1: I didn't know if I wanted to cry or scream
Speaker 1: or just stop existing for a while. That night, with
Speaker 1: Eli yawning through the news, I asked again gently, when
Speaker 1: you wind up after work last night? He was studiously casual? Oh, Meyer,
Speaker 1: and I grabbed a bite. She needed to vent about deadlines.
Speaker 1: Hope that's cool. It would have been maybe if he
Speaker 1: hadn't lied about where, when, and with whom. Yeah, I
Speaker 1: managed totally fine. I drifted through the next few days
Speaker 1: in a haze. Even when we were next to each other,
Speaker 1: stretched out on the couch, I felt like a ghost.
Speaker 1: I weighed every word, every look, the ride, charges, the
Speaker 1: gallery night, the hidden photo folder, Meyer's absence, from every
Speaker 1: interaction except with him. Every now and then, something would
Speaker 1: cut through all the little things I'd overlooked until they
Speaker 1: no longer seemed small. Seeing how Myer's scarf ended up
Speaker 1: in our coat closet weeks after she was supposed to
Speaker 1: have come over for a group brunch. She later missed
Speaker 1: the way Eli never wanted to leave his phone charging
Speaker 1: in the living room overnight any more. His sudden new
Speaker 1: interest in cologne. He swore it was dry skin from
Speaker 1: the winter that made him shop for so many new products.
Speaker 1: I almost laughed dry skin. On a Wednesday, I decided
Speaker 1: I couldn't walk circles in my own life any longer.
Speaker 1: I called out sick, waited until Eli left, and made
Speaker 1: coffee with the kind of focus I usually saved for
Speaker 1: campaign reports. In the stillness, I took out my sketch book.
Speaker 1: I stared at the blank pages, wanting to draw, to
Speaker 1: get back to anything simple, before realization coiled around everything. Instead,
Speaker 1: I found myself sketching a faceless couple, their bodies pressed together,
Speaker 1: a tangled amalgam of lines, impossible to separate. Not me
Speaker 1: and Eli, not exactly, just that feeling of something fused,
Speaker 1: then broken, then uncertain. That same day, I tried texting
Speaker 1: Maya one more time, want to grab a drink this week?
Speaker 1: Things feel weird? Hours passed, no reply. I checked her
Speaker 1: online status, that pathetic peak of modern shame. Nothing. By Friday,
Speaker 1: my phone vibrated with another text from the blocked number.
Speaker 1: This time it was just a string of words, You're
Speaker 1: smarter than this. Ask about the river walk after the gallery,
Speaker 1: no punctuation. My palms went icy. I looked up the
Speaker 1: gallery event date, mapped it next to the ride share
Speaker 1: and the hotel receipt. It all fit horribly. That evening,
Speaker 1: when Eli called to say he'd be late again, project
Speaker 1: based excuse again with Mayer, I let my own fury
Speaker 1: bleed into my reply, Okay, be safe. I'd stop saying
Speaker 1: I love you, just to see if he'd notice. He didn't.
Speaker 1: Minutes after I hung up, Leela called rat Abby just
Speaker 1: told me something. At the gallery after party, she saw
Speaker 1: Eli and Meyer leaving the riverside Walk at like midnight.
Speaker 1: They were close. She thought it was weird. I sank
Speaker 1: into the kitchen stool, every illusion draining out. Why didn't
Speaker 1: she say anything before? Leela hesitated. Honestly, none of us
Speaker 1: thought it could possibly be serious. I'm sorry, that's the thing,
Speaker 1: I whispered. Nobody ever does until it is the night
Speaker 1: stretched long. I sat alone, the city a blur at
Speaker 1: the window. Every surface in our place felt stolen, like
Speaker 1: he'd already taken pieces of it somewhere else. I wrote
Speaker 1: down dates, annotated receipts, shuffled evidence, like I was gearing
Speaker 1: up for a trial I didn't want to win. I
Speaker 1: read and reread the cryptic texts, willing them to make
Speaker 1: it not real. I remembered the way Eli and I
Speaker 1: used to be, the slow mornings, the way we'd argue
Speaker 1: over coffee shops on Saturdays, getting nothing done, the parties
Speaker 1: with friends, crowded in rooms that belonged to none of us,
Speaker 1: but felt like home anyway, All the times. I never
Speaker 1: once wondered if he'd keep a secret, if he'd rather
Speaker 1: be somewhere else. I ached with missing that world, and
Speaker 1: hated myself for letting my certainty be so easily Undone
Speaker 1: one night, unable to sleep, I reached for his phone
Speaker 1: in the darkness. He'd left it charging on his side,
Speaker 1: careless or trusting or just tired. My fingers hovered. I
Speaker 1: knew the code, four digits, so simple. For a long moment,
Speaker 1: I didn't move. Then I put it down, hands shaking,
Speaker 1: sick at what I'd almost done. If there was an answer,
Speaker 1: it should come from them, not from spying, not from
Speaker 1: stooping that low. But my sense of what counted as
Speaker 1: low was fraying. A few days later, the group chat
Speaker 1: revived plans for a night out at a new wine bar.
