Speaker 1: The first time I noticed it, I was sitting at
Speaker 1: our kitchen island with my laptop balanced on a stack
Speaker 1: of cookbooks, trying to piece together a client's logo pitch
Speaker 1: while absent mindedly turning a t mug in my hands.
Speaker 1: The light flickered just above the stove, catching in the
Speaker 1: glass frames we'd hung up when we moved in photos
Speaker 1: from Tulum, a print of Chicago's skyline Matt bought me
Speaker 1: for Valentin's one year. It was late for a Wednesday,
Speaker 1: nine fifty seven. Nearly an hour passed when Matt usually
Speaker 1: stumbled in from his running club, red cheeked and eager
Speaker 1: for a shower. He always smelled faintly of wet pavement
Speaker 1: and synthetic gatorade hair stuck in damp peaks. To night.
Speaker 1: It was different. The key turned in the front door
Speaker 1: with more force than usual than his heavy footfalls down
Speaker 1: the hall, echoing against the hardwood. I glanced at my phone,
Speaker 1: half expecting his usual headed home text, but the screw
Speaker 1: was blank. Hey stranger, I called, making it sound light.
Speaker 1: I watched him swing his bag on to the bench
Speaker 1: by the door, his posture bouncier than after most runs.
Speaker 1: To night, his grin edged on something too sharp his shirt.
Speaker 1: This navy tech fabric tea looked fresh, definitely cleaner than
Speaker 1: after miles on city streets. Yet his sneakers had mud
Speaker 1: caked thick along the sole, the kind of splash you
Speaker 1: don't avoid during a real run. But it was the
Speaker 1: after smell that caught me. Layered on top of salt
Speaker 1: and detergent, there was something floral, almost candid, but not mine.
Speaker 1: I tried to place it. I wore citrus oils sometimes
Speaker 1: Matt's aftershave in a pinch, this was sweeter. Mat peeled
Speaker 1: off the tea as he grabbed a beer from the fridge,
Speaker 1: tossing a joke about nearly losing a shoe by the
Speaker 1: Lake Trail, those puddles. If Chicago can't fix Lake Shore,
Speaker 1: I'm running elsewhere, he teased, eyes flicking to mine and
Speaker 1: then away. Usually he would, unprompted, tell me about Anna
Speaker 1: talking every one into one more lap, or dug limping
Speaker 1: from a cramp. He had elaborate stories about a guy
Speaker 1: who wore shorts year round to night. Nothing long run,
Speaker 1: I asked, careful, not wanting to sound like I was
Speaker 1: running surveillance. He nodded gaze fixed on the bottle. Yeah,
Speaker 1: longer than planned, lost track. He set his bier on
Speaker 1: the counter, picked up his shoes. The mud flaked onto
Speaker 1: the tile, but he ignored it and told me he
Speaker 1: was going straight to the shower. As he brushed past,
Speaker 1: I caught the smell clinging to his neck. My hand
Speaker 1: tightened around my mug. When the water started, I let
Speaker 1: out the breath I'd been holding and scrolled back to
Speaker 1: my logo draft, but couldn't focus at all. I kept
Speaker 1: trying to dismiss the tension a muscle built up since
Speaker 1: we moved here. Don't overthink, don't be controlling, don't be insecure.
Speaker 1: Let him have his life, his hobbies. But the kitchen
Speaker 1: suddenly felt enormous and oddly empty. I heard him humming
Speaker 1: in the shower, Bowie off key. I sat motionless, wondering
Speaker 1: if unease like this was my own failing, or whether
Speaker 1: Matt was slipping away in ways so subtle I couldn't
Speaker 1: police them without sounding ridiculous. Still, for the next two days,
Speaker 1: I said nothing. I nodded along to his run recaps,
Speaker 1: helped him untangle his favorite headphones, teased him when he
Speaker 1: limped up the stairs, Thursday morning. It felt safer this way.
Speaker 1: He smiled at me like always, crashed onto the couch
Speaker 1: in his sweats, enveloping me in his familiar, gangly hug.
Speaker 1: I'd built my life to trust him. I tried not
Speaker 1: to notice new cracks in its surface. It wasn't like
Speaker 1: I hadn't felt this before, the feeling that normal, settled
Speaker 1: companions sometimes get when your routines get brittle and you
Speaker 1: can't name the change but feel the current running beneath.
Speaker 1: When we met, trust came so easily it was nearly thoughtless.
Speaker 1: Matt walking beside me in Grant Park with coffee, telling
Speaker 1: badly timed jokes until I laughed so loud, a dog
Speaker 1: walker a glenre He became safe harbor after a year
Speaker 1: I spent fighting off client disasters and family meltdowns. When
Speaker 1: he proposed, I had already said yes in a dozen
Speaker 1: quiet ways. We pulled everything into a battered savings account
Speaker 1: so we could buy our first place on the North Side.
Speaker 1: Our wedding was just twenty four people and two cakes
Speaker 1: in a cafe we loved. Moving into the Brownstone six
Speaker 1: months ago was supposed to be a new beginning. The
Speaker 1: old Radiators clunked through the nights. The kitchen had a slant,
Speaker 1: so eggs ran off the pan if you weren't careful,
Speaker 1: but it was ours. Finally we painted the bedrooms together.
Speaker 1: Matt messy with blew up to his elbows, planted a
Speaker 1: kiss on my nose every time my roller sputtered. Our
Speaker 1: friends drifted in and out, dropping off housewarming bottles and
Speaker 1: take out, laughing around a wobbly table we'd bought off Craigslist.
Speaker 1: Work was a seesaw. Matt's new firms celebrated him for
Speaker 1: a few good winds. He got handed a tricky design
Speaker 1: for a coworking space, which meant long hours and sketch
Speaker 1: books open at midnight. Some of my best clients dried up,
Speaker 1: and I spent more hours than I cared to admit,
Speaker 1: refreshing upwork listings and counting my invoices. But we'd always
Speaker 1: talked through stuff before. We did Sunday suppers with Jasmine
Speaker 1: and her wife Kendra. Sometimes Brian would crash and re
Speaker 1: enact old college pranks, rolling his eyes at us for
Speaker 1: having a wine fridge. We'd been busy but happy. For
Speaker 1: our anniversary, Matt booked us a late dinner at a
Speaker 1: noisy Italian place. He'd been distracted, but he smiled as
Speaker 1: we split black pepper pasta and traded five years toasts.
Speaker 1: He took a work call half way through dessert, but
Speaker 1: I tried to tell myself that's the price of adulthood.
Speaker 1: Six weeks since then, and sometimes our closeness felt like
Speaker 1: muscle memory. We still horse traded recipes, sent links for
Speaker 1: music we thought the other would love. But the phone
Speaker 1: calls stretched longer, the silences between us lingering. Some times
Speaker 1: Matt would come home and collapse into work, headphones on,
Speaker 1: running gear, forgotten by the door. Other times he was dazzling,
Speaker 1: buoyed by some invisible wind, performing for me or maybe
Speaker 1: for himself. After a late Sunday morning, us bundled in
Speaker 1: mismatched pajamas, eating soggy French toast, and arguing again about
Speaker 1: which Netflix series to force on each other. I felt optimistic,
Speaker 1: but there were days when I caught myself scrolling my
Speaker 1: phone in another room, waiting to see if Matt would
Speaker 1: text first. It was easier to believe it was just
Speaker 1: work pressure or me spinning the difficulties of free lancing
Speaker 1: into relationship drama. I reminded myself. There is no normal,
Speaker 1: only what we build. That logic didn't help when Jasmine
Speaker 1: asked about double dates over coffee one Thursday. She'd swung
Speaker 1: by tall tree, picking up an absurd lavender latte and
Speaker 1: joined me at a window seat. You think Matt could
Speaker 1: manage Wednesday next week? Kendra's got two tickets to that
Speaker 1: jazz thing. She started texting before I even had time
Speaker 1: to reply. That's his running club day, I said, feeling
Speaker 1: oddly defensive. Maybe I can talk him into skipping, but
Speaker 1: he's pretty locked in lately. Jasmine looked up, blinking weird.
Speaker 1: He was at Barrel and Hinge after last week's run
Speaker 1: with some one I didn't see who. I walked by, waved,
Speaker 1: but he looked busy. She set her cup down the foam,
Speaker 1: leaving a ghost mark on the wood. You didn't mention,
Speaker 1: so I figured neighbor. The word neighbor landed like a
Speaker 1: skipped heartbeat. I mentally scrolled through our social roster. We'd
Speaker 1: met a few folks on the block, mainly elderly, not
Speaker 1: the sort for late bar nights. I forced a laugh.
Speaker 1: Probably some one from the club. He's trying to recruit
Speaker 1: or dug that guy es becoming a regular fixture. Jasmine shrugged, unconvinced,
Speaker 1: but dropping it. Lucky you. If Kendra came home that
Speaker 1: cheery after or workout, I'd be suspicious. We changed the subject,
Speaker 1: but as I walked home, anxiety tugged insistently at me.
