Speaker 1: The latch under my finger sticks just a little, same
Speaker 1: as always. I jiggle the brass, easing the dead bolt
Speaker 1: opened by memory. It's almost midnight. The store front is dark,
Speaker 1: and the faintest light spills toward the street through the
Speaker 1: frosty glass. I pause, listening. The sound that drifts out
Speaker 1: isn't the harsh rattle of the espresso machine winding down
Speaker 1: by the lazy, lost sweep of the mop. It's laughter, low, easy, intnet,
Speaker 1: just audible beneath the hum of the roofed up vent.
Speaker 1: I took my phone in my pocket and nudged the
Speaker 1: door shut behind me, the way I always do. The
Speaker 1: tile is called under my souls. I frown at the
Speaker 1: faint tack left from that sticky summer storm last week,
Speaker 1: the one we never really cleaned up after. At the counter,
Speaker 1: the cash draws open, reseats fann but untouched. I can
Speaker 1: see a half finished mook' Sworld with blue glaize on
Speaker 1: the counter, but nobody's in sight. I follow the voices
Speaker 1: towards the back room. There's another round of giggling, softer
Speaker 1: this time than a woman's quick breath as stop you'll
Speaker 1: ruin it, and a man's voice bend, replying it's not
Speaker 1: finished anyway. He'll never convert me to orange marr. I
Speaker 1: moved toward the swinging doll that leads to the storage
Speaker 1: and prep area, feeling abruptly like I've walked into someone
Speaker 1: else's house by a mistake. There's a stranger to this displacement,
Speaker 1: like being left outside your own joke, and it jolts me.
Speaker 1: This is my life too. I know this back room
Speaker 1: better than I know most parts of myself. I painted
Speaker 1: that wall, picked out every thrifted chair, planted, the pothos
Speaker 1: by the window bend always forgets to water. I half smile, quietly, absurd,
Speaker 1: I clear my throat before stepping in fully Ben a
Speaker 1: Marriager capart, not violently, just the subtle chin tilt. Bodies
Speaker 1: that have folded a little too close. Their hands brush
Speaker 1: over the rim of a mug, and Needa drops it
Speaker 1: or lets go, almost as if each is reluctant to
Speaker 1: be the one to put something down first. There's a
Speaker 1: new batch of mugs on the battered wood table, glazes
Speaker 1: still glossy from the kiln. I focus on their hands.
Speaker 1: Who's close to his, the spatters of orange on her knuckles,
Speaker 1: away his thumb seems to rest against the base of herrs,
Speaker 1: like he's holding it in place without realizing. Ben recovers. First,
Speaker 1: he scared me, he says, with a quick, nervous smile,
Speaker 1: too big for the moment. We thought you'd gone home already,
Speaker 1: more just dropped off. He gestures vaguely to the mugs,
Speaker 1: as if inviting me into the scene. Mara lifts a
Speaker 1: cup toward me, Her cheeks a little flush beneath her
Speaker 1: coppery hair. It's a kiln error. Sort of came out
Speaker 1: bolder than I intended, she laughs, as sounded culprital if
Speaker 1: I didn't already know. She laughs like that. Sometimes. I
Speaker 1: was inspired after our talk last night. I wanted to
Speaker 1: trust something riskier. I look at Ben, who glances away,
Speaker 1: busying himself with a tea towel drying off his palms.
Speaker 1: The knee batch is stunning, I say, forcing my voice
Speaker 1: to sound like I mean it, like I don't mind
Speaker 1: being the audience to something I missed. What's the symbol here,
Speaker 1: I ask, studying the bottom of the mug in Mara's hands.
Speaker 1: Mara grins, then covers the stamp with her thumb, justin
Speaker 1: in joke. She says, lightly deflected, testing out a few
Speaker 1: new marks. They both laugh, easy practiced, not the orange
Speaker 1: glaze again. Ben repeats a catchphrase I haven't heard before,
Speaker 1: and Mara giggles, touching his shoulder. I forced my mouth
Speaker 1: into a polite cove, feeling like a tourist at my
Speaker 1: own coffee shop, and moved to the shelves, suddenly aware
Speaker 1: of my own movements. We were just wrap up. Ben
Speaker 1: offers quickly, almost giving the sense that my presence requires
Speaker 1: a reason. To end their communion, Mars headed out you,
Speaker 1: how did you need something? The words hang awkwardly. I
Speaker 1: look at him, at the way his eyes flick to
Speaker 1: Morrow and then to me in quick succession. Nothing special,
Speaker 1: I say, quieter than I intend. I left my laptop
Speaker 1: in the office. I figured you'd be home soon. Ben
Speaker 1: shrugs off the tension with a smile that feels a
Speaker 1: few beats late. I'll walk up here, morrre you ready.
Speaker 1: Mars sets down her mug with a careful clink. Of course,
Speaker 1: thanks for the input to night, Ben, see you tomorrow,
Speaker 1: He nods too, eager, and then Morrow brushes past me,
Speaker 1: warm and perfumed with something soft, and would sye night.
Speaker 1: She says, barely looking back, then busies himself wiping down
Speaker 1: the countertop. As I collect my things, the room is
Speaker 1: suddenly stripped of energy now that she's gone. Sorry you
Speaker 1: walked in mid chaos, he offers, but the apology is
Speaker 1: oddly perfunctory. His eyes are fixed on the dish towel,
Speaker 1: not me. Bit's fine, I say, you two seem deep
Speaker 1: into something. He pauses, finally meeting my gaze. There's something
Speaker 1: I can't read in his expression. Wary, guilty, just tired.