Speaker 1: In an act of self preservation, I accepted. If Eli
Speaker 1: and Meyer could build their lives outside of me, I
Speaker 1: could try too. When we arrived, the crowd swallowed us
Speaker 1: in noise and bright lights. I clung to the bar,
Speaker 1: ordering something sharp and expensive. Meyer arrived late, face drawn,
Speaker 1: eyes shadowed despite her make up. Eli made an effort
Speaker 1: to include me in the early banter, too much effort.
Speaker 1: He hovered, fetched my drink, kissed my cheek for show.
Speaker 1: Everyone played along, except Meyer, who kept her distance. At
Speaker 1: one point, she and Eli shared a quiet conversation by
Speaker 1: the wall, heads unnaturally close. I caught them in the mirror,
Speaker 1: shoulders tilted inward, the rest of the room fading around them.
Speaker 1: By now I knew. I didn't want to know, but
Speaker 1: I knew. Leela tipsy by then grabbed my hand and
Speaker 1: squeezed her. Eyes flicked to where the two of them stood,
Speaker 1: worry crumpling her brow. I squeezed her back wordlessly, don't
Speaker 1: say it, don't make it real. The next week, Meya
Speaker 1: called out sick and vanished from digital life. Her absence
Speaker 1: was like a missing piece from a puzzle. Every one
Speaker 1: else pretended not to notice. Eli grew frantic, snappy, picking
Speaker 1: fights over nothing. Are you checking up on me now?
Speaker 1: He barked. When I texted just to ask about groceries.
Speaker 1: You're so distant lately. This isn't you ratch? I bit
Speaker 1: back the urge to laugh. Maybe I'm learning from the best,
Speaker 1: I said, and immediately regretted it. He retreated to the bedroom,
Speaker 1: shutting the door with unusual force. Everything about our life
Speaker 1: now felt curated, staged. Even our silences felt performative. I
Speaker 1: moved through the days half present, wondering which of our
Speaker 1: friends knew and which simply chose not to know. I
Speaker 1: forced myself to attend one more group outing, a trivia
Speaker 1: night where the theme was early Aught's movies. The joke
Speaker 1: was that Eli and I always swept the categories, but
Speaker 1: that night he grinned too brightly answered questions he would
Speaker 1: have fumbled. Meyer didn't show. Afterward, Abby patted my shoulder,
Speaker 1: You too, okay, been seeing less of you. The neutrality
Speaker 1: in her tone was suspicious by itself. I shrugged, everyone
Speaker 1: es been busy. The lie felt dangerous. Another day, a
Speaker 1: text chimed as Elis showed Meyer's name. I stared at
Speaker 1: the screen. I can't do this forever. Call me, my
Speaker 1: heart stuttered. I put the phone down. Later, Eli emerged,
Speaker 1: wet hair, whistling. He didn't notice anything off, or pretended
Speaker 1: not to, or maybe that's what all of us did
Speaker 1: all along. When Maya finally returned to work, she barely
Speaker 1: acknowledged me. She looked through me. In meetings, sidestepped he
Speaker 1: loes offered nothing more than obligatory professionalism. Eli's tension rose
Speaker 1: to fever pitch. He was quick to anger, biting in
Speaker 1: his criticism, apologetic. In the span of half a breath,
Speaker 1: one evening, after a particularly long day, he knocked over
Speaker 1: a glass and snapped at my startled reaction, God, ratch,
Speaker 1: can we just not do this right now? I almost ask,
Speaker 1: not do what pretend be civil exist in the same
Speaker 1: room without wondering what else is breaking apart? But I
Speaker 1: stayed quiet. I waited if the truth was a wave,
Speaker 1: I was done trying to outswim it. After another night
Speaker 1: of sircing my own thoughts, I decided this can't be
Speaker 1: my life, this endless second guessing, this isolation. In my
Speaker 1: own home. The next morning, while Eli was still half
Speaker 1: asleep and oblivious, I scribbled a list of everything, concrete
Speaker 1: screenshots of ride charges, the napkin from the river Walk,
Speaker 1: hotel bar I dug out of Eli's old coat, the
Speaker 1: social posts, the anonymous texts I added times, dates, names
Speaker 1: of venues. This was the evidence, the scaffolding of whatever
Speaker 1: this ugly thing really was. When I finished, I stared
Speaker 1: at it, sickened by my own tenacity. I realized later
Speaker 1: this was never just about Eli and Meyer. It was
Speaker 1: about being erased from my own narrative, about everyone else
Speaker 1: deciding for me what I was allowed to know, to feel,
Speaker 1: Eli lying to my face, mya dodging me in hallways.