Speaker 1: At dinner that night, Matt was fidgety. I stirred soup,
Speaker 1: and he thanked me absently, vanishing into a text thread.
Speaker 1: His fingers moved with quiet urgency, screen lighting up just
Speaker 1: out of my sight. I thought about asking the words
Speaker 1: formed and rewound in my mouth. Are you seeing some
Speaker 1: one else? No? Too blunt, too crazy? Did you go
Speaker 1: for drinks after running club last week? But even that
Speaker 1: felt like a trap. If I accused him, it would
Speaker 1: make my doubts real. Instead, I asked if he wanted
Speaker 1: to help me rehang a crooked photo frame, and he smiled,
Speaker 1: stretching my name into a song. He watched me as
Speaker 1: I worked hands on his hips, as if nothing in
Speaker 1: the world was off. I wanted to believe him. It
Speaker 1: was easier that way. Trust by inertia. I tried for
Speaker 1: the next week to file my suspicions, where I filed
Speaker 1: all inconvenient feelings. I double checked Matt's running club schedule
Speaker 1: on my phone, reasoning that if he was out with someone,
Speaker 1: maybe it was part of the group rebranding for spring,
Speaker 1: but his stories didn't add up. Monday night, I emptied
Speaker 1: his backpack to look for the half eaten granola bar
Speaker 1: I'd been smelling for days. Tucked under a stack of receipts,
Speaker 1: I found a slip from a place called Ursa two dinners,
Speaker 1: two glasses of wine a week night. Matt swore he'd
Speaker 1: gone straight to running and then home. I didn't confront him. Instead,
Speaker 1: I scrolled their menu, a cozy wine bar. Had never
Speaker 1: heard him mention that. Tuesday, I drifted into his office
Speaker 1: at lunch, the way I sometimes did on productive days
Speaker 1: when I wanted to be a cool wife and surprise him.
Speaker 1: His desk mate, a cheerful, curly head paralegal, looked startled Matt.
Speaker 1: Oh he cut out early, had a client consult up
Speaker 1: by the river. He should be back this afternoon, though
Speaker 1: she didn't question me. Returning to her spreadshet Matt rolled
Speaker 1: in three hours later, explaining traffic, then launching into a
Speaker 1: monologue about the smell of the printer. But something in
Speaker 1: the way his eyes darted made me feel impatient brittle.
Speaker 1: That night, he skipped dinner altogether, claiming emails were out
Speaker 1: of control, and ate a protein bar in bed. Two
Speaker 1: days went by Friday, at happy hour, Brian, our friend
Speaker 1: from college who prided himself on managing his own break
Speaker 1: ups like sporting events, cornered me by the natchos you
Speaker 1: and matt O Kay. He tipped his head glass, sweating
Speaker 1: between his hands. He's been I dunno in his own
Speaker 1: world lately. Dad used to say, you can smell when
Speaker 1: someone's off their game. You know. I gave a quick
Speaker 1: dismissive answer. He has a new account that's eating him alive.
Speaker 1: But we're solid. It was mostly true. Over the years,
Speaker 1: I'd become skilled at spinning stories around the parts of
Speaker 1: our lives I didn't want examined. Still, every oddity stacked up.
Speaker 1: When our group chat proposed a mid week dinner, I
Speaker 1: asked Mat to join. Any other time, he'd have said, yes,
Speaker 1: it's rare. We're together on work nights. Can't bail on
Speaker 1: the running team live, he said, flatly, I'm supposed to
Speaker 1: help keep these new folks motivated. I didn't argue, but
Speaker 1: when I checked the running club's social page. There wasn't
Speaker 1: a meet up listed for that night. I hovered my
Speaker 1: mouse over the R s v P button, resisting the
Speaker 1: urge to message the club manager, directly, feeling crazy for
Speaker 1: even thinking of it. I started watching Matt on those evenings.
Speaker 1: One Wednesday, after a supposed interval run, he walked in
Speaker 1: the door, dry as kindling, not a drop of sweat,
Speaker 1: shirt and hair neat, not even a flush across his cheeks.
Speaker 1: He saw me watching and explained, almost too fast, rain
Speaker 1: hit just as we started. Didn't even get our shoes wet,
Speaker 1: so we called it early. He pulled me into a sudden,
Speaker 1: hard hug. You seem tense. Live Is everything all right?
Speaker 1: He sounded worried, but his hair drifted up and down
Speaker 1: my back in a way that was more soothing than intimate,
Speaker 1: like calming a dog during fireworks. It's work, that's all,
Speaker 1: I lied. I felt the prickle of tears, but blinked
Speaker 1: them away. Later that night, I pressed for details. Who ran?
Speaker 1: Did Anna finally break her pr and Matt's answers became fuzzy,
Speaker 1: mostly the usual folks. I can't remember if Anna was there. Honestly,
Speaker 1: he changed the subject to a podcast recommendation, then tried
Speaker 1: to tickle me until I relented. I fell asleep next
Speaker 1: to him, feeling like I'd lost my bearings in my
Speaker 1: own home. But things didn't escalate all at once. There
Speaker 1: were days when Matt was himself again, charming, tiringly enthusiastic
Speaker 1: about his work, affectionate in the kitchen, laughing on our
Speaker 1: friends group, faced calls. He planned a spontaneous brunch, whisking
Speaker 1: me out into the freezing wind for the best quassars
Speaker 1: in North Park. It was enough to convince myself for
Speaker 1: another week or two that maybe I was spiraling, burnt
Speaker 1: out from work, stress and our relentless move in chaos.
Speaker 1: Maybe Matt just needed breathing space, or maybe I'd forced
Speaker 1: him to build that space in the way I handled
Speaker 1: my own nerves. I even considered maybe he was planning
Speaker 1: a surprise or managing some personal stress he just didn't
Speaker 1: know how to name yet. Then one Saturday morning, I
Speaker 1: found the restaurant receipt again, still wedged in the liner
Speaker 1: of his running bag. Two entrays, two glasses of wine
Speaker 1: with a tip. I tried to recall what I'd done
Speaker 1: that night. I'd worked late on a deadline, and told
Speaker 1: Matt to order dinner for himself if he'd be home late.
Speaker 1: He texted that he was with the team, but the
Speaker 1: restaurant wasn't anywhere near the trail nor near our brownstone.
Speaker 1: If I hadn't seen the address, I'd never have known
Speaker 1: to even wonder. Wednesday evening, as I was tossing laundry
Speaker 1: from the dryer, Matt's phone buzzed. I didn't usually snoop,
Speaker 1: but after a week of growing nervousness, I let myself look.
Speaker 1: The preview was innocuous enough a message from Jess R.
Speaker 1: I tried to recall if I'd met any one with
Speaker 1: that name. I heard Matt's step from the shower as
Speaker 1: I stood there, frozen foone in hand. Without missing a beat,
Speaker 1: he snatched the phone, half laughing. Just Jess from running.
Speaker 1: She's new has a million questions about shoes. I told her,
Speaker 1: I'd ask you about chafing cream. His smile held, but
Speaker 1: his knuckles had gone a touch white. Before I could
Speaker 1: ask more, he launched into a monolog about trying a
Speaker 1: different running route, then distracted me by suggesting a late
Speaker 1: dinner out. We ended up eating greasy slices at a
Speaker 1: pizza joint. His laughter loud among the crowded tables. It
Speaker 1: would have almost convinced me, if not for the way
Speaker 1: his phone stayed face down. Determined to steady myself with facts,
Speaker 1: I told myself it was better to do nothing than
Speaker 1: confront with nothing. I fingered the receipt tucked into the
Speaker 1: drawer by our fridge, debated texting Jasmine, and instead busied
Speaker 1: myself with work, color grading a wedding logo, drafting invoices,
Speaker 1: repotting a stubborn snake plant. Still worry clung to me.
Speaker 1: I woke up twice that week, clawing dreams in which
Speaker 1: I watched Matt disappear around a corner, his shoulders tense,
Speaker 1: always with someone whose face I couldn't see. When I
Speaker 1: caught Brian on FaceTime, I nearly asked for advice, but
Speaker 1: the words died in my throat. I stopped by Matt's
Speaker 1: firm once more, with coffee a piece, offering a litmus test.
Speaker 1: His desk was empty. The receptionist, mid Sandwich told me
Speaker 1: Matt was at a client lunch uptown, something new. She
Speaker 1: didn't look up from her food again. It was Wednesday
Speaker 1: that evening. Curiosity overpowered pride I resisted the urge to
Speaker 1: check his jacket, but couldn't convince myself not to peek
Speaker 1: at his calendar. His outlook showed blocked times labeled as
Speaker 1: sight consult notes that didn't match what he told me
Speaker 1: about his projects. Each Wednesday had a two hour gap.
Speaker 1: Tucked in before running club, I went through memories, lining
Speaker 1: up where pieces didn't fit. When Matt came home, he
Speaker 1: was in a buoyant mood, almost giddy. He grabbed me
Speaker 1: into a bear hug, swung me around, then kissed my forehead.