Speaker 1: Mar's got this eye for detail. Keep me on my toes,
Speaker 1: he says, as if that's the obvious answer. I look
Speaker 1: at the mugs, the one Morrow brought still damp, the
Speaker 1: unfamiliar symbol burn into its base. I'll take this home,
Speaker 1: I say, wrap in my fingers around it. The warmth
Speaker 1: grounds me. Some small proof may be that I have
Speaker 1: a place in all this. We walk out together, not touching,
Speaker 1: our routines, suddenly over lapping clumsily where they used to
Speaker 1: groove and flow. Even before we step out into the
Speaker 1: midnight shell, and I lock the door behind us, I
Speaker 1: know I would sleep. I tell myself, I'm being ridiculous
Speaker 1: that what a soul can be explained by long hours
Speaker 1: and creative partnerships that sometimes when you work closely, especially
Speaker 1: on something tactile, hands on unpredictable like ceramics, lines blur,
Speaker 1: but the feeling doesn't fade. It's RUMs in my chest,
Speaker 1: a nake of exclusion, as if the story of my
Speaker 1: life or our life, is being retold with a chapter
Speaker 1: I haven't read. On the walk home, Ben talks about
Speaker 1: the new blends they'll launch next month, and how the
Speaker 1: citrus highlights in Marrow's mugs are going to change the
Speaker 1: way people think about presentation. I listen, nodding dutifully, but
Speaker 1: I can't shake the image of their hands almost touching,
Speaker 1: the easy and self conscious way of bodies drifted toward
Speaker 1: each other. It occurs to me that lately I have
Speaker 1: to make appointments to see my own husband, the day's
Speaker 1: field booked in advance for someone else's plans. We'd take
Speaker 1: a long way through Three Pints Square or City's Green Hut,
Speaker 1: the spot where we first met six years earlier. It
Speaker 1: was a fall festival, live jazz, apple cider, the wooden
Speaker 1: stalls done up and bunting. Ben was managing the tea
Speaker 1: stall for a friend I've been darting between vendors for work,
Speaker 1: my notebook full of scribbles no one ever read. We'd
Speaker 1: collide it over spilt coffee, hands full of paper cups
Speaker 1: and navy ink. He charmed me by apologizing with free
Speaker 1: espresso while I wiped off the stains. We'd spend the
Speaker 1: afternoon talking about art in public spaces, lazy Sunday breakfasts,
Speaker 1: good espresso in the city's secret places. That night, our
Speaker 1: first is still clear as a belle walking home together,
Speaker 1: sharing silence as easily as words. I remember the particular
Speaker 1: kind of closeness, that feeling of letting someone into the soft,
Speaker 1: yawning gap inside your ribs. I imagine us then laughing, restless,
Speaker 1: the world's lie lightly expanded by each other's presence. Back then,
Speaker 1: I never worried I need text a call before turning
Speaker 1: the key in our own shop. Back then, if I
Speaker 1: caught him with anyone, there'd have been no second thoughts
Speaker 1: about what it meant. Six years Marie just passed our
Speaker 1: late twenties, both of us buoyed by the certainty that
Speaker 1: building something together, our home, this coffee shop, our circle
Speaker 1: of friends, would create a safety net against the drifting apart.
Speaker 1: We sought in couples around us, no kids by choice,
Speaker 1: not because we couldn't, but because the days seemed so full,
Speaker 1: Sunday nights with new beans to try, gallery shows, city walks,
Speaker 1: making something the fel doers. Everyone said we were the
Speaker 1: picture of balance, each other's first call, partners in every
Speaker 1: way that meant something. Then handles people, customers, local politicians,
Speaker 1: the little dramas of staff turned over with a kind
Speaker 1: of effortasies I've always envied. I call him charismatic. He
Speaker 1: says he just likes listening. I'm quiet. Our focus A
Speaker 1: planner by training and inclination, he spun out a thousand
Speaker 1: ideas for the sharp seasonal pop ups, poetry nights, fundraisers.
Speaker 1: I keep the books, the marketing, the design, underpinned with
Speaker 1: something solid and pragmatic choices. You can live within the
Speaker 1: life of day we work, I've always thought, because so
Speaker 1: much of us is unlike our share of rituals grew
Speaker 1: up around those differences. Mornings I'd brew the first part.
Speaker 1: He'd tinker with, tweaks of pinch more cardamon as so
Speaker 1: poor while chatting up whoever wandered. Past evenings, sometimes dinner
Speaker 1: out with friends, other times splitting a bottle of red
Speaker 1: in front of by TV. Most of all Sunday nights
Speaker 1: belonged to us, closing up the shop after the weekend,
Speaker 1: unlocking a new bag of beans, always a little too
Speaker 1: expensive research, Ben would claim, savoring the taste, scoring notes,
Speaker 1: laughing at each other's pretensions. It was the hour I
Speaker 1: felt most sure of us, of our stubborn attempt to happiness. Lately,
Speaker 1: though there had been changes, a different sleep schedule, more
Speaker 1: work spilling over into home. The expansion last spring had
Speaker 1: doubled us stress, new seating, longer hours, inventory risks. Instead
Speaker 1: late moore the lines between a home man at work fraying.
Speaker 1: I tell myself it was just one of the hard phases,
Speaker 1: the inevitable full lot of trying to grow without losing
Speaker 1: what mattered. Some nights, though, watching him scratch out ideas
Speaker 1: and is batter at sketchbrook lost to the world. Even
Speaker 1: as I sat beside him on the sofa, I catch
Speaker 1: myself worrying, worrying that for someone as creative and kinnecticus Ben,
Speaker 1: I've become too much foundation, not enough spark. That sense
Speaker 1: of being left behind is hard to admit out loud,
Speaker 1: especially to the person you're afraid of losing. I'd always
Speaker 1: thought honesty was the corner stump between us, even our
Speaker 1: arguments when they happened. Had never been about hiding everything
Speaker 1: out in the open, even if it hurt. But as
Speaker 1: we walk home that night, Ben's steps lie, his attention divided.
Speaker 1: A small doubt plants itself quite but in Sissen, maybe
Speaker 1: I'm not seeing everything, Maybe parts of him are drifting
Speaker 1: beyond what I'm allowed to access. I try to brush
Speaker 1: it off. Creative collaborations are close, sometimes messy, but I
Speaker 1: do wonder as he kisses me on the cheek and
Speaker 1: disappears into the bathroom whether I'm building drama out of nothing,
Speaker 1: or if I miss in a shape of something real
Speaker 1: I'm folding out of my view. The next morning, I
Speaker 1: sit on the edge of the bed, scrolling the shops, Instagram,
Speaker 1: feet apart, ritual part procrastination. Then comes in, towel wrapped
Speaker 1: around his waist, hair still damp. He glances at the
Speaker 1: clock and hurries me along. Can you shoot me a
Speaker 1: text if you're coming in to day. I've got Mrror
Speaker 1: and the delivery guys, and it's packed. I pause, thumb,
Speaker 1: hovering over my phone, I have my key. I wasn't
Speaker 1: planning a full shift, but I could swing by after lunch.
Speaker 1: Ben busies himself with his soft drawer, just to let
Speaker 1: me know, Okay, the schedule's tight and I need some
Speaker 1: heads up to plan. Things are a bit chaotic lately.
Speaker 1: It's not much on its own. Everyone appreciates a warning,
Speaker 1: especially if the shop's full of new hires and he's
Speaker 1: managing inventory changes. But I notice I feel weirdly unwelcome.
Speaker 1: A technicality, maybe, but it stings. It's the first time
Speaker 1: I realized I've started needing permission to drop in. That afternoon,
Speaker 1: I decide not to go in. I work from home,
Speaker 1: compile in verses, chase down a late bender around three
Speaker 1: Bentech's long day. Bess if you skipped today. Mar's here late.