Speaker 1: We once walked together, the friends whose silences had grown dangerous.
Speaker 1: That afternoon, I met Leela for a walk. The wind
Speaker 1: was brisk, leaves spinning in tiny tornadoes on the sidewalk.
Speaker 1: We strolled in silence for a while. Then she said,
Speaker 1: you're not crazy, you know. Her voice was soft, deafinite.
Speaker 1: I stopped walking. Then why do I still wish it
Speaker 1: was all in my head? I asked. She pulled me
Speaker 1: into a hug, her chin digging into my shoulder. Because
Speaker 1: if it's real, everything changes. The rest of the night,
Speaker 1: I barely spoke. I watched Eli from across the room,
Speaker 1: wanting to memorize him before things inevitably shifted, the way
Speaker 1: he half smiled at sitcom reruns, the way he scowled
Speaker 1: at emil Ping's flipping the phone Aside. For all my
Speaker 1: fear and suspicion, I still loved him, loved the idea
Speaker 1: of what we used to be. But I owed myself
Speaker 1: more than whatever scraps of honesty he thought I could handle. Tomorrow,
Speaker 1: I decided I'd ask for the truth, not with rage
Speaker 1: or tears or the desire to win, just the facts
Speaker 1: laid bare as I deserved. Maybe that's the last dignity
Speaker 1: you can claim in a situation like this, demanding an answer,
Speaker 1: even if it leaves you emptier than before. The city
Speaker 1: that night was full of sirens, distant, rising and falling.
Speaker 1: I imagined Mayer somewhere else, maybe in her own empty apartment,
Speaker 1: unraveling the story she'd agreed to keep secret. Maybe Eli
Speaker 1: making up new alibis, perfecting his scripts, or maybe everyone
Speaker 1: just pretending, hoping to outrun consequence. One more day. I
Speaker 1: lay in the dark, waiting for the sun, counting the
Speaker 1: cracks in the ceiling, listening for the quietest sound, the
Speaker 1: rhythm of breath beside me that might never feel safe again.
Speaker 1: The air in the loft is thinner than I remember.
Speaker 1: I can hear every clock tick, street noise seeping in
Speaker 1: through the windows, half century old sash, the list I made, dates, receipts,
Speaker 1: anonymous messages, sits folded like a curse on the coffee table,
Speaker 1: close enough to reach but too dangerous to touch again.
Speaker 1: In the blue wash of pre dawn, I orbit the kitchen,
Speaker 1: watching the city creep awake between towers. Eli's shoes are
Speaker 1: by the door, his charger still plugged in near the bed,
Speaker 1: mundane evidence of a shared life. I'm not sure how
Speaker 1: either of us will survive the next twenty four hours,
Speaker 1: but I know some border has been crossed. There's nothing
Speaker 1: left to prop the house of cards. He comes home late,
Speaker 1: the slice of street lamp across the wall tracking his entrance.
Speaker 1: He's distracted, running fingers through his hair, coat half off
Speaker 1: before he notices me sitting at the table. The surprise
Speaker 1: in his eyes is brief. He doesn't expect me here
Speaker 1: this time of night. There's a pause, his gaze flicking
Speaker 1: to the notepad at my elbow, then away. Hey still up.
Speaker 1: He tries for casual, a routine question. But there's a
Speaker 1: tremor there, a wisp of dread leaking through. I nod,
Speaker 1: feeling everything and nothing at once. I couldn't sleep, I say,
Speaker 1: my voice rough. Can we talk? He looks at the clock,
Speaker 1: as if time itself might intervene. It's late, ratch, Can
Speaker 1: it wait until morning? I don't think so. I press
Speaker 1: my hand flat to the steadying it. I need you
Speaker 1: to answer something, ELI really answer. He puts down his bag,
Speaker 1: hesitates in the threshold between the kitchen and living room.
Speaker 1: He's smaller than usual. Or maybe it's just my perspective,
Speaker 1: shrinking the world to what I need to know. For
Speaker 1: a second, I remember everything good, how he held my
Speaker 1: hand our first year, how he waited for me with
Speaker 1: the patience of someone who believed in permanence. But all
Speaker 1: that's behind glass. Now he senses it too. I think
Speaker 1: he steps forward, your working waiting for what's coming. I
Speaker 1: want the truth, I say quietly about you, and maya
Speaker 1: about everything. The words fill the air, electric and dangerous.