Speaker 1: Missed you to day live. You should come running. The
Speaker 1: new crew would love you. I smiled, but my heart
Speaker 1: was thrumming. Maybe I will, I said, let me know
Speaker 1: when you get another group event. He hesitated, only half
Speaker 1: a beat. For sure. Suspicion was like an itch I
Speaker 1: couldn't quite reach. I tried to solve it away with logic,
Speaker 1: new running friends, stress from work, declined invites, but each
Speaker 1: piece kept snapping out of place. A week later, Matt
Speaker 1: came home after running club with a saw knee, at
Speaker 1: least that's what he claimed. He slumped into the living room,
Speaker 1: then excused himself to ice, but forgot the bag in
Speaker 1: the freezer. I fetched it, trying to piece together the Lye,
Speaker 1: the Sawnee, the missing group. Run his phone flashing with
Speaker 1: a brief text thanks for the night, m J. He
Speaker 1: caught me looking grinned, swept his phone away. Anna's always dramatic.
Speaker 1: I swear she just wants me to quit club altogether,
Speaker 1: he said, laughing. The pattern repeated, two or three days
Speaker 1: of normal brushing against whatever was fracturing in us, then
Speaker 1: a new oddity to needle at my brain. Matt would
Speaker 1: disappear for an hour to talk to her contractor then
Speaker 1: come home with no stories. Sometimes his moods swung between
Speaker 1: easy affection and a blank sort of distraction. Once I
Speaker 1: spent almost twenty minutes just staring at a pile of
Speaker 1: unfolded laundry, wondering if I was fabricating a whole fantasy
Speaker 1: from loneliness. My own routine changed. I started double checking
Speaker 1: our schedule, noting Matt's block time, not in a spreadsheet,
Speaker 1: but mentally stacking things up, testing angles, then trying to
Speaker 1: erase it all before he noticed nights. When he came
Speaker 1: home later than promised, I forced myself to be gentle,
Speaker 1: asking about dinner, drawing him into conversation about a neighbour's garden.
Speaker 1: If he flinched at the question, I'd changed the topic.
Speaker 1: Two weeks after Jasmine's off hand comment, she texted, late,
Speaker 1: want a grab brunch this Sunday? Solo is okay? I hesitated,
Speaker 1: then agreed. As we chatted, she pressed carefully, everything good
Speaker 1: with you too? But I gave her nothing, just the
Speaker 1: safe version. Busy, I said, work is nuts. MAT's running
Speaker 1: every free minute. When I got home, Matt was making pancakes, humming.
Speaker 1: He smiled as I came in. You look tired, tough night.
Speaker 1: I tried to keep my hands steady as I poured syrup.
Speaker 1: Not tough, just tired. You headed out to run? He hesitated,
Speaker 1: then nodded, yeah. Groups meeting at eight. I walked him
Speaker 1: to the door and watched him slip away, shoes slapping
Speaker 1: the sidewalk, body tensed in the chill. That afternoon, feeling bolder,
Speaker 1: I checked the club's Instagram. No post, not even a story.
Speaker 1: Anything slotted for a public workout would have been loved
Speaker 1: and reposted. I hovered over jess Ah, her handle marked
Speaker 1: as inactive, but I couldn't see much. Her account was private.
Speaker 1: I found myself watching Matt's movements, watching for signs. I
Speaker 1: checked his phone for photos, half expecting secret files. None.
Speaker 1: The only thing obvious was what was missing. No selfies
Speaker 1: from runs, no group photos like he used to share.
Speaker 1: I told myself he was less sentimental lately, but part
Speaker 1: of me wondered was he deleting them or just not
Speaker 1: bringing his phone? Every night that followed, a different set
Speaker 1: of worries waited. Maybe he was tired, maybe I was tired.
Speaker 1: Maybe nothing was wrong except the way years carved out
Speaker 1: comfort and left the rough edges. Then three wednesdays later,
Speaker 1: Matt came home, exuberant, clutching a bottle of cider. When
Speaker 1: he knew I loved, bringing it as a peace offering
Speaker 1: for earlier snappishness about his work hours. I felt a
Speaker 1: glimmer of old intimacy return, enough to lower my guard
Speaker 1: that night, as he massaged my shoulders and vented about
Speaker 1: city construction projects, laughing at our old joke about how
Speaker 1: only architects would design a house you could get lost
Speaker 1: in on the way to the fridge. We watched a
Speaker 1: bad movie and lounged against each other on the couch,
Speaker 1: and I let myself hope the tension was just a
Speaker 1: phase that what felt wrong could be worn down by
Speaker 1: sheer force of nostalgia. Matt suggested we plan a weekend away,
Speaker 1: just us, no friends, no running, no work distractions. I
Speaker 1: vote Indiana Dunes, he said, squeezing my fingers. Just a
Speaker 1: couple nights, but I could use a recharge. That weekend,
Speaker 1: we packed an overnight bag and drove out along the lake,
Speaker 1: playing road trip games, disagreeing over playlists, swerving between silly
Speaker 1: and fond, like we were freshmen again. On Saturday, we
Speaker 1: hiked in the still cool dunes, Matt pointing out every
Speaker 1: raccoon track, me pretending to be obsessed with the clouds.
Speaker 1: At the end of the day, huddled in the motel
Speaker 1: under mismatched covers, he leaned close, brushing my ear with
Speaker 1: his lips. Let forget about the city for a bit.
Speaker 1: Race set for forty eight hours, I believed it or tried.
Speaker 1: No calls, barely any texts, just bad take out and
Speaker 1: skin pressed together in silence. He was careful with me,
Speaker 1: almost like the man I met. I told myself stories.
Speaker 1: Maybe he was just fried. Maybe I'd gotten so tuned
Speaker 1: to suspicion I couldn't see straight Monday, as I unpacked
Speaker 1: our bags, I found a greeting card tucked in Matt's
Speaker 1: jim pouch. At first, I figured it was a quirky
Speaker 1: post run joke. He used to send memes through cards
Speaker 1: hide them in my lunch bag. But this one was
Speaker 1: addressed to Jay, with a note in Matt's handwriting, so
Speaker 1: proud of your big project. Can't wait to see what
Speaker 1: you do next. Our time together makes it worth all
Speaker 1: the effort. Em For a long moment, I just stared
Speaker 1: reading and rereading the note. It was congratulatory, nothing overt,
Speaker 1: nothing shameful. Our time together could mean anything. Still, it
Speaker 1: was a message I'd never read. That night, Matt was
Speaker 1: affectionate as ever. He cooked dinner, lit a candle that
Speaker 1: hadn't been touched since my last birthday. He told me
Speaker 1: how grateful he was for the break. His hands found
Speaker 1: mine under the table, thumb tracing circles absent mindedly. I
Speaker 1: almost fell for it. I almost convinced myself the card
Speaker 1: was nothing, just a friend, just friendly. But a day later,
Speaker 1: the phone rang while Matt showered and I was folding towels.
Speaker 1: An unknown caller I d I answered on instinct, Hey
Speaker 1: a woman's voice bright, a little nervous. Sorry, is Matt around?
Speaker 1: This is Jess from club? Did he get my necklace
Speaker 1: back from the locker room? I think I left it
Speaker 1: last week, my heart, jackhammered. Matt was singing in the shower, oblivious.
Speaker 1: I stumbled over my reply, I'm not sure I'll ask. Thanks.
Speaker 1: He said he'd pick it up after our run, but
Speaker 1: just if you find it, tell him, Jesse says. Hi.
Speaker 1: I hung up, staring at my phone the necklace. Matt
Speaker 1: had never mentioned it, never mentioned any lost and found.
Speaker 1: He had never called another woman from the club outside
Speaker 1: of group context, as far as I'd known. That night,
Speaker 1: I played back all the weeks of dinner table conversation,
Speaker 1: all the nights I had convinced myself that suspicion was paranoia,
Speaker 1: that doubt was a form of betrayal of its own.
Speaker 1: Yet now every detail felt barbed, every laugh wrong. I
Speaker 1: told myself, lie after lie, trust him, trust the process,
Speaker 1: let him have his secrets. Suddenly the burden seemed impossible.
Speaker 1: For the next days, I moved through routine on autopilot,
Speaker 1: packing lunches, checking invices, texting Jasmine to set up coffee dates,
Speaker 1: faking normal for every friend who reached out, I still answered.
Speaker 1: When Matt called on his way home, his voice so warm,
Speaker 1: I wanted to believe him. But even as I tried
Speaker 1: to play my own part, a new resolve was forming.
Speaker 1: I had questions that needed answers. The card to Jay,
Speaker 1: the restaurant receipt, the call about the necklace, the blank
Speaker 1: spots in his schedule. One way or another, I was
Speaker 1: going to find out what Matt was hiding. On Thursday afternoon,
Speaker 1: after Matt texted to say he'd be home late new
Speaker 1: group dinner, I brewed coffee and sat at my desk,
Speaker 1: opening every old message chain between us. After half hour,
Speaker 1: certain patterns emerged. Every other Wednesday for nearly two months,
Speaker 1: Matt had marked out meetings or consults. Only the projects
Speaker 1: didn't line up. The times sat adjacent to running club,
Speaker 1: but always with a one to two hour pad before
Speaker 1: or after. My hands shook as I noted them. I
Speaker 1: copied the club's email address from their sight, and after
Speaker 1: five full starts, composed a breezy message asking about new
Speaker 1: members and specifically about Jess R. She seems really nice.