Speaker 1: We're reworking display. He attaches a photo of new mugs
Speaker 1: as shot I know he didn't take because Morrow's manicured
Speaker 1: fingers appear at the corner, adjusting the arrangement just so.
Speaker 1: She's Marre at the bottom of the mugs with a
Speaker 1: new symbol, free intersecting lines that don't look like her
Speaker 1: old circular motif. I stare at them for a while,
Speaker 1: a little thrown none of it rings a bell, and
Speaker 1: unusually looped him before new mech chitch shelves. I almost
Speaker 1: ask about it, but the words what did ease marks mean?
Speaker 1: Is there a system? Sound absurd, childish. As soon as
Speaker 1: I frame them in my head, I let it go.
Speaker 1: The rest of the wheat piles on is expected to contracts,
Speaker 1: bill pay emails Saturday. I suggest helping at the weekend market,
Speaker 1: and gives me a polite thanks. But I've already got
Speaker 1: marrow for that. He's apologetic, almost rehearsed, she offered, and
Speaker 1: I don't want to change her plans last minute. Besides,
Speaker 1: you hate standing in the cold for hours. I protest weekly,
Speaker 1: but my heart's not in it. I try to tell
Speaker 1: myself that this is good ben, finding some one who
Speaker 1: can match that creative social spock, freeing me up to
Speaker 1: deal with what I'm best at. I still drop by
Speaker 1: Sunday evenings for our coffee tasting, refusing to let go
Speaker 1: of that ritual. This time, he scattered, checking his phone,
Speaker 1: his attention darting. I try to tease him back, making
Speaker 1: a dumb joke about my supposedly to all blend a
Speaker 1: safe bear for a laugh. Usually instead he says yeah,
Speaker 1: well sometimes safe gets boring almost absently, then seems startled
Speaker 1: by his own words. He apologizes quickly tries to smooth
Speaker 1: the moment over, but it lingers. I sit my mug
Speaker 1: down and excuse myself to bed, listening to the low
Speaker 1: hush of messages buzzing into his phone. By Tuesday, Mara's
Speaker 1: corner table becomes a fixture. At first, she'd shown up
Speaker 1: with a backpack or crate, setting out her sample mugs
Speaker 1: and half a dozen reference watches, sketching while she waited
Speaker 1: for Bent to finish inventory. Now she's there three nights
Speaker 1: in a row, staying well after the shop closes, sipping
Speaker 1: espresso while Bend wipes down counters, then locks the doors.
Speaker 1: I run into Leela, our longest serving barrister, who mentions
Speaker 1: it's nice having Marrow here to bounce ideas off. Yeah,
Speaker 1: she keeps us from getting stuck in the same rut.
Speaker 1: A nod. Not quite trusting myself to reply, I try
Speaker 1: to tell myself that bringing an outside talent is part
Speaker 1: of the shop's charm, and that I'm only jealous because
Speaker 1: I feel left out. Then Thursday, while sorting receipts for taxes.
Speaker 1: I stumble on an Amex charge, Ben's card, the Sharp's
Speaker 1: vendor account. Two dinners at last, Pacho's, a place we
Speaker 1: haven't splourshed done in a year, listed on a night
Speaker 1: he'd claimed he was a meeting with a new supply.
Speaker 1: I put the slip aside, telling myself is probably a
Speaker 1: business dinner, though I don't remember any new wholesale accounts.
Speaker 1: I touched the logo, running numbers in my head, wondering
Speaker 1: what exactly was discussed over duck can fit and eighteen
Speaker 1: dollars cocktails. I'm exasperated, in a little ashamed for snooping,
Speaker 1: but I ask later, half joking, how is the supplier dinner?
Speaker 1: You pick up some magic beans? Then Flicks threw his phone,
Speaker 1: not looking up though yet it was about the new
Speaker 1: box a reamics order. Marow knows the owner, so it
Speaker 1: was good for leverage. He doesn't say him he dined with,
Speaker 1: or why it took three hours? Another joke from a friend,
Speaker 1: or was it a warning? Echoes in my head, careful,
Speaker 1: he's going to leave you for his new work wife.
Speaker 1: Everyone lasts, including me, but their voices linger after the
Speaker 1: party ends. It's harder to laugh the third time it's said.
Speaker 1: Running the books for the next week, I catch Cheval
Speaker 1: Lodge transfers to Morrow's name labeled materials. It reeks of formality,
Speaker 1: and the numbers are higher than night expect for the
Speaker 1: volume of mugs on display. I know what clay costs
Speaker 1: what local serramis typically charge, because I placed the initial
Speaker 1: order with Morra lost Winter. When I bring up the
Speaker 1: dip in finances, bend Fleck's expenses are front loaded. Lots
Speaker 1: of a new prototypes take time. I try to press further,
Speaker 1: but he shuts down, changing topics. At first, I worry
Speaker 1: that this is all in my head, that a dozen
Speaker 1: little things have accumulated into anxiety simply because the shop
Speaker 1: is straining, money is tighter, and Ben is stretched too thin.
Speaker 1: I remind myself that we always told each other trust
Speaker 1: until you have a real reason not to. That night,
Speaker 1: as we smooth out the finances, I point to a
Speaker 1: payment triple what we'd agreed for materials. Did Mara billas
Speaker 1: for the new batch wholesale? He shrugs. The studio has
Speaker 1: gotten more expensive and she's using high endclay now. She's
Speaker 1: practically a partner at this point, not just a contractor.
Speaker 1: I'll talk to her about keeping it lean, partner. I
Speaker 1: catch that word and hold it. I nod slowly, not
Speaker 1: sure if I should challenge it. In the past, Ben
Speaker 1: would have run every major change past me. Now I
Speaker 1: learned these things secondhand to receipts at home. I watch
Speaker 1: us try to recapture old intimacy. Sunday, I attempt to
Speaker 1: talk to Edge, back into the place where we share
Speaker 1: worries instead of swapping logistics. I say, do you miss
Speaker 1: our late night talks the coffee tastings, Then, slutched on
Speaker 1: the sofa, rubs his eyes. It's not about you, he says.
Speaker 1: I'm just tired, and you know we keep going over
Speaker 1: the same stuff. I need a break from all the
Speaker 1: business talk. Sometimes my chest tightens. It wasn't business, I
Speaker 1: meant us, He exhales, exasperated. Can we not do this now?
Speaker 1: I just let's just watch something. He gestures to the TV.
Speaker 1: Unwilling or maybe unable, to keep peeling the layers back.
Speaker 1: I contemplate talking tomorrow directly to cut through the haze.