Speaker 1: I watch his face arrange itself. The old gear's whirring.
Speaker 1: What does she know? He puts his hands in his pocket,
Speaker 1: size Rachel. He starts that sincere voice I've loved for years.
Speaker 1: I've already told you Maya's been dealing with something private.
Speaker 1: I promise not to stop. I say, I'm not shaking now.
Speaker 1: I don't need another cover story. I know about the
Speaker 1: ride charges, the hotel receipt after the gallery, Meyer's folder
Speaker 1: on your drive, the way you both left together, the
Speaker 1: night you told me you were with a client. His
Speaker 1: mouth opens, shuts, He searches my face. May be looking
Speaker 1: for mercy, maybe for a way out. Who told you that?
Speaker 1: He says, voice too sharp. It doesn't matter. I reply,
Speaker 1: and for once, it's true. It's over, Eli. I can't
Speaker 1: keep living inside your half answers. Just tell me what's real.
Speaker 1: He rubs at his face, like if he presses hard enough,
Speaker 1: the lies might leak out and spare him the effort.
Speaker 1: He sinks into a chair opposite me. It wasn't meant
Speaker 1: to get I swear. It started small, late nights, venting
Speaker 1: about work. She she needed someone, and I didn't know
Speaker 1: how to say no. It was never supposed to be
Speaker 1: anything but support. He laughs, then hating himself. That's bullshit,
Speaker 1: isn't it. I flinch, how low? I ask He doesn't
Speaker 1: answer right away, just stares at the table, as if
Speaker 1: the grain holds some forgiveness since February, he says, at last,
Speaker 1: the words hit me in the chest, a blow with
Speaker 1: no resistance, longer than I ever intended. We we slept together,
Speaker 1: it happened a few times. We told ourselves it would end,
Speaker 1: but it never did. I hated lying ratch, I did mire.
Speaker 1: She hated it too. I almost laugh the cruelty of this,
Speaker 1: their joint misery. Now the final plea for my compassion.
Speaker 1: He keeps talking, voice hollow. It got away from me sometimes.
Speaker 1: I thought if you just found out, I wouldn't have
Speaker 1: to keep doing this. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I've
Speaker 1: rehearsed this in my head all the ways I thought
Speaker 1: he might explain it a fling, a mistake, some accident,
Speaker 1: But hearing it aloud is its own violence. I can't
Speaker 1: stand the sight of him with his hands limp, his
Speaker 1: face wet from tears. He doesn't try to hide. Did
Speaker 1: you love her? I ask, and I hate myself for
Speaker 1: still needing to know. He shakes his head, and for
Speaker 1: the first time he looks like he might break No.
Speaker 1: I loved you, myer. She was comfort. I guess escape,
Speaker 1: but I never stopped loving you. That's what made it worse.
Speaker 1: I want to scream, want to throw every memory at
Speaker 1: him until he feels scratched raw, but exhaustion wins out.
Speaker 1: You had every chance to tell me. You made me
Speaker 1: question my own sanity. I was scared, he whispers. I
Speaker 1: thought I could fix it. I thought if I could
Speaker 1: just end it quietly, we'd be okay. You used me
Speaker 1: as your shield to make yourself feel decent. My voice
Speaker 1: is dead flat. That's the last kindness i'll lend you, Eli,
Speaker 1: he cries openly, now, the sobs racking through him, desperate
Speaker 1: and ugly. Please please ratch can't we can't we try
Speaker 1: to work through this. I don't want to lose you.
Speaker 1: I stand then, unable to breathe the same air you
Speaker 1: lost me the moment you decide I wasn't worth the truth.
Speaker 1: I grabbed my phone and the small bag I packed
Speaker 1: before this began. I won't do this, not with you,
Speaker 1: not here. He moves like he might follow, but then
Speaker 1: sits back, ruined by his own choices. I walk out,
Speaker 1: letting the door close as softly as I can. It
Speaker 1: feels like dropping anchor off the side of a building. Outside,
Speaker 1: the night is cold and tender, the city's pulse rumbling
Speaker 1: through the sidewalk. I text Leela, need a place to night,
Speaker 1: she replies instantly, of course. Always walking through the hush
Speaker 1: of midnight, my head throbs with all I've lost, not
Speaker 1: just Eli, but the life we made, the network of
Speaker 1: friends who all turned away when it counted, the laughter
Speaker 1: of old group photos that no longer belonged to me.
Speaker 1: I moved through the city in a daze, each footstep
Speaker 1: more certain than the last. I don't cry, not yet.