Speaker 1: Does she still come to runs? I apologized for being
Speaker 1: that wife attached a smiley face felt like a caricature.
Speaker 1: The reply came back fast, Hi, Olivia, jess left the
Speaker 1: club a couple months ago, but still gets drinks with
Speaker 1: a few folks, I think mostly the ones from her
Speaker 1: old project. I scrolled the note, searching for something to
Speaker 1: quiet my pulse, but every sentence spun new threads. I
Speaker 1: closed my laptop, brain numb. Was I being tested left clues?
Speaker 1: Or was I making an insane patchwork out of thin air?
Speaker 1: That night, when Matt breezed in, smelling of the same
Speaker 1: candid perfume I now knew wasn't mine, I fought the
Speaker 1: urge to lean into him to demand answers. Instead, I
Speaker 1: retreated quietly to my office, working until my eyes ached.
Speaker 1: Two days later, when Matt announced his running club was
Speaker 1: maybe switching days and that he might be late, I answered,
Speaker 1: without looking up, O, K tell me if you need
Speaker 1: dinner saved. He hesitated in the doorway, searching my face,
Speaker 1: but I gave him nothing. I opened LinkedIn, typing jess
Speaker 1: Ur's name into search. Her profol popped up project manager
Speaker 1: Architecture Design collective freelance consultant. Recent work included a cowaking space.
Speaker 1: I'd heard Matt mention, but never in connection with her name.
Speaker 1: My mouth went dry. She and Matt had collaborated. He'd
Speaker 1: de never told me. My head swam. I scrolled Jess's page,
Speaker 1: memorizing details, wondering whether she'd recognize me if I contacted her.
Speaker 1: My stomach flipped. If I confronted Mat, now, what could
Speaker 1: I even say? He'd deny gaslight, say I was jealous
Speaker 1: of his work friends. In a fit of desperation, I
Speaker 1: texted Brian, you want to grab a drink? Need to talk.
Speaker 1: He took his time replying, but by seven we were
Speaker 1: huddled in a bar near Loyola, pinching cheap beer cans
Speaker 1: and watching a bull's recap. I think Matt's seeing someone,
Speaker 1: I said, barely above a whisper. Brian stared at me,
Speaker 1: brow furrowed. I figured I didn't want to say anything live.
Speaker 1: You know, he's been weird, distracted, kept saying he needed
Speaker 1: space from work drama. But something's up. I just don't
Speaker 1: know if it's another woman or just him losing his shit.
Speaker 1: Tears pricked my eyes. I forced myself calm, Thanks for
Speaker 1: being honest. I'm not asking you to spy. I just
Speaker 1: I need clarity. If he tells you anything, will you
Speaker 1: tell me? Brian nodded, jaw set only if you want,
Speaker 1: I'm around. I thanked him and walked home, the city
Speaker 1: wind almost punishing as I replayed everything in my mind.
Speaker 1: I stopped at the stoop, watching our living room window
Speaker 1: glow above. Inside, Matt was waiting with take out, beckoning
Speaker 1: me over his smile, open, unguarded rough day, he asked,
Speaker 1: pulling chopsticks from a bag. Part of me wanted to
Speaker 1: crawl into his arms and hide from my own certainty,
Speaker 1: the other part tallying every lie, every withheld truth, every
Speaker 1: lingering scent of some one else. I lay in bed
Speaker 1: that night, listening to Matt's steady breath, knowing the safe
Speaker 1: shape of his back, but wandering about the spaces his
Speaker 1: body left when pressed against some one else's sheets. By morning,
Speaker 1: I'd made my decision. I wouldn't confront him, not yet,
Speaker 1: not without more. I need a story that can't be
Speaker 1: unwound in a single denial. But the house felt smaller, sharper, hollow,
Speaker 1: despite all our shared stuff. I checked my email rearad
Speaker 1: Jess's profyl, then composed a message, Hi Jess, my name
Speaker 1: is Olivia. I heard you worked with my husband recently
Speaker 1: on the Cowaking build. Would you mind letting me ask
Speaker 1: you some questions about the project? Totally understand if you're busy. Oh.
Speaker 1: I hesitated, hand shaking, then hits end, closing my eyes.
Speaker 1: I waited all day, barely working, refreshing my inbox. Finally
Speaker 1: the reply came, Hi, Olivia, sure thing, happy to chat.
Speaker 1: I'm at ELM and vine to morrow at eleven if
Speaker 1: you want to join. Looking forward, Jess, standing in my office,
Speaker 1: phone in hand, I felt a hot pulse of certainty
Speaker 1: and dread. My own dignity, my marriage, our future all
Speaker 1: hung in that unfinished space between what I knew and
Speaker 1: what I still refused to know. I hardly slept, torn
Speaker 1: between rehearsing what I'd asked Jess and imagining her reaction.
Speaker 1: By the middle of the night, I composed four versions
Speaker 1: of a script in my head, one clinical, one casual,
Speaker 1: one that pretended I was nothing more than a friendly,
Speaker 1: slightly nosy architect's wife. At four a m. I gave
Speaker 1: up on sleep, padding into the kitchen for water, then
Speaker 1: drifting to the window and letting the city's restless energy
Speaker 1: keep me company. The silence felt purposeful, an absence I
Speaker 1: couldn't fill. In the morning, Matt was already up, bounding
Speaker 1: with too bright energy. He poured coffee into my favorite
Speaker 1: mug and set it on the counter. Your up early,
Speaker 1: he commented, a hint of cheerfulness that felt almost desperate.
Speaker 1: Can't sleep, I shook my head. Too many deadlines. My
Speaker 1: brain won't quit. He came around the island and pressed
Speaker 1: his chin into my shoulder, his hands gentle on my waist.
Speaker 1: Maybe you need a day off, he said, tracing lazy
Speaker 1: lines on my hip through my pajamas. I looked at
Speaker 1: his reflection in the glass behind the sink. His face
Speaker 1: was easy, unconcerned, the masks snugly in place. Maybe I
Speaker 1: might take my laptop to a cafe for a few hours,
Speaker 1: I offered, working hard to keep my tone breezy. Good,
Speaker 1: he replied, kissing my temple. I've got some calls, then,
Speaker 1: probably a sight visit. Should be home in time for dinner.
Speaker 1: He scooped up his bag, calling a quick good bye,
Speaker 1: before vanishing down the steps. I listened for the door
Speaker 1: to close, fully exhaling. Only then I dressed carefully, choosing
Speaker 1: jeans and a soft blazer that's struck a balance between
Speaker 1: confident and approachable. I knew Jess would recognize my name,
Speaker 1: the wife of a guy she'd worked with, so I
Speaker 1: wanted whatever armor I could muster. Before heading to the cafe,
Speaker 1: I made a list in my phone, questions nested among
Speaker 1: idle watifs. Did Matt ever mention me to you? How
Speaker 1: long did your project run? Did you too, ever meet
Speaker 1: up outside work? I forced myself to delete the question
Speaker 1: I really wanted to ask, did you love him? Even
Speaker 1: for a second? I arrived at elm and Vine early,
Speaker 1: purchasing an overpriced latte just for something to do with
Speaker 1: my hands. I was picking at a scone when Jess appeared,
Speaker 1: late twenties or maybe thirty, her hair a glossy chestnut,
Speaker 1: make up subtle, her jacket thrown over an arm. She
Speaker 1: scanned the cafe until her gaze landed on me. Nervous
Speaker 1: but not apologetic, Olivia, Hi. She approached, hand extended, Sorry
Speaker 1: if I kept you waiting traffic. I stood, shaking her
Speaker 1: and no worries. I live close, so I had a
Speaker 1: head start. We sat, settling into the kind of stilted
Speaker 1: small talk that precedes every difficult discussion. Jess ordered a tea.
Speaker 1: The server lingered with too much interest, maybe picking up
Speaker 1: on the undercurrent. My stomach was a tight, hollow pit.
Speaker 1: So Jess began. The build on Hubbard was wild, first
Speaker 1: time I've worked with river Street's team, but it was
Speaker 1: mostly smooth. Matt handled well more of the negotiations than
Speaker 1: I expected. Didn't know architects had to moonlight as referees,
Speaker 1: she laughed, uncertain, sizing me up. I nodded, pretending to
Speaker 1: jot down mental notes. Yeah, he's always up for a challenge.
Speaker 1: My hands shook as I brushed hair from my face.
Speaker 1: You work together several months, six may be closer to eight.
Speaker 1: She sipped her tea long enough that the Friday drinks
Speaker 1: felt obligatory. Even after we finished. I considered my language,
Speaker 1: aiming for innocence. Are you still in touch? I saw
Speaker 1: the flicker something faint and quickly masked. Jess set down
Speaker 1: her mug, folding her hands in her lap. Sometimes it's
Speaker 1: easier after the deadline's clear. But I don't see the
Speaker 1: crew much any more. I took a tight breath. I'm
Speaker 1: sorry if this is weird. Did something happen between you
Speaker 1: and Matt that maybe complicates things? My voice failed at confident.