Speaker 1: I imagine myself brazenly pulling up a chair at her
Speaker 1: corner table, saying, off the record is There's something I
Speaker 1: need to know, but it feels paranoid, dramatic, and beneath
Speaker 1: my own sense of dignity. Besides, if I'm wrong, I
Speaker 1: resk alienating them both, looking like the cuchet jealous wife
Speaker 1: who can't handle business boundaries. Instead, I keep observing. I
Speaker 1: start to think about lines when they blur and when
Speaker 1: they're crossed. The next week, small things start stacking. Then
Speaker 1: spends more and more evenings troubleshooting with Mara. When I
Speaker 1: offer to help brainstorm a new event, he thanks we
Speaker 1: but insists Morrow already has the creative under control. He
Speaker 1: starts arriving home smelling like a familiar perfume, woody, spicy,
Speaker 1: the same note I remember from the night Marrow pass
Speaker 1: me in the back room. One afternoon, I finished some
Speaker 1: paperwork at the shop and linger longer than usual from
Speaker 1: the office, which sits behind a thin wooden door near
Speaker 1: the kitchen. I can hear voices, at first professional business like,
Speaker 1: then shifting into something else. Laughter traded in half whispers.
Speaker 1: Ben is saying you always seem to know exactly what
Speaker 1: I need to hear, and more laughs, a soft snot
Speaker 1: followed by maybe we should record this for a podcast
Speaker 1: Secrets of the Serial Overthinker. I push the door open
Speaker 1: just enough to hear feat shuffle, then silence. I make
Speaker 1: some extra noise, moving files, pretending I heard nothing. When
Speaker 1: I emerge, they are both pointlessly busy. Marrow vosses with samples,
Speaker 1: Ben filling out forms that don't require urgent attention. I
Speaker 1: wonder what I would see if I barged unexpected that evening,
Speaker 1: Ben forgets our coffee ritual entirely. I sit alone at
Speaker 1: the kitchen counter, the Niemarra mug in my hand and
Speaker 1: taste a blend that is too acidicon. Then, when he
Speaker 1: finally arrives hours late, he apologizes, mumbles something a suppliers,
Speaker 1: and disappears into bed, shoes still on. At this point,
Speaker 1: even our staff are more in the loop than I am.
Speaker 1: Leela gently when she hands me the deposit envelope, teases,
Speaker 1: don't let Ben and Marrow drawn you out. Okay, you're
Speaker 1: still half the heart of this place. I smile. I'm
Speaker 1: sure how to reply. The following Saturday, I go through
Speaker 1: the business credit statements in earnest, noting that Morrow's payments
Speaker 1: are not just higher, but inconsistent. Sometimes two or three
Speaker 1: batches of materials in a week, even when there's no
Speaker 1: visible increase in mocks on hand. When I mention it
Speaker 1: to Ben, his patience for questions is thinner than ever.
Speaker 1: We're investing in her process, not just a product, he says,
Speaker 1: more sharply than intended. You want a more local art.
Speaker 1: Right another night, a clock out, early after an exhausting day.
Speaker 1: As I step outside, I see Ben walking Marrow to
Speaker 1: her car at the alleyway. The way they angled, bodies, clothes,
Speaker 1: shoulders cantered toward each other. Marw's head tipped just a little,
Speaker 1: like she's saying something meant only for a Zerit intimate
Speaker 1: in a way I find myself catalog in despite myself.
Speaker 1: Ben's hand brushes her elbow, holding it longer than needed.
Speaker 1: She looks up at him, and there's a half smell
Speaker 1: on his face, an expression I can't quite pin, but
Speaker 1: I recognize this direction. It's not business. I duck around
Speaker 1: the corner before either can see me, feeling sick with
Speaker 1: the particular mix of shame and fear that comes from
Speaker 1: seeing something private you can't and see. I want to
Speaker 1: call Ben out, asked, plainly, are you in love with her?
Speaker 1: I want to confront Murra, a demand to know what
Speaker 1: partner really means in this context, but I hesitate. If
Speaker 1: I'm wrong, it's the end of business harmony at best,
Speaker 1: at worst, the confirmation that I am dramatic, anxious, someone
Speaker 1: who sabotattes her own marriage out of envy. Instead, I
Speaker 1: tend to the numbers, quietly adjusting margin's, double checking stock.
Speaker 1: Every batch of mugs that arrives now carries another new
Speaker 1: symbol and more elaborate motif, like a secret code. I
Speaker 1: can't decipher them, and marn never offers to explain. I
Speaker 1: begin to wonder if the designs are a language only
Speaker 1: she and Ben speak. The next Sunday, I arrive for
Speaker 1: our ritual to find Ben already setting up the tasting.
Speaker 1: I tell myself this is a good sign, a return
Speaker 1: to normal. But his hand shake as he weighs the beans,
Speaker 1: eyes flicking to his phone every minute. I try asking
Speaker 1: about the new investor, he keeps rough and sing, wondering
Speaker 1: if the expansion will change the shape of our lives together.
Speaker 1: He seems almost relieved to talk numbers. They want more artisanal,
Speaker 1: more authentic design work, handpher and mugs, uniqual operations. You
Speaker 1: know Mara's been incredible with that. She's basically the creative
Speaker 1: lead for product lines. Now, I try for a smile.
Speaker 1: I like being in the loop. I say, maybe next
Speaker 1: time I could help with the launch. He nod to
Speaker 1: distract it, not really committing. Sure, let me finish up
Speaker 1: some details with Mara Frost. We'll do it together. I'll
Speaker 1: need your rye for the presentation stuff. Maybe next week.
Speaker 1: I let myself believe him for a little while. That night,
Speaker 1: I find him in the living room, hunched over the
Speaker 1: coffee table with inverses spread everywhere. It's late and the
Speaker 1: light is low, turning his hair almost gray at the edges.
Speaker 1: He looks up as I step in, exhaustion in his face.
Speaker 1: Investor wants everything perfect, he says, before I can speak.
Speaker 1: If we get this, we are set through next year.
Speaker 1: How's Mara handling the changes, I ask, hoping my voice
Speaker 1: sounds neutral. She's great, Ben says, voice softening for the
Speaker 1: first time in days. She puts up with my craziness,
Speaker 1: comes with ten ideas for every one of mine. I
Speaker 1: don't think we'd be close to locking this down without her.
Speaker 1: He leans back, stretching. I know you're worry he continues,
Speaker 1: staring at the ceiling. But nothing's happening. That's not about
Speaker 1: the shop, marrs, she's basically family now. Every one's joking,
Speaker 1: but she gets it. He looks at me, then really looks,
Speaker 1: and for a second I see the bend from our
Speaker 1: festival days open a little silly disaw me. I couldn't
Speaker 1: do this without you, he says, reaching from my hand.