Speaker 1: The numbness holds me upright. Leela opens her door in
Speaker 1: sweatpants and a blanket, pulling me into the soft light
Speaker 1: of her apartment. There are no questions, just the hush
Speaker 1: of someone willing to witness your untangling grief. She puts
Speaker 1: the kettle on, pushes me onto the couch, hands firm
Speaker 1: and gentle. I text Eli once all the words I
Speaker 1: haven't spoken. I'm gone for now. Please don't contact me.
Speaker 1: I ignore his reply when it comes a flood of
Speaker 1: apologies and explanations. I will not read. The day's shrink
Speaker 1: and stretch time flattening into nothing. Work is mercifully remote.
Speaker 1: My boss guessing at a break up, gives me space,
Speaker 1: no questions asked. I delete photos, silence chats, refuse every
Speaker 1: text from Eli. Watch the blue ticks accumulate in his
Speaker 1: desperate thread. Mayer tries once an emil full of apologies,
Speaker 1: please for forgiveness. I delete it without reading past the
Speaker 1: first line. I don't return home, though Abby offers to
Speaker 1: help me move things when I'm ready. The friend group
Speaker 1: fractures at the edges. Alliance is shifting unseen. Nobody asks
Speaker 1: for my side. I let them. I do not answer
Speaker 1: Leela's gentle suggestion that I should tell people what really happened.
Speaker 1: The urge to protect myself is stronger than my desire
Speaker 1: for justice. I want only quiet, only the certainty of
Speaker 1: my own pain and survival. Nights are restless. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: hear Eli's voice in the hall, even though I know
Speaker 1: he's gone. Sometimes I imagine Maya sitting in her apartment,
Speaker 1: torn between relief and guilt, nowhere left to hide. I'm
Speaker 1: more not just a relationship, but a world. The dinners
Speaker 1: the group threads, pinging with shared jokes. Saturday mornings, when
Speaker 1: it felt like we all belong to each other. Now
Speaker 1: it's a waste, land, no trust, no home, just myself
Speaker 1: and the cold comfort of finally knowing. A week unspools.
Speaker 1: I gather what little will I have and walk back
Speaker 1: to the loft for the last time. Find the space
Speaker 1: hollowed out. Eli's side of the closet is empty. Now
Speaker 1: there's mail on the counter and read My plants are browning.
Speaker 1: I pack the essentials in silence, careful not to linger
Speaker 1: too long on the things I once believed were ours.
Speaker 1: I leave a key on the window sill, a note
Speaker 1: with nothing but affording address for practicalities. I stare at
Speaker 1: the rooms, the echo of years collapsed into absence. I
Speaker 1: step out onto the rooftop, the city breathing below, neon
Speaker 1: and thunder clouded with memory. My phone is a weight
Speaker 1: in my hand. I scroll to Meyer's contact, hesitate, then
Speaker 1: type I know, please don't contact me. I hit send
Speaker 1: before I can reconsider. I reach for my sketch book,
Speaker 1: pages thick with old dreams, old ideas ELI once found beautiful.
Speaker 1: I shuffle through them, then, with a decisive flicker, tear
Speaker 1: out everything unfinished, everything I'd drawn when I still believed
Speaker 1: in us. I light a match, watch the page's curl,
Speaker 1: the smoke drifting over the ledge. The emptiness is sacred,
Speaker 1: and for the first time, I feel alone but clear.
Speaker 1: The city's murmurs below, reminding me I am still here,
Speaker 1: not rebuilt, not whole, but unhidden. I shoulder my bag
Speaker 1: and step away from the edge. The night feels different
Speaker 1: as I walk toward the stairwell, lighter, quieter, something shifting
Speaker 1: under my skin. I don't look back at the smoldering remnants.
Speaker 1: There's only forward now, whatever that might mean. I close
Speaker 1: the roof top door behind me, the click echoing down
Speaker 1: the stairwell, and no, I've told my own truth at last.
Speaker 1: When I descend the stairs, each step feels like pushing
Speaker 1: through water. My key is no longer cold in my pocket,
Speaker 1: but left behind. Symbolic may be, but mostly pragmatic. I
Speaker 1: call a ride share and wait beside our building, stoop,
Speaker 1: numb to the drone of traffic and chatter from the
Speaker 1: corner bar, headphones in, though no music plays. It's a
Speaker 1: small relief to know Eli isn't coming after me. I'm
Speaker 1: not sure what I'd do if he did. Argue on
Speaker 1: the sidewalk, dissolve into apologies. Neither of us would mean
Speaker 1: or just stand there unable to look at him. I
Speaker 1: keep glancing at my phone. The most recent messages are
Speaker 1: dense blocks of each unanswered line, more frantic than the last.