Speaker 1: I sounded neither betrayed nor threatening, only brittle. Jess's whole
Speaker 1: body seemed to deflate. She stared down at the table,
Speaker 1: fingers toyed with her napkin. She glanced up once, then
Speaker 1: back down, voice soft. Is this about the necklace? She asked.
Speaker 1: I blinked. He mentioned you lost one. Yes, I studied her,
Speaker 1: wondering what she saw. He never brought it home. If
Speaker 1: that's what you're asking, She nodded, almost to herself. That's fine,
Speaker 1: I mean, does he know you're here? I shook my head.
Speaker 1: I asked to meet about the project, but you seem
Speaker 1: very familiar with my husband. My pulse thudded in my ears.
Speaker 1: Jess picked at a corner of her sleeve. I wish
Speaker 1: I hadn't look, Olivia. I'm not going to insult you.
Speaker 1: I met Matt through work. He was fun, charming. It
Speaker 1: became more we saw each other a few times than
Speaker 1: a few more. She kept her voice low, but the
Speaker 1: shame was audible. I didn't know what I was doing
Speaker 1: at first, but he was unhappy. He said things at
Speaker 1: home were tense after your move. Work was rough that
Speaker 1: he missed feeling close. She faltered. I ended it. I
Speaker 1: told him I couldn't be the other woman. The drinks
Speaker 1: since then were closure, not anything else, at least not
Speaker 1: for me. A numbness started in my shoulders, spreading down
Speaker 1: my arms. How long did it last? I asked, my
Speaker 1: fingers tight around my cup. She hesitated, face tightening. A
Speaker 1: few months, not every week, but we we crossed the line.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, Olivia. I never wanted to be in this position.
Speaker 1: I thought he would tell you. Did it mean anything
Speaker 1: to you? Her eyes filled, blinking quickly. I liked him,
Speaker 1: but I didn't love him. Maybe I wanted to rescue
Speaker 1: him or myself. It stopped because I couldn't live with it.
Speaker 1: I told him I wished he'd just be honest. She
Speaker 1: met my gaze. You deserve better than how he's treated you.
Speaker 1: I'm really sorry. We sat in aching silence for a
Speaker 1: full minute, the cafe abuzz around us, unaware. The noise
Speaker 1: felt like static, separating me from my own life. Jess
Speaker 1: fiddled with her tea bag string, then slid a folded
Speaker 1: slip across the table. This is my number. If you
Speaker 1: need anything, I promise I'm done with it. I hope
Speaker 1: you get what you need out of this. I nodded, numb, unsure,
Speaker 1: what what I need even meant? We rose, exchanged a
Speaker 1: brief stiff hug, and I left the weight of the
Speaker 1: city ere suddenly enormous outside. I walked aimlessly for blocks,
Speaker 1: replaying her words, the shape of her apology, the bluntness
Speaker 1: of her confession. My mind splintered in a thousand places, anger, humiliation, sick, relief,
Speaker 1: even a flash of gratitude that Jess, a stranger, had
Speaker 1: cared enough to tell me the truth without spinning. At home,
Speaker 1: the brownston felt sterile museum like, I sank on to
Speaker 1: the edge of our bed, letting the world pass in
Speaker 1: a muffled blur. Matt had left a note, his looping
Speaker 1: scrawl on a scrap from our anniversary card stash meet
Speaker 1: you at Rheinnee at seven. We could use a good dinner.
Speaker 1: The suggestion was absurd. I stared at it until the
Speaker 1: edges curled in my palm. The hours until seven crawled.
Speaker 1: I showered, changed, then undid it all, finally settling for
Speaker 1: jeans and a soft sweater, as if softness might mask
Speaker 1: the seismic quake inside me. Matt was waiting outside Rheonnee,
Speaker 1: phone in hand, scanning for me with an eager smile.
Speaker 1: I watched him through the restaurant window for a long minute,
Speaker 1: considering whether to simply walk away, let silence be my message. Instead,
Speaker 1: I squared my shoulders, walked up and let him enfold
Speaker 1: me in a warm, familiar hug. I allowed it only barely.
Speaker 1: Dinner was a slow motion play. Matt launched into stories
Speaker 1: about a difficult sight, manager changes at his firm, even
Speaker 1: a podcast about urban design. He only tripped up when
Speaker 1: he glanced at me, noting the blank devotion missing from
Speaker 1: my expression. You're quiet to night, he finally remarked, somewhere
Speaker 1: between the arrival of appetizers and the main course, Are
Speaker 1: you happy? Matt? The words left me before I had
Speaker 1: the sense to polish them with us. He blinked, searching
Speaker 1: my face. Of course, he began, then caught my tone.
Speaker 1: We've both been under fire lately. I know I haven't
Speaker 1: been as present as I should, but live Come on,
Speaker 1: you know I love you. I set down my fork,
Speaker 1: fixing him with a stare. You want to tell me
Speaker 1: what's really been going on every Wednesday night? His eyes darted,
Speaker 1: What do you mean? He asked, too quickly for the
Speaker 1: first time a crack in his calm. My hand shook,
Speaker 1: so I tucked it in my lap, running club wine bars.
Speaker 1: I've never heard of consults that don't match your calendar.
Speaker 1: Jess are calling about a necklace. You lied to me, Matt.
Speaker 1: I managed to keep my tone low, though inside I
Speaker 1: was shaking. Don't make me list it all. He gripped
Speaker 1: the edge of the table, face draining of color. I
Speaker 1: watched the war play out behind his eyes, the urge
Speaker 1: to deny, the reflex to run. What did Jess say,
Speaker 1: he asked, voice barely above a whisper. She told me
Speaker 1: the truth. I reached for my water, grounding myself. Just
Speaker 1: tell me yours. He studded the bread basket as if
Speaker 1: the answer lay there, taking a long minute before speaking, Ay,
Speaker 1: look live. It wasn't like that. At first she was
Speaker 1: helping with the project. I was stressed. I started venting
Speaker 1: about word work. I'll move you even, He risked a glance,
Speaker 1: gilt twisting his expression. Things happened. I didn't plan to
Speaker 1: cross a line. I tried to end it more than once.
Speaker 1: You didn't try hard enough. My words were sharp, pain,
Speaker 1: giving me more control than panic. How long he sighed,
Speaker 1: running both hands through his hair. A couple months, it
Speaker 1: was off and on. When she ended it, I was relieved,
Speaker 1: I was also humiliated. I wanted to fix us live.
Speaker 1: I never wanted you to find out like this. His
Speaker 1: voice broke just a little. A chasm opened five years,
Speaker 1: condensed into a narrow funnel of broken trust and unanswered questions.
Speaker 1: Why didn't you tell me? Why keep coming home and
Speaker 1: lying to my face? I was scared, he admitted. After
Speaker 1: our move, after you started worrying about work, I felt useless.
Speaker 1: Jess just listened. She wasn't you. She never could be,
Speaker 1: but she was an outlet. He pressed both palms flat
Speaker 1: on the table, staring at the would as if it
Speaker 1: could order these pieces. I told myself it was just
Speaker 1: flirting at first, Then it was I watched him become
Speaker 1: smaller under the weight of his own confession. Are you
Speaker 1: still seeing her? No? She cut me off weeks ago.
Speaker 1: She said it was unhealthy that she wouldn't hurt another woman.
Speaker 1: I tried to fix things, but it was wrong. Live.
Speaker 1: I know that. I'm so sorry. I trusted you. I
Speaker 1: swallowed hard grief, closing my throat. I ignored every sign.
Speaker 1: I tried to be patient while you were building distance
Speaker 1: even now. I want you to be the man who
Speaker 1: wouldn't do this. I let the silence stretch. But you're not.
Speaker 1: Matt's eyes shone. Please live. Let me fix it. I'll
Speaker 1: do anything I messed up. I was lonely, not excusing,
Speaker 1: Just explain, I cut him off, voice cold. Don't don't
Speaker 1: even start with why you already did? He pressed his
Speaker 1: fist to his lips, fighting tears. Do you want me
Speaker 1: to leave, he asked, barely audible. I need time and space.
Speaker 1: You go home alone, I said, voice cracking but certain.
Speaker 1: I'll pack a bag. I'm staying with Jasmine. He nodded, swallowing,
Speaker 1: Can I can I talk to you? Will you at
Speaker 1: least let me explain over time. I shook my head.
Speaker 1: Go home, Mat, for once, Do what I ask? He stood, shaking,
Speaker 1: leaving bills on the table without looking at the total.
Speaker 1: He paused as if to touch me, but flinched back.