Speaker 1: For a short golden moment, I believe him. He asks
Speaker 1: what I think about a you mug design A keluskyme,
Speaker 1: I actually love. We sketch ideas together at the dining table,
Speaker 1: and for the first time in weeks, I feel a
Speaker 1: brief sense of relief, the old rhythm returning. Later, as
Speaker 1: we finish up, he pulls me into a tired hug.
Speaker 1: I just want it all to work, he says, quietly.
Speaker 1: Let's get through this launch. We'll take a weekend away.
Speaker 1: After I nod, I'd like that. I go to better
Speaker 1: I lay the sense of connection lingering. Maybe I've blown
Speaker 1: up small anxieties. Maybe the business needed a creative jolt.
Speaker 1: Maybe that's all it is. The next morning, my phone
Speaker 1: pings a new texts from a number I don't recognize.
Speaker 1: Her first When I open it, I am surprised to
Speaker 1: see Moro's name. Don't know if you talk to him yet.
Speaker 1: Sorry if things got weird last night, I shouldn't have
Speaker 1: stayed so late. I stare at the message, reading a twice,
Speaker 1: trying to pass the emotion behind it. Is it guilt, confession,
Speaker 1: a pretext for more. She's never texted me before, never
Speaker 1: even ask for my number. My brief sense of peace dissolves,
Speaker 1: replaced by stronger certainty. Mara felt a line was blurred.
Speaker 1: I don't know what happened after I went to bed,
Speaker 1: but I know enough now to make the certainty a
Speaker 1: needwhele hotter than doubt ever. Did I respond, poker faced,
Speaker 1: no worries. Was a long day for every one to
Speaker 1: see you at the shop. Her reply is instant, but noncommittal,
Speaker 1: a thumbs up. The exchange closes, but the implication hovers
Speaker 1: in the space above our words and said but unmistakable.
Speaker 1: The relief I'd felt last night is gone, replaced by
Speaker 1: the roy reality that's something between Ben and mar isn't
Speaker 1: as innocent, for as cleared as they both want me
Speaker 1: to believe. For two days, I try to focus on
Speaker 1: anything else, on contracts, on reordering supplies, on checking the
Speaker 1: books for the fourth time that week. I begin to
Speaker 1: review the shop's security camera system, which have always handled
Speaker 1: for insurance compliance. The logs are easy to access, a
Speaker 1: showy manage routinely every few months, mostly for peace of mind.
Speaker 1: This time, my hands tremble as a key in the password.
Speaker 1: I search for late evening shifts, foltering by time stamp.
Speaker 1: Most nights it's the usual closing routines, staff chatting, Ben
Speaker 1: locking up, but a few nights in the last two weeks,
Speaker 1: well after hours, the camera in the back room catches
Speaker 1: Ben and Marr alone after the main lights go dark.
Speaker 1: I watch the awkwardly angle footage. The two of them close,
Speaker 1: voices instinct Mora ducking her head, been reaching for her shoulder, shoe,
Speaker 1: leans in her hand, covers is on the table, and
Speaker 1: the sharing embrace that'll lingers longer than friendly, longer than
Speaker 1: just business. I pause, my chest tight, unwilling to watch
Speaker 1: it all the way through, and yet needing to confirm
Speaker 1: what I sense. I close my laptop, feeling dizzy. I
Speaker 1: think of every moment that should have felt normal, but
Speaker 1: now if it's a new pattern, I didn't want to
Speaker 1: see the next day at the shop, I catch Liela
Speaker 1: during a all She's always been kindable of us, but
Speaker 1: even her gentle face seems lined with uncertainty. Is ask quietly,
Speaker 1: have you noticed anything off lately with Ben and Mara?
Speaker 1: She hesitates? Wherein is filling the gap between us? I mean,
Speaker 1: it's not my place, she says, loot pressed, but yet
Speaker 1: everyone's noticed how close there? Sorry? I just figured he
Speaker 1: knew that it was your idea. I nod, forcing a
Speaker 1: smile that doesn't reach my eyes. Thanks for being honest.
Speaker 1: Walking home, I replay every conversation, every look, every time
Speaker 1: Ben brushed aside my questions, every night he came home late,
Speaker 1: every dismissive wave when I raise concerns about money O staff.
Speaker 1: I realize it's not just Mara, though, She's become the
Speaker 1: focal point with something more foundational. The trust I thought
Speaker 1: was thick as brick is riddled with little fishers. Then,
Speaker 1: when I bring up the footage that night, turns hostile instantly.
Speaker 1: Are you spying on me? He demands, his voice, rower
Speaker 1: than I've heard in yours. Jesus Anna, are you that paranoid?
Speaker 1: I stand my ground. It's security, Ben, I'm in charge.
Speaker 1: Of insurance. He shakes his head, pacing this is why
Speaker 1: I didn't want you involved. Ye get obsessive and then
Speaker 1: there's drama over nothing. I bite my tongue, holding back
Speaker 1: every accusation. I want a lob Instead. I print out
Speaker 1: a few receipts, the one showing transfers to Marris, setting
Speaker 1: them on his desk. We need to talk about this,
Speaker 1: about everything. I want the truth. He slams a drawer
Speaker 1: and storms out. Ten minutes later, my phone rings Ben again,
Speaker 1: voice tight and full of accusation. You trust me at all? Anne?
Speaker 1: Or are you always going to check up on everything
Speaker 1: I do? I don't know how to answer that. I
Speaker 1: want to trust him, I want to believe the best.
Speaker 1: But each new piece of evidence doesn't just contradict his explanation,
Speaker 1: it pulls a rug out from under everything I thought
Speaker 1: I understood. I decide to check the investors story. I
Speaker 1: call the number Ben provided for his potential backer, using
Speaker 1: the excuse of confirming some marketing details. The man on
Speaker 1: the other end is polite, upbeat, and repeatedly refers to
Speaker 1: Morrow as Ben's creative partner. Her name is listed on
Speaker 1: all the documents, apparently as a key point of contact.
Speaker 1: It's abundantly clear Ben's been making major business decisions with
Speaker 1: Mara without ever looping me back in. That night, I
Speaker 1: look up supply of purchase orders coming through WHI should
Speaker 1: be ordinary exchanges. What I find instead are several large
Speaker 1: payments to Mara's business, transfers that Fire pays actual deliveries.
Speaker 1: Many are marked consulting with odd considering, Ben claims Mar's
Speaker 1: contribution is just mug's, not management. I resolved to confront
Speaker 1: Marrow directly for once. The next afternoon, she's at her
Speaker 1: usual spot working on new designs, a stack of untouched
Speaker 1: bascardy at her elbow. I sit down and look her
Speaker 1: in the eye. I know things have changed between you
Speaker 1: and Ben, I say, more calmly than I feel. I
Speaker 1: need to know the truth about work, about everything. Her
Speaker 1: eyes shine with a kind of sympathy, but also exhaustion.