Speaker 1: The car arrives, I duck into the back seat, mumble
Speaker 1: Leela's address, and rest my forehead to the window. The
Speaker 1: city slides by, steam venting into the march, dark store fronts,
Speaker 1: blurring rows of apartments, with strangers moving in their own
Speaker 1: unbroken routines. I can see myself reflected in the glass,
Speaker 1: tired eyes, hair, barely combed, jackets zipped hastily. In that
Speaker 1: warped mirror. I catch a fleeting merge of gilt and
Speaker 1: resolve how long had I known? Maybe? Always? If I'm honest,
Speaker 1: maybe it was just easier to believe in us than
Speaker 1: to believe in reality. When I reach Leela's I tip
Speaker 1: the driver too much and linger on the sidewalk. Phone
Speaker 1: in hand, Abby has texted, he said, you left? Are
Speaker 1: you okay here? If you need? Even that feels dangerous
Speaker 1: a coded test? Was she reaching out as my friend
Speaker 1: or as some one already in Eli's confidence? I don't answer.
Speaker 1: Not yet. Inside Leela is her usual will calm hurricane.
Speaker 1: She's folded blankets in a small pile on her gray couch,
Speaker 1: arranged mugs and a half eaten bag of cookies on
Speaker 1: the coffee table. She reaches for my bag. Bathroom's clean,
Speaker 1: Take a shower. There's ginger tea on if you want.
Speaker 1: We don't speak about him, Not at first, she knows
Speaker 1: when silence is the better comfort. I feel grateful, or
Speaker 1: maybe just lucky, not to be alone with the ache
Speaker 1: where certainty once lived. The first night is all edges,
Speaker 1: blank screens, blinking message requests, the slow realization that without Eli,
Speaker 1: I don't actually know if this city feels like home
Speaker 1: any more. Leela moves quietly around her space, narrating dinner
Speaker 1: shows under her breath, humming off key while she checks emails,
Speaker 1: as if her acts of normalcy could stake out a
Speaker 1: zone of peace for me too. In the early hours,
Speaker 1: after she's gone to bed with promises of a breakfast run,
Speaker 1: I check my phone. Eli's last message, Please just talk
Speaker 1: to me. I can't sleep, can't eat. Please. The timing
Speaker 1: is too who thirty six a M. I almost reply.
Speaker 1: I almost launch into a tirade or a plea, or
Speaker 1: some poisonous mix of both. But then I think about
Speaker 1: my own tired body about how many nights I lay awake,
Speaker 1: flipping over receipts and schedules and explanations, unable to rest
Speaker 1: while he drifted off beside me without apology. By sunrise,
Speaker 1: I haven't slept. I watch the pale light creep over
Speaker 1: Lellah's south facing windows, admire her basil plant for its cheerfulness,
Speaker 1: and wonder what Leelah has seen of love, what she
Speaker 1: has survived through her own seasons of betrayal. In the shower,
Speaker 1: I wash my hair twice until my scalp feels raw.
Speaker 1: The water is too hot, but I don't adjust it.
Speaker 1: Mid morning, I check E mail and see that my
Speaker 1: boss has covered my Monday calls. Take whatever space you need.
Speaker 1: Her note reads, you're good at the job. Don't let
Speaker 1: personnel come last. I want to believe this is compassion
Speaker 1: and not just p r. Either way, I know I
Speaker 1: won't deliver much for a while. When Leela shuffles in,
Speaker 1: shrouded in an oversized sweater, I'm already dressed but listless,
Speaker 1: swirling milk into a cup. She sits beside me, not
Speaker 1: pushing for explanation. It isn't until I swallow and murmur
Speaker 1: I saw everything I needed to that. She wraps an
Speaker 1: arm around my shoulder and presses her forehead to mine.
Speaker 1: Wordless and fierce, she's the one who finally floats the
Speaker 1: question no one else dared. Do you want people to know?
Speaker 1: She means the circle, the group, those drifting satellites who'd
Speaker 1: once believed we were the axis, every one spun around.
Speaker 1: I honestly don't know, I say every time I picture
Speaker 1: telling the story, receipts and timelines, Maya's silence, Eli's ruined face.
Speaker 1: I burn with anger and then inevitably humiliation. I keep thinking,
Speaker 1: if I just out them, if I send out a
Speaker 1: group text with screenshots, what do I actually win? My
Speaker 1: voice cracks. Everyone already chose their side. Nobody wanted to know.
Speaker 1: Not really, We agree to wait. There is no urgent announcement,
Speaker 1: no great moment of coming clean for the sake of
Speaker 1: exposing anyone. Instead, I scroll through the group chat messages,
Speaker 1: piling about trivia nights, the soft launch of someone's new podcast,
Speaker 1: invitations ELI will now answer alone or not at all.