Speaker 1: The gesture aborted. Madair, I'm sorry, he whispered, and walked
Speaker 1: out into the city night. I sat frozen for a minute,
Speaker 1: unable to move. The restaurant, buzzing with other people's laughter,
Speaker 1: felt like another planet. I collected myself, paid for my
Speaker 1: meal and walked out the sharp air, lashing tears to
Speaker 1: my cheeks. Back at the Brownstone, Matt was gone, his keys,
Speaker 1: his coat, his absence ringing louder than any words could.
Speaker 1: I packed slowly, change of clothes, toiletries, my laptop, a
Speaker 1: favorite sweater, nothing more. I scrawled a note, leaving it
Speaker 1: propped on the table. I need time, don't contact me.
Speaker 1: My handwriting was steady for the first time in days.
Speaker 1: As I locked the door behind me, the city felt different, harsher,
Speaker 1: more honest. I made my way to Jasmine, s texting
Speaker 1: her from the sidewalk. Can I stay? It's bad, she
Speaker 1: replied instantly, door's open, winds out. Jasmine listened as I
Speaker 1: described what had happened, her arms strung around my shoulders.
Speaker 1: She asked no questions, offered no platitudes, just sat with
Speaker 1: me as I came apart and gathered myself again. That
Speaker 1: first night, on her couch, I scrolled our old wedding photos,
Speaker 1: the promise in every image breaking me anew. I turned
Speaker 1: my phone over, silencing Matt's number. The day's blurred, Jasmine
Speaker 1: bringing me coffee in the morning, Brian texting to check in.
Speaker 1: Matt respected my wi bush, leaving just one message. I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: Take all the time you need. Despite everything, I found
Speaker 1: myself submitting a new freelance portfolio, searching for the old
Speaker 1: muscle memory of self reliance. On the third day, Matt's
Speaker 1: mother called. I let it ring twice before answering, sweetheart,
Speaker 1: is everything all right? Matt called, said, you're taking time.
Speaker 1: Do you need anything? Her voice was gentle. I steadied
Speaker 1: my breathing. We're sorting things out, I said, keeping my
Speaker 1: voice neutral. Thank you for calling. If you want to talk,
Speaker 1: I'm here, she said. I closed my eyes, grateful and
Speaker 1: heartsick all at once. Later, as evening deepened, I stood
Speaker 1: on Jasmine's balcony, city lights flickering awake, the hum of
Speaker 1: far off traffic rising and falling. The air had the
Speaker 1: sharp smell of coming rain. I thought about the first
Speaker 1: months with Matt, the hope, the feeling of being chosen,
Speaker 1: the easy laughter echoing down hallways of new apartments. My
Speaker 1: phone buzzed, the glow cutting through the half dark. Matt's message,
Speaker 1: one more line in a string of regrets. I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: I'll do anything to make it right, but I know
Speaker 1: it's your choice now. I closed my eyes drew in
Speaker 1: a deliberate shaking breath, then opened them to the vast
Speaker 1: city beyond. This time, I felt something shift, not relief,
Speaker 1: not closure, but a thread of certainty. I didn't know
Speaker 1: what I would choose. I only knew it was mine
Speaker 1: to make at last. The wind off the lake was
Speaker 1: colder than I expected. I'd stood out on Jasmine's balcony
Speaker 1: so long my fingers had started to ache, but I
Speaker 1: wasn't ready to go back in. My phone, still pulsing
Speaker 1: faintly with Matt's message, felt heavy in my hand, A
Speaker 1: stone I couldn't throw away for a moment. I pressed
Speaker 1: it to my forehead, closing my eyes against the early light,
Speaker 1: letting the city blur beneath me. Inside Jasmine was a
Speaker 1: low hum of movement, kettle boiling plates out. She didn't pry,
Speaker 1: she never did. When I came back inside. She eyed
Speaker 1: me from behind her reading glasses. Offered, you want oatmeal
Speaker 1: or something more destructive. The corners of my mouth curled
Speaker 1: in something like a smile, more reflex than feeling Oatmeal's fine.
Speaker 1: I tried to make my voice sound normal. It wobbled anyway.
Speaker 1: She handed me coffee and sat without fuss a sitcom
Speaker 1: rerun played on mute, as if to fill the space.
Speaker 1: My bag sat at the end of the couch, neat
Speaker 1: and untouched, like I was a guest in my own life.
Speaker 1: When I checked my phone, there were no new messages
Speaker 1: from Matt. I should have felt relief. Instead, there was
Speaker 1: only an electric rawness, as if my nerves had all
Speaker 1: been flayed. Mid morning, Jasmine left for work, pausing at
Speaker 1: the door, call if you need me, I'll text Kendra.
Speaker 1: She'll check in after her shift. She squeezed my shoulder
Speaker 1: and I nodded, grateful but tired. As soon as I
Speaker 1: was alone, the energy leached from my body. I alternated
Speaker 1: between sitting perfectly still and pacing the tiny living room.
Speaker 1: I replayed the conversation with Matt in my mind, groping
Speaker 1: for some scrap of certainty. My marriage wasn't suspended any more.
Speaker 1: It was falling fast, every motion subject to sudden shattering correction.
Speaker 1: My phone pinged with a message from Brian. Heard your
Speaker 1: staying with Yars. Anything you need? I typed and deleted
Speaker 1: a dozen replies, finally sending can we meet for coffee?
Speaker 1: A minute later? Name the time I had to move,
Speaker 1: I changed into jeans and a hoodie, hoping they'd make
Speaker 1: me invisible. I wrapped my scarf twice, grabbed my keys,
Speaker 1: and left, locking the door behind me with deliberate care,
Speaker 1: the way you do when you don't plan to return
Speaker 1: any time soon, even though you know you will. The
Speaker 1: outside world felt too bright somehow, cars honked, a siren
Speaker 1: wailed a few blocks over myself, moving, breathing in the
Speaker 1: city's sharp static, clinging to a plan. If I didn't
Speaker 1: keep going, I'd collapse. I met Brian at a little
Speaker 1: cafe near the train. He looked rough, eyes ringed, but
Speaker 1: when he saw me, he straightened, affecting his usual bullshit
Speaker 1: and deflected grin. We ordered coffee, then sat, he on
Speaker 1: the edge of his seat, me curling into the window.
Speaker 1: So he said, what now? The question was too big
Speaker 1: a mountain I wasn't ready to scale. I don't know,
Speaker 1: I admitted. He confessed. He says it's over. Brian nodded, exhaling,
Speaker 1: he's been texting me sounds a mess. The soft noise
Speaker 1: of the cafe, the clink of spoons, and low background
Speaker 1: chatter threatened to unravel me. He wants to fix things,
Speaker 1: says he was lonely. I want to scream at him.
Speaker 1: I swallowed the burn in my throat, but mostly I
Speaker 1: can't feel anything. Isn't that weird? Brian shook his head.
Speaker 1: Not weird, just the shock. Probably, He cleared his throat,
Speaker 1: glancing at me. You need anything from me, you just
Speaker 1: say for a moment. I let the warmth of the
Speaker 1: gesture carry me. I nodded, grateful, Thanks, Bry. I just
Speaker 1: need this to feel less like a movie, any movie,
Speaker 1: even a bad one. We talked a little longer about
Speaker 1: nothing big, nothing, personal sports memes, whether we'd ever see
Speaker 1: Summer again. It was as if too much had happened
Speaker 1: for any more drama to be possible. When we parted,
Speaker 1: I wandered back, slowly, passing shops and restaurants that Matt
Speaker 1: and I had claimed as ours. Each one held a
Speaker 1: version of us, younger, easier, occupied with only each other's company.
Speaker 1: At Jasmine's building, I lingered in the entryway. My key
Speaker 1: felt strange in the lock, too heavy, someone else's life
Speaker 1: borrowed for a few days. The message from Matt hovered
Speaker 1: on my phone's screen. I swiped it away, then dug
Speaker 1: out my laptop, forcing myself to work logos le tasks
Speaker 1: that could be finished and checked off, but even working,
Speaker 1: the unease pressed closer. My emil pinged Jess, the last
Speaker 1: person I wanted to interact with, let me know if
Speaker 1: you need anything. I really hope you're okay. I considered
Speaker 1: deleting it, then let it sit in the inbox, unread
Speaker 1: but not raised by sunset, the loneliness was a living thing.
Speaker 1: I put on shoes and paced the block, feeling as
Speaker 1: if I'd fallen outside my old life. I wondered for
Speaker 1: the hundredth time if Matt was at home, eating alone,
Speaker 1: or if he'd gone out trying to numb the cost
Speaker 1: with friends or drinks or anything that would kill the dread.
Speaker 1: I almost pitied him. Almost. When I returned, Jasmine was home.
Speaker 1: She poured two glasses of wine and handed me one
Speaker 1: without comment. I curled up under a blanket as she
Speaker 1: flipped the channels, finally settling on a cooking competition. I
Speaker 1: didn't say anything, and she didn't demand it. That night,
Speaker 1: lying on the couch in the un familiar darkness, I
Speaker 1: realized I'd spent hours not thinking of Matt at all,
Speaker 1: just the empty space at my side. My body remembered
Speaker 1: his touch a trace of warmth. I was already forgetting
Speaker 1: how to trust. The next morning, my phone buzzed before
Speaker 1: dawn another message from Matt. Can we talk? I just
Speaker 1: want to see you please. It was the third since
Speaker 1: I'd left. I ignored it, but something in his persistence
Speaker 1: It was frantic, needy, almost frightened, jostled a stray bit
Speaker 1: of compassion. I muttered a curse nearly through my phone
Speaker 1: at the wall, then left it on do not disturb.