Speaker 1: She shakes her head. I thought you knew, she says quietly.
Speaker 1: At first, I thought that's what you wanted. She as cryptically,
Speaker 1: not quite meeting my gaze. This got complicated. She gathers
Speaker 1: her things, stands up before I can speak. I'm sorry, Anna,
Speaker 1: I really am. This wasn't supposed to hurt you. She
Speaker 1: leaves me sitting there at the taste of anger, confusion,
Speaker 1: and heartbreak thick in my droat a plate of untouched
Speaker 1: Bescarty between my hands. Before I can get up, Leela
Speaker 1: comes over and touches my shoulder. Yo K, She asks
Speaker 1: so gently it nearly breaks me. I nod, but I'm
Speaker 1: stirring into the swirling orange glaze of an unfinished mark,
Speaker 1: suddenly certain that what I feared has already happened, to
Speaker 1: that at some point the line between business and intimacy
Speaker 1: didn't just blur but vanished. I gather my things, ignoring
Speaker 1: the frantic texts from Ben nuts Stock, coming in one
Speaker 1: after the next, each message more desperate than the last,
Speaker 1: and I realize I'm running out of time to decide
Speaker 1: what kind of end in this story will have. Weather.
Speaker 1: There's still a story for me to be a part
Speaker 1: of it all. It rained at night, proper, insistent, sheets
Speaker 1: of water drumming on the window beside our bed. I
Speaker 1: lay awake for hours, the covered bunch tight at my chin,
Speaker 1: my mind listing everything I'd seen and guessed and still
Speaker 1: couldn't bring myself to believe. Then came home late, his
Speaker 1: footsteps deliberate but unsteady. For once, I listened to the
Speaker 1: movements as he crossed from the door to the kitchen,
Speaker 1: not sneaking, not silent, but dragging, as if sleep walking.
Speaker 1: He paused at the bedroom door, and through the thin
Speaker 1: wedge of light, I could make out the outline of
Speaker 1: his shoulders slumped. I considered pretending to sleep, but he
Speaker 1: spoke first, his voice raspy and too gentle. Can we talk?
Speaker 1: It wasn't a demn, just a threadbare request. I sat up,
Speaker 1: tensing business about the receipts or the security footage or Morrow.
Speaker 1: He leaned against the frame. I was tired it about everything.
Speaker 1: I guess I feel like all I do is mess
Speaker 1: up lately. That's not all you do, I said quietly.
Speaker 1: But you haven't been honest, not with the money, not
Speaker 1: with me. Rain shaddowed against the glass, filling the silence.
Speaker 1: He shook his head. I should have told you about
Speaker 1: the payments. I didn't want it to look bad. Things
Speaker 1: just got tangled with the partnership, with these new contracts.
Speaker 1: He stepped inside, staying on his half of the room,
Speaker 1: as if worried I'd spook. I'm not accusing you fraud,
Speaker 1: Ben I'm worried about what I haven't seen. He looked
Speaker 1: down at his hands. Mara gets under my skin sometimes
Speaker 1: she she doesn't judge after all the decisions, the stress.
Speaker 1: It's like she's the only one who sees past the
Speaker 1: business plans. But it was never supposed to be like that,
Speaker 1: I swear. His words tumbled over each other, as if
Speaker 1: saying them aloud would make them truer. But it is
Speaker 1: like that, isn't it, I asked, my voice soft and careful.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to let all my painless once, afraid
Speaker 1: of what might come out. He looked at how like
Speaker 1: he used to look at me, like yo seeing an
Speaker 1: escape patch. He sat on the edge of the bed,
Speaker 1: closed but not touching. That's not fairer, he murmured, as
Speaker 1: if to himself. I hadn't run anywhere. I'm still here.
Speaker 1: Here are here, But parts of ye, your time, your attention,
Speaker 1: our money are somewhere else. The silence grew longer. This time.
Speaker 1: I ached to reach for him, to fix things, droop
Speaker 1: your will, but I kept my hands bold in the sheets.
Speaker 1: When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper if.
Speaker 1: I pulled back on the business change, as if I
Speaker 1: cut Mara out. Would that be enough? There was an
Speaker 1: edge to it, a kind of pleading. Wrapt in exhaustion,
Speaker 1: I had no answer. I only shook my head. I
Speaker 1: want honesty, Ben, not someone who rearranges the evidence to
Speaker 1: match the story they want. He didn't reply. After a moment,
Speaker 1: he got up and left the room, closing the door
Speaker 1: behind him with a barre's click. I stared into the dark,
Speaker 1: the taste of lost blooming wide through my chest. By morning,
Speaker 1: fatigue had hollowed me out, but adrenaline kept me moving.
Speaker 1: I went to the shop welly, letting myself in well
Speaker 1: before opening, kneading the space to clear my head before
Speaker 1: facing staff for customers. The light was soft and watery.
Speaker 1: Painting the ceramic displays with silver and gray, I ran
Speaker 1: my finger tips along the Monk's marrow had dropped off
Speaker 1: loust to each unique and confident it was the work
Speaker 1: of someone who felt at home here, staking her claim
Speaker 1: in stone and fire. While I was checking invoices in
Speaker 1: the tiny back office, Leela appeared in the doorway, balancing
Speaker 1: to Cortado's peace offering. She said, I offered a thin
Speaker 1: smile and accepted the cup. She leaned against the door frame,
Speaker 1: searching my face. If you need us to close up
Speaker 1: a few nights, cover things to say? So, I considered
Speaker 1: telling her I didn't even know what I needed right now. Instead,
Speaker 1: I asked, has there always been as obvious? Leo tipped
Speaker 1: her head. People loved to talk, especially with creative types. Me.
Speaker 1: I think most things are usually messy than the stories.
Speaker 1: She hesitated, then added very softly, but you and Ben,
Speaker 1: you always seemed like you could survive anything. I felt
Speaker 1: a sob press against my ribs and forced it down
Speaker 1: with a swallow of coffee. I don't know what we
Speaker 1: are any more, I admitted, not expecting an answer. After
Speaker 1: Leelah left, I sent Ben a text I needed figures
Speaker 1: for the quarterly statement, technically urgent, but mostly a pretense
Speaker 1: to force some kind of communication. His reply was terse
Speaker 1: or send by y O D. Busy in meetings, no
Speaker 1: sign off, no heart. At noon, Mara arrived, her ponytail,
Speaker 1: dampered rayn tip bag filled with packing paper and slick
Speaker 1: cass watches. She headed straight to her table, not glancing up.