Speaker 1: I mute the chat, then turn my phone off. Days
Speaker 1: move in bursts. One minute, I am functional editing slides
Speaker 1: for work, cooking past her, while Leela dictates from her
Speaker 1: no measurements school of cuisine. The next I am flattened
Speaker 1: by flashes of memory Eli laughing over morning coffee, Mia
Speaker 1: slipping a slide joke in a group thread, all of
Speaker 1: us singing along to something loud at Jake's old place.
Speaker 1: The montage loops ugly in its sweetness. At the end
Speaker 1: of the third day, I detour by the loft to
Speaker 1: grab a handful of things I forgot, bracing myself for
Speaker 1: the chance encounter with Eli that this time never comes.
Speaker 1: The apartment is even more stripped, his shoes by the
Speaker 1: door of gone, his cologne absent from the bathroom's shelf.
Speaker 1: There's a note on the fridge. Our lease is up
Speaker 1: in May. I'll have it handled. Sorry, sorry, he writes,
Speaker 1: like this was a mist errand or a birthday card.
Speaker 1: I rip the note in half, pitch it into the trash,
Speaker 1: and thumb through the haphazard pile of mail left on
Speaker 1: the counter. Not bills, just catalogs and fliers for events
Speaker 1: we'd never attend again. I gather up my sketch supplies
Speaker 1: and a sweater Mire once loaned me, stuffing it into
Speaker 1: my bag. I'll never give it back. It feels petty,
Speaker 1: and right on my way out, I pass a neighbor
Speaker 1: in the hallway, Gillian, who eyes me warily, almost sorrowfully.
Speaker 1: She offers a strained smile, rough weak ha. I almost laugh,
Speaker 1: but just nod and keep walking. After years of borrowed
Speaker 1: sugar and key drops, I have no appetite for small talk.
Speaker 1: Back at Leela's, the apartment feels less provisional, more like retreat.
Speaker 1: She hands me my mug and props her feet on
Speaker 1: my suit case. If you need to ghost, everyone do it.
Speaker 1: Nobody here gets to demand your forgiveness, she says, flatly,
Speaker 1: picking at her nail polish. You could blow up the
Speaker 1: group chat and I'd back you. Her loyalty is a comfort,
Speaker 1: and I let myself lean into it, not for justice,
Speaker 1: but for the simple dignity of being cared for, even
Speaker 1: if the rest of that old world now lives behind glass.
Speaker 1: Some nights I walk the block over to the river,
Speaker 1: watching the fairies cross beneath the bridge's elye and I
Speaker 1: once rambled over back when our shoes scuffed in sink
Speaker 1: and we traded secrets for dreams. The ache is softer, now,
Speaker 1: less pinched at the heart. I see the city as
Speaker 1: it always was, indifferent, alive, unconcerned with who loves whom,
Speaker 1: or who betrays whom, or who simply gives up and
Speaker 1: starts over. I try to picture Meyer in this same city,
Speaker 1: somewhere else, navigating the mess she helped create. I wish
Speaker 1: her well sometimes, other times I wish she'd vanish into
Speaker 1: a job transfer up state. The group stays frackedxious. A
Speaker 1: few people slide into my d MS, apologizing or issuing
Speaker 1: vague offers to talk to get my side if I
Speaker 1: ever want, I do not reply for the first time.
Speaker 1: May be ever, I'm not hungry to re establish my place,
Speaker 1: to beg for my side of the story to matter.
Speaker 1: There's a clean cold in just letting the old scene fade.
Speaker 1: Work asks if I'm ready to return to the office
Speaker 1: next week. I say soon, though the thought of running
Speaker 1: into Eli in any context makes my breath stutter. I
Speaker 1: imagine him stopping me at a coffee cart, searching my
Speaker 1: face for kindness, maybe my trailing at his shoulder, Both
Speaker 1: of them brittle with secrets. Maybe, if I'm lucky, our
Speaker 1: circles stay apart. I'd accept the city shrinking if it
Speaker 1: meant I never had to see the pair of them together,
Speaker 1: not laughing at a private joke, not moving on, as
Speaker 1: if nothing of value was broken. One afternoon, Leela brings
Speaker 1: home a new house plant, deposits it in the center
Speaker 1: of the coffee table. Symbolic, she explains, something you can't
Speaker 1: kill if you forget it exists. I crack a tired smile.
Speaker 1: I'm grateful for low stakes, I say, running my fingers
Speaker 1: over the soft leaves. I spend whole evenings with my
Speaker 1: sketch book, filling it with brutal abstract shapes, lines that
Speaker 1: don't attempt faces or couples or even places, only the
Speaker 1: sense of movement, of ache, of something in the process
Speaker 1: of breaking. And they're not healing but shifting. There's solace
Speaker 1: in the physical act, in marking the paper without judgment.