Speaker 1: Jasmine caught me in the kitchen frying eggs. He's texting,
Speaker 1: She asked, not bothering to hide her distaste. I nodded,
Speaker 1: biting my lip. I don't want to talk to him,
Speaker 1: but I also I feel like if I don't, he'll
Speaker 1: just show up. She set a mug beside me. You
Speaker 1: have every right to ignore him. It's on him not
Speaker 1: to push. But I knew Matt underneath his guilt, he'd
Speaker 1: spiral into action. He was never one to keep his
Speaker 1: misery private. He wanted it noticed, managed forgiven. The realization
Speaker 1: was as exhausting as it was infuriating. Late afternoon, there
Speaker 1: was a sharp knock at Jasmine's door. For a moment,
Speaker 1: I froze. Scenes of Matt begging on the stoop played
Speaker 1: in my mind. Jasmine peered out the peep hole, then
Speaker 1: shot me a look, it's him. Want me to get
Speaker 1: rid of him? I hesitated, heart pounding. If I don't
Speaker 1: face him, he'll just keep coming. My voice was fragile,
Speaker 1: but firm underneath. Let me talk to him. I'll stay
Speaker 1: out here. You can be close by. She nodded, jaw
Speaker 1: set shout if you need an exit. I stepped into
Speaker 1: the hallway, knees rubbery. Matt stood there, hair unwashed, wearing
Speaker 1: the same hoodie he'd lounged in sundays at home. His
Speaker 1: eyes were bloodshot, his mouth worked before any words made
Speaker 1: it out live, he started cracking. Can we talk please.
Speaker 1: I folded my arms, steadying myself on anger. You get
Speaker 1: five minutes, say what you need to say. He swallowed hard,
Speaker 1: looking everywhere but my eyes. I'm so sorry. I know
Speaker 1: I said it already, but I need you to hear.
Speaker 1: It was a mess. I was a mess. I didn't
Speaker 1: mean to lose you. I just he trailed off. Everything slipped.
Speaker 1: I should have told you sooner. I was stupid, selfish.
Speaker 1: I stared at him, registering the sweat on his brow,
Speaker 1: the sheen of grief clinging to his skin. You lied, Matt.
Speaker 1: You came home every night and chose to pretend. He
Speaker 1: shook his head, squeezing his hands. I was ashamed. At first.
Speaker 1: It was nothing, just drinks. She was easy to talk to.
Speaker 1: I missed being seen. Then I panicked. I thought I
Speaker 1: could fix it before it got worse, but I kept
Speaker 1: making it worse. I let the words hang, not rushing
Speaker 1: to fill the silence. You should have told me, not
Speaker 1: jess me. Even when you got caught, you only told
Speaker 1: half the truth. He winced, backing against the wall. I know.
Speaker 1: I thought if I could pretend hard enough, it had
Speaker 1: go away. I wanted you live. I still do losing
Speaker 1: you it's like losing everything good. I'll do anything, it
Speaker 1: doesn't matter how pathetic that sounds. I want to fix this.
Speaker 1: I considered all the little betrayals, the casual, the callous,
Speaker 1: the cowardly. Forced myself to meet his eyes. You can't
Speaker 1: fix it. Only I can decide if I even want
Speaker 1: it to be fixed. My voice shook, but I felt
Speaker 1: an unexpected grim clarity. He folded on to the floor,
Speaker 1: head in his hands. I get it. If you want
Speaker 1: me gone, I'll go. I shouldn't have come. A long
Speaker 1: beat past the hum of distant city, noise settled in.
Speaker 1: I caught Jasmine's shadow in the cracked door, her presence
Speaker 1: a silent anchor. I can't answer right now. I need space.
Speaker 1: You need to respect that, I said, each word, bird, slow, deliberate.
Speaker 1: This is not about what you want any more. Matt nodded,
Speaker 1: pressing fingers to his temple. He looked diminished, nothing like
Speaker 1: the man I married. Just if you want to talk,
Speaker 1: even if you want to scream at me, I'll answer,
Speaker 1: I promise. I didn't answer, couldn't when the silence turned painful.
Speaker 1: He stood, mouth working soundlessly, then turned and left. His
Speaker 1: footsteps faded, one echo at a time, down the stairs
Speaker 1: and out the front door. I stayed in the hallway,
Speaker 1: breath shaking, hands numb, long after the door had swung closed.
Speaker 1: That night, the world contracted to fit the agony and
Speaker 1: the relief. Jasmine poured bourbon into teacups. We drank in silence.
Speaker 1: At some point I cried, spilling everything into Jasmine's shoulder. Rage, helplessness,
Speaker 1: a grief too huge for words. But as the night
Speaker 1: wore on, the need to move forward, rooted deeper. I
Speaker 1: realized the only thing that felt worse than Matt's betrayal
Speaker 1: was standing still. Days passed, Matt kept his distance. He
Speaker 1: left a bag of my favorite snacks outside Jasmine's door,
Speaker 1: no note, just the gesture. Friends texted cautiously supportive. My
Speaker 1: mother called again. This time I let it ring through.
Speaker 1: I'm sure I could keep the tremor out of my voice.
Speaker 1: Small things kept breaking, A lone sock in the dryer,
Speaker 1: a chipped mug, an emil bouncing from an old client.
Speaker 1: Each felt like a symbol, and yet none were. They
Speaker 1: were just life happening around the crater where my marriage
Speaker 1: used to be. Still, the practical realities grew harder to ignore.
Speaker 1: Jasmine's couch was a life line, but not a plan.
Speaker 1: My laptop was dying, invoices going unpaid. I needed to
Speaker 1: reclaim something, if only the claim to my own next step.
Speaker 1: The city pressed in on me, familiar and strange. I
Speaker 1: returned to our brownstone one morning to collect fresh clothes,
Speaker 1: timing it so Matt would be a work. The house
Speaker 1: was silent, suns sliding through our curtain gaps. The familiarity
Speaker 1: strung a space full of our choices and ghosts. I
Speaker 1: packed quietly, grabbing jeans, sweaters, a folder of tax forms.
Speaker 1: I paused in the kitchen, staring at the print of
Speaker 1: the skyline Matt had given me, the colors still too bright,
Speaker 1: too hopeful. I left it on the wall. I couldn't
Speaker 1: carry the past out with me. I almost left without looking,
Speaker 1: but something stopped me. I found myself drifting through the house,
Speaker 1: brushing finger tips along the couch, running my palm over
Speaker 1: the scratches in our dining table, evidence of drunken game
Speaker 1: nights and careless happy meals. A half empty coffee cup
Speaker 1: sat at Matt's side of the bed. A ring of lipstick,
Speaker 1: mine from before I left, still ghosting the rim, such
Speaker 1: small evidence of an ordinary life. The wedding album lay
Speaker 1: untouched on the dresser. I didn't open it, just straightened
Speaker 1: its spy, let my hand rest a moment longer than necessary.
Speaker 1: Then I left, locking the door behind me. The scent
Speaker 1: of our life laundry, old eucalyptus candles, something stubbornly clean.
Speaker 1: Trailing after me down the steps outside the city's cold
Speaker 1: seemed almost gentle. I passed three people walking dogs, none
Speaker 1: glancing my way. I let the anonymity dissolve the edges
Speaker 1: of my pain. Jasmine had left a sticky note on
Speaker 1: her mirror, you have survived one hundred percent of your
Speaker 1: worst days. I snorted when I saw it, but somehow
Speaker 1: it helped. Later that afternoon, Matt texted, if you want
Speaker 1: the apartment, I'll go. Just let me know what you need.
Speaker 1: Please don't let me make this worse. I read it twice,
Speaker 1: then set my phone aside, watching the light crawl across
Speaker 1: the hardwood. Even small choices seemed impossible. Stay or go,
Speaker 1: continue the apartment lease. Would living among reminders be an
Speaker 1: act of strength or cruelty? I set each question aside,
Speaker 1: electing only to breathe for another hour. Kendra arrived with takeout,
Speaker 1: bearing boxes of noodles and an old board game. The
Speaker 1: three of us eight on the floor, laughter, a little
Speaker 1: forced at first, becoming easier as the meal wore on.
Speaker 1: For a few hours, I was just a person among friends,
Speaker 1: not a person in crisis. That felt like a miracle.
Speaker 1: In bed later, I scrolled through property listings, considering what
Speaker 1: it might mean to live alone, whether I could afford it,
Speaker 1: whether I wanted solitude or just something without ghosts. The
Speaker 1: ache was still there, a hollow at the base of
Speaker 1: my sternham. But I realized, almost shockingly, that it wasn't
Speaker 1: all consuming any more. It was just a piece of me,
Speaker 1: not the whole. Brian texted you alive, I replied, barely progress.