Speaker 1: I tried not to stare. Instead, I watched her from
Speaker 1: the periphery, noting the frequency with which Ben ducked out
Speaker 1: from behind the bart check something back there with her.
Speaker 1: Too fast for a full conversation, but over and over again.
Speaker 1: Their talking now carried a careful surface politeness, but the
Speaker 1: uncurrent of conspiracy remained a quiet joke, a glance silence
Speaker 1: nobody else could break a little before the rush, Julia,
Speaker 1: our friend from the gallery next door, ducked in and
Speaker 1: waved at me. She pulled me aside at the condoment station.
Speaker 1: You okay, Anna, you look like you haven't slept in
Speaker 1: a week. I haven't, I whispered, suddenly, desperate for adult
Speaker 1: affirmation for any anchor. The words came more easily than
Speaker 1: I expected. Julia, have you noticed anything weird with and Mara?
Speaker 1: She winced. I mean, yea. They are practically running the shore,
Speaker 1: curating the space like its a pop up museum. Mara
Speaker 1: talks like she's already co owner. She considered, then lowered
Speaker 1: her voice further. I figured you were all working some angle,
Speaker 1: but you seem a little sidelined. I pressed my palms
Speaker 1: to the counter. Jow tight. Thanks, That's what I was
Speaker 1: afraid of. Sheerly squeezed my arm. There was a kind
Speaker 1: of kindness in her silence. When I returned to the register,
Speaker 1: Mara was at the bar chatting with a group of
Speaker 1: college students about the monk symbolism, at least her own
Speaker 1: version of it. She explained that each damp represented a
Speaker 1: moment in the evolution of the partnership. That one's the
Speaker 1: first time. Ben suggested the metallics, she said, showing off
Speaker 1: a mug with swooping gold. This one's for our late
Speaker 1: night brainstorms, our, she said. The private mythology, I wondered,
Speaker 1: if I listened long enough, I'd reconstruct the history of
Speaker 1: the chemistry stamped out in porcelain. It was stunning in
Speaker 1: a sickening way. How easily she cast herself as the visionary,
Speaker 1: making me invisible, my own role as co found or erased.
Speaker 1: Later at the afternoon, Ben called a brief meeting to
Speaker 1: review an upcoming marketing event. He gave Mara the floor.
Speaker 1: She outlined everything local placement, guess invititions, the moment of
Speaker 1: reveal for the next mog drop. Collaborative energy is what
Speaker 1: makes us different, she said, beaming a Ben. She never
Speaker 1: looked at me. She's not on payroll, I muttered under
Speaker 1: my breath. But nobody heard or else. Nobody cared afterwards
Speaker 1: a return to the office, and with shaking fingers, dug
Speaker 1: further into the venda files. The folders that should have
Speaker 1: contained Marri's production in visits instead held only Barbone's notes,
Speaker 1: creative oversight, consultation, a late night work. Nothing about actual quantities,
Speaker 1: nothing about regular deliverables. It was the paper trait of
Speaker 1: an emotional partnership, not a business relationship. That night, at home,
Speaker 1: I set out dinner on the table and waited for
Speaker 1: Ben to appear. When he did, his smile was distracted
Speaker 1: in thinnest tissue. He talked about the mug launch, about
Speaker 1: Marras's gift for story telling, about how the investor can't
Speaker 1: wait to see our next round. I interjected, So Mar's
Speaker 1: listed as creative partner on the investor paperwork. He didn't
Speaker 1: look up from his phone. She's only on for this project.
Speaker 1: It's just a formality to show we have artistry on board,
Speaker 1: nothing permanent, and the money I found paid to her.
Speaker 1: He frowned. His thumb paws amidst girl material advances and
Speaker 1: a bit extra for her creative input. Every ceramic shop
Speaker 1: does it. It's a lot more than we agreed last year.
Speaker 1: He nerved his eyes, finally registering my intensity. Why are
Speaker 1: you going through all this? You don't trust me, you
Speaker 1: don't think I protect what's ours. I forced myself to
Speaker 1: hold his gaze. I just want to know what's really happening,
Speaker 1: so I can help, or set limits, or at least
Speaker 1: not be blindsided. He stared at me, jaw pussing, then
Speaker 1: put down his phone. I'm doing this for us, he said,
Speaker 1: Brittles Glass, for the future of the shop. I'm tired
Speaker 1: of being interrogated. I ate three silent bites of pasta,
Speaker 1: my appetite shrinking to nothing, and then excused myself to
Speaker 1: the shower. With the noise of water, let me finally
Speaker 1: sob into my hands unhourd. The days that followed descended
Speaker 1: into a purgatory of tension and performance. Every smile at
Speaker 1: the shop forced, every conversation monitored for subtext. Mara kept
Speaker 1: her distance from me, but only just Ben grew more
Speaker 1: absent at home, longer hours, more emergency tastings, texts received
Speaker 1: but not returned. Even friends who didn't know the specifics
Speaker 1: grew hesitant, their invitations to drink. Some gallery openings laced
Speaker 1: with wary sympathy. Thursday afternoon I found myself making a
Speaker 1: list of everything that had shifted. How I now needed
Speaker 1: permission to enter our shop. How Ben and I hadn't
Speaker 1: gone out alone in weeks. How Morrow's signature had begun
Speaker 1: appearing on internal inventories, codes that meant nothing to any
Speaker 1: one but the two of them. When I checked the
Speaker 1: shop's calendar, Google account one share freely, but now PASCO
Speaker 1: had protected, I found the strain of recurring appointments titled
Speaker 1: a deep dive, always confidential, always after closing. I put
Speaker 1: two and two together and felt both relieved my suspicions
Speaker 1: confirmed and devastated my suspicions confirmed. It was at the
Speaker 1: lowest point at the business account, pinged, with the transactions
Speaker 1: so large and recent that I felt physically dizzy reading
Speaker 1: the digits, not to a kiln supply or the clay
Speaker 1: vendor in the valley, but straight tomorrow, the memo line
Speaker 1: others discussed that night, I waited for Bent to fall
Speaker 1: asleep before opening his laptop. I held my breath with
Speaker 1: every finger stroke, as if trying to keep myself from
Speaker 1: crossing a threshold. There was his e mail, half a
Speaker 1: dozen threads with Mara, some professional event pitch deck attached
Speaker 1: others less. So I like what you said to night
Speaker 1: about why we make things, Still thinking about it, she
Speaker 1: emailed it to him. His reply, you know me better
Speaker 1: than any one lately. There is nothing damning, not alone,
Speaker 1: but the frequency, the tone, the off hours, intimacy, all
Speaker 1: painted a story that had nothing to do with book
Speaker 1: orders or material costs. For a while, I just sat there,
Speaker 1: staring at the back lit messages, feeling the thin out
Speaker 1: of humiliation grazed my skin. Not an accident, not a misunderstanding,
Speaker 1: not just business. I closed everything, wiped the keyboard of
Speaker 1: my sleeve, and sat silently on the couch until sun rise.