Speaker 1: The dinner invites recede. Texts from Abbey or Jacob arrive
Speaker 1: unanswered until Leelah asks gently, do you want to block them?
Speaker 1: Not yet, I say, let them wonder for once. It
Speaker 1: is only as days slip by the sharpest pain cooling,
Speaker 1: that I let myself look back with a softer sort
Speaker 1: of clarity. The betrayal is still fresh, but it's the
Speaker 1: theft of context. I mourn more the way the world
Speaker 1: once made sense and now seems to turn with edges exposed.
Speaker 1: My future remains unmapped. The factory reset of every plan
Speaker 1: Eli and I once laid is both mercy and danger.
Speaker 1: One late night, after Leela has gone to bed and
Speaker 1: the city below hums with spring's first hopefulness, I get
Speaker 1: a last email from Eli. The subject line just reads truth.
Speaker 1: This time I let myself read it, every line, an
Speaker 1: odd sad echo of the final conversation we'd already had.
Speaker 1: He says he's sorry, yes, that he wishes he could
Speaker 1: erase everything that happened. That he knows an apology doesn't
Speaker 1: matter now, he confesses to confusion, nostalgia, fear, every predictable thing.
Speaker 1: He signs off. You deserved honesty. I'm sorry I couldn't
Speaker 1: give it sooner. I hope you find peace eventually. Not
Speaker 1: a plea, just a good bye. I stare at the
Speaker 1: screen for a long time. I don't reply, and I
Speaker 1: don't reread it. The next morning, I delete the account
Speaker 1: he used, blocking further contact by the weak care. My
Speaker 1: apartment is still only a collection of boxes at Leela's
Speaker 1: half unpacked piles of shirts I once bought with Eli,
Speaker 1: books I annotated with in jokes only i'd ever understand
Speaker 1: now my plants have survived the move, if only through neglect,
Speaker 1: and the light in Leela's living room is kind to them.
Speaker 1: On Saturday, I walked to the farmer's market with Leelah,
Speaker 1: and I nearly forget, for just a few bright minutes
Speaker 1: that my life was ever circumscribed by some one else's orbit.
Speaker 1: In the days that follow, I don't see Meyer, I
Speaker 1: don't see Eli. Close friends check up on me, but
Speaker 1: the group as a whole stays fractured, tension floating in
Speaker 1: every mention of my name. For the most part, I
Speaker 1: let it go. Leela jokes, next rooftop party, just you
Speaker 1: and me, no boyfriend's, no side eyes. I find myself agreeing.
Speaker 1: Each night I returned to the small notebook I started
Speaker 1: in the aftermath, the one I bought when the rest
Speaker 1: of my art's supplies were still boxed away. The pages
Speaker 1: fill not with grief or love lost, but with small observations.
Speaker 1: The way the light on Leela's kitchen floor slices through
Speaker 1: at eight fourteen, the pattern of rain on window glass,
Speaker 1: the quiet thud of footsteps upstairs, small things, but dependable.
Speaker 1: Within a week, the ache that had overwhelmed everything else
Speaker 1: recalibrates into just one more background fact, humming under the slow,
Speaker 1: hopeful insistence of daily life. Still, I keep the phone
Speaker 1: beside my pillow, part instinct and part superstition. Meyer's name
Speaker 1: stays unblocked, but unanswered. Each time I consider reaching out
Speaker 1: with anger, with vindication, with even a moment's curiosity, I
Speaker 1: put the phone down. In the end, the absence is
Speaker 1: the cleanest closure possible. One evening, well after midnight, I
Speaker 1: take the elevator to Leela's rooftop. The cold is sharp, bracing.
Speaker 1: There's nobody else up there. The skyline shimmers jagged where
Speaker 1: glass meets clouds, the river glimmering in intermittent lines of gold.
Speaker 1: I sit on the tar paper edge and let memory
Speaker 1: play its last cruel trick. I scroll through my contacts,
Speaker 1: hover on Meyer's name, then type I know, please don't
Speaker 1: contact me. I press send my hands steady. At last,
Speaker 1: I flip my sketch book closed, tuck it under my arm,
Speaker 1: and stand facing the city lights, finally not looking over
Speaker 1: my shoulder, no longer searching for some one who might
Speaker 1: chase the truth out of me. The wind tugs at
Speaker 1: my hair. I take one long breath, deeper than I've
Speaker 1: managed in weeks, and let it out, watching the bare
Speaker 1: pages of my old life flutter in the air before me,
Speaker 1: gone but leaving space for whatever comes next. Then I turn,
Speaker 1: walk back toward the stairwell and step into the new
Speaker 1: qui