Speaker 1: He sent a gift of a cat in a blanket
Speaker 1: fort I laughed for the first time in days. The
Speaker 1: next morning, another message waited from Matt, but I didn't
Speaker 1: open it. Instead, I packed my bag, set my laptop inside,
Speaker 1: and left Jasmine's out in the street. The world was
Speaker 1: still unsteady, but I made myself walk toward the train,
Speaker 1: not knowing exactly where i'd go, just knowing i'd choose.
Speaker 1: My stride along Clark Street picked up direction as I moved,
Speaker 1: a strange steadiness finding its way into my legs, even
Speaker 1: as the rest of me felt adrift. I didn't know
Speaker 1: exactly if I was headed home, or if that place
Speaker 1: still meant home, or ever would again. My bag felt
Speaker 1: heavier than it should, the laptop, my charger, a space
Speaker 1: scarf weighing on my back. I watched busses hiss past
Speaker 1: every window, reflecting slices of messy Chicago lives. Half way
Speaker 1: to the red line. My phone buzzed with a call
Speaker 1: from an unknown number. Before I could stop myself, I answered.
Speaker 1: There was a clattering sound, then a tentative, uncertain voice
Speaker 1: Matt's mother, Olivia. Oh good, I hope it's okay. I
Speaker 1: just wanted to check on you, sweetheart. Matt says you're safe,
Speaker 1: but he won't really say anything. Are you all right?
Speaker 1: I realized my mouth was dry, the words sticking like sand.
Speaker 1: I'm fine, Thank you, just figuring things out. I don't
Speaker 1: know what happens next. I just need space. Please don't worry.
Speaker 1: She hesitated, her breath catching. I could hear the history
Speaker 1: in her voice, the layering of awkward holidays, brief tight hugs,
Speaker 1: her polite concern. I understand. I'm not calling to take sides.
Speaker 1: I just wanted to say whatever you need, you can ask.
Speaker 1: The ache in my chest doubled. Thank you, I managed,
Speaker 1: not trusting myself with more. I appreciate it, truly. I'll
Speaker 1: be in touch. I ended the call, icye winds slicing
Speaker 1: at my cheeks as I leaned up against a brick
Speaker 1: store front, suddenly narrowly alone. The comfort was almost perverse.
Speaker 1: This door I could close as firmly as I wanted.
Speaker 1: That afternoon, I let myself back into the Brownstone. I
Speaker 1: knocked first, as if expecting Matt to answer. When there
Speaker 1: was no response, I let myself in the air, sharper
Speaker 1: than I remembered, every noise, magnified by the hollowness of
Speaker 1: an apartment between owners. Matt wasn't there. The kitchen was clean,
Speaker 1: almost staged. Our mugs lined in perfect order along the counter.
Speaker 1: My favorite was turned upside down, a tiny, deliberate concession
Speaker 1: to my habits. On the kitchen table, beneath my stack
Speaker 1: of freelance files, Matt had left an envelope. It was unsealed,
Speaker 1: my name written in his round, persistent script, against my
Speaker 1: better judgment. I sat, wiped my hands against my genes,
Speaker 1: then slid the letter out, Olivier, you deserve more than
Speaker 1: half truths. I let fear decide for me. I let
Speaker 1: shame fester until there was nothing left but denial. Jess
Speaker 1: was someone I could disappear with, someone who didn't know us,
Speaker 1: didn't understand the cost. I looked for relief and found
Speaker 1: wreckage instead. If you hate me, I get it. I
Speaker 1: hate what I did. I promised not to contact you.
Speaker 1: Again until you ask. If you want the apartment, it's yours.
Speaker 1: If you need me out of your life, say so,
Speaker 1: and I'll make it simple. There's no excuse good enough,
Speaker 1: But please know that none of this means I ever
Speaker 1: stopped loving you. I'm sorry. M My hands curled around
Speaker 1: the letter, shaking without permission. The air in my lungs
Speaker 1: was tight, every word burrowing deep, confirming what I'd known
Speaker 1: all along. There would be no repairing this with flowers,
Speaker 1: no late night conversation that made it okay. The best
Speaker 1: he could offer now was distance, and that would have
Speaker 1: to suffice. Lost in the quiet. I drifted into our
Speaker 1: bedroom to pack, more intentionally, taking only the things that
Speaker 1: hadn't already spilled over into my new temporary life. A
Speaker 1: stack of genes that still smelled like our fabric softener,
Speaker 1: the scarf mat had brought back from a conference, an
Speaker 1: old sweatshirt. I hesitated, then left the wedding album, the
Speaker 1: art books we'd collected at street festivals, our anniversary photo
Speaker 1: in its silver frame. I didn't want to strip the
Speaker 1: house of every marker of us. I just needed the
Speaker 1: parts that belonged to me. Alone in the bathroom, I
Speaker 1: opened drawers by wrote travel shampoo, my battered toothbrush, mascare
Speaker 1: I barely wore any more. My hand brushed Matt's razor,
Speaker 1: and I yanked it back as if burned. I paused,
Speaker 1: caught in the thin mirror's reflection, searching for some sign
Speaker 1: I was changed. But I still looked like the Olivia
Speaker 1: who'd painted this wall, who'd sanded the window sills, who'd
Speaker 1: hammered up the racks in the hall. I pressed a
Speaker 1: finger tip to the glass, steadying myself on the image.
Speaker 1: I could leave as many times as I wanted, but
Speaker 1: leaving was never neat. From the living room, my phone
Speaker 1: vibrated another message, Matt, this time just three words. I'm
Speaker 1: leaving now. No plea, no bargaining, just communication. Resigned. I
Speaker 1: watched the window, waited until I saw him, shoulders slumped backpacked,
Speaker 1: sagging head down the stairs to hail a cab. He
Speaker 1: didn't turn, didn't linger at the curb. I wondered briefly
Speaker 1: where he would go, A hotel, a friend's place, some
Speaker 1: purgatory he'd made for himself. I didn't want to know.
Speaker 1: It was only after I zipped the bag and checked
Speaker 1: every room that I realized this time I wasn't fleeing,
Speaker 1: I was leaving on my own terms. Behind the front door,
Speaker 1: I found his keys left carefully on the entry table,
Speaker 1: proof maybe that he meant his promise. The silence felt different,
Speaker 1: not like loss, but like possibility, roar and stinging, but authentic,
Speaker 1: none the less. I wondered if somewhere he felt the
Speaker 1: same thudding finality. No more fights, no more bargaining that
Speaker 1: extended the rupture, just the sound of things being truly
Speaker 1: completely over. I call old Jasmine on my walk back.
Speaker 1: He's gone, I said, I got my stuff. I'm not
Speaker 1: coming back to night. She didn't ask questions, just said
Speaker 1: come by later for dinner if you want. If not,
Speaker 1: I'll leave you be. Thanks, yars. I might walk for
Speaker 1: a bit. I don't want to go home. I don't
Speaker 1: even know where home is. There was a long, thoughtful pause.
Speaker 1: You can figure that out later. For now, just keep going,
Speaker 1: I wandered, my mind, kept replaying pieces of old conversations,
Speaker 1: half built plans, the noise of laughter in our hallway
Speaker 1: when life had felt easy. I stopped in a book store,
Speaker 1: bought nothing, then found myself weaving among shoppers until the
Speaker 1: city lights flickered on dusk had always calmed me to night.
Speaker 1: It pressed close, intimate, unfamiliar. My phone stayed in my pocket.
Speaker 1: When I finally pulled it out, standing at the river's edge,
Speaker 1: where the wind whipped sharper than ever, it was nearly dead.
Speaker 1: I didn't care. Somewhere between sunset and true dark, I
Speaker 1: felt the weight in my chest loosen. Matt was gone.
Speaker 1: I was no longer orbiting his choices, he no longer
Speaker 1: able to erase what he'd done. I had my own
Speaker 1: axis again, However, unsteady, the sky deepened, violet, bleeding into blue.
Speaker 1: I crossed a bridge, feeling for the first time that
Speaker 1: there was nothing left to check, no puzzle piece to fit,
Speaker 1: no conversation to dread. Finally, I let my feet carry
Speaker 1: me toward Jasmine S, each step easier than the last.
Speaker 1: My pace lengthened, body warming despite the cool air, mind
Speaker 1: moving at last toward what came next, belonging only to me.
Speaker 1: When I reached her door, the city was settling into midnight.
Speaker 1: I hesitated, hand on the knob, then let myself in.
Speaker 1: The apartment was dark except for the kitchen lamp, washing
Speaker 1: warmth over empty plates by the sink. I set my
Speaker 1: bag on the floor and clipped my coat and exhaled, long,
Speaker 1: full and freeing. My phone buzzed one last time, a notification,
Speaker 1: not a message, no one asking me anything. For a
Speaker 1: single breath, I simply stood in the glow, feeling the
Speaker 1: quiet as something new uncurled from old pain. There was
Speaker 1: nothing left to say, nothing left to prove. The next
Speaker 1: choice was mine alone, and for now that was enough.