Speaker 1: The next day, as if rehearsed, Ben breezed into the
Speaker 1: kitchen with two cappuccinos. You going in to day, he asked,
Speaker 1: all cheerful, surface maybe, I said, staring at him, are you?
Speaker 1: He grinned, of course, Morrow and I have the final
Speaker 1: review at eleven. There it was again the asim partnership,
Speaker 1: the seamless we that no longer included me. I'll and
Speaker 1: round two. I said, flatly, we need a staff meeting
Speaker 1: about inventory. Changes are happening too fast. People are confused.
Speaker 1: He hesitated, just a flicker of alarm, but nodded, fine,
Speaker 1: but keep it brief. O. K got a million things
Speaker 1: with Morrow. Later, when I arrived at the shop, Ben
Speaker 1: and Marrow were at the window table, half hidden behind
Speaker 1: a laptop and a forest of rough drafts. She looked
Speaker 1: up at me, her eyes wide and tight. Mild. Ben
Speaker 1: turned red, then forced a smile. Anna, we're just wrapping
Speaker 1: up logistics here. Did you want to join? I walked over,
Speaker 1: laying the latest Pyment receipt on the table between them. No,
Speaker 1: I just need Mara's updated inversts to day in full itemization.
Speaker 1: It's a requirement for our accountant. Silence. Then reach for
Speaker 1: the paper, Mara's hand moving to both of them, hovering,
Speaker 1: not quite brave enough to touch. Marrow cleared her throat.
Speaker 1: Of course, I'll get that to you tonight. Thank you.
Speaker 1: I turned and left, not trusting myself to say anything else.
Speaker 1: The staff meeting was brief and mechanical. As I outlined
Speaker 1: some new procedures, I noticed Leela and Akash are other
Speaker 1: long time Horris to exchange in nervous glances. After the meeting,
Speaker 1: Lee caught me at the sink. You're being strong, she murmured,
Speaker 1: But you don't have to do this alone. If you
Speaker 1: if you want someone with you. When you talked to Ben,
Speaker 1: or even Mara let me know, her solidarity almost undid me.
Speaker 1: I closing the shop had emptied, faint light settling across
Speaker 1: the battered floorboards. I went into the back, intending to
Speaker 1: finish paperwork, but instead just sitting, listening to the tick
Speaker 1: and hum of the aging cooler, hot thudding with dread.
Speaker 1: I thought of every moment Ben had drawn me in
Speaker 1: with laughter, every lazy morning would spend arguing overbeans and
Speaker 1: origin stories, every time he'd worn our shop was nothing
Speaker 1: but what we make of it together. I wondered when
Speaker 1: exactly he'd stop believing that. I wondered if I could
Speaker 1: have stopped any of this, or if it had all
Speaker 1: been decided the day we let Mara in the door.
Speaker 1: My hand shook as I packed up the ache of
Speaker 1: loss or shop. How startled to find myself crying in
Speaker 1: the dark. When I reached home, the apartment was empty.
Speaker 1: Then had texted working late, don't wait up, no kiss,
Speaker 1: no apology, just a fact. I lay on the sofa,
Speaker 1: staring at the ceiling at men. The buzzer sounded. I
Speaker 1: nearly didn't answer. But something told me to get up.
Speaker 1: It was Julia, holding bags of takeout in mine. I
Speaker 1: figured you could use a friend tonight, she said, I've
Speaker 1: been there, you know, the artist's wife left out of
Speaker 1: the creative romance. I almost laughed. Instead, I let her
Speaker 1: in and we spent hours eating cold noodles and talking
Speaker 1: about everything except the shop. Long after the wine was gone,
Speaker 1: she pulled him up from my cabinet a ma remug
Speaker 1: orange glaze, the symbol hidden under her palm. She sat
Speaker 1: in front of me, deliberate. You get to decide how
Speaker 1: this aunt's anna, not Ben, not any one else. I nodded,
Speaker 1: heart thundering with gratitude and new resolve. I was tired
Speaker 1: of being spectator in my own marriage. The next morning,
Speaker 1: before the sun, I set a new password for the
Speaker 1: shop accounts. I printed every questionable invasion, started a file
Speaker 1: that I could no longer pretend was about business. When
Speaker 1: Ben came home, I shadowed lift press. I was waiting.
Speaker 1: We need to talk, I said, and for the first
Speaker 1: time in what felt like forever, there was no tremble
Speaker 1: in my voice. Then stands the kitchen doorway, half in shadow,
Speaker 1: as if stalling at the threshold of what comes next.
Speaker 1: There's a vulnerability in his posture that surprises me, A weariness, yes,
Speaker 1: but also kind of dread. Neither of us moves. We
Speaker 1: need to talk, I say, repeating myself more quietly, my
Speaker 1: voice rasped from lack of sleep. Then nods slowly and
Speaker 1: steps farther into the apartment. He closes the door behind him, careful,
Speaker 1: too careful, as if he's afraid even the latch might
Speaker 1: sound accusatory. He drops his bag on to the floor
Speaker 1: by the copbrac. For a second, I see him hesitate,
Speaker 1: considering what room to walk into, which chair to claim.
Speaker 1: The choreography of our home, the comfort of casual movement
Speaker 1: has evaporated. Even the kitchen table, battered and square, seems
Speaker 1: to judge the silence. I sit not at the head
Speaker 1: of the table, not at my usual window spot, but
Speaker 1: half way down the side, hands folded tight around the
Speaker 1: file foldo of printout's receipt e mails, inventory, teller's camera locks.
Speaker 1: I place it in front of me and say nothing.
Speaker 1: He sets to take away cup a small olive branch
Speaker 1: on the counter, but doesn't offer it. Instead, he slide
Speaker 1: into the opposite chair, knees to papping together it occurs
Speaker 1: to me, this is the first moment and weeks when
Speaker 1: nothing else intrudes, no customers, staff, emails, not even Morrow's
Speaker 1: voice triading between us and clears his throat. Here he
Speaker 1: looked higher. Did you how late were you up last night?
Speaker 1: He's stalling. My reply is flat, long enough to see
Speaker 1: the numbers don't add up. He lets out a quiet, defeated, left, bitter,
Speaker 1: not amuse. I guess that's fair. I can feel the
Speaker 1: pulse in my own, mister rapid, anxious beat, So I
Speaker 1: take a breath and force myself to look at him directly.
Speaker 1: I'm not here to fight, Ben, but I need you
Speaker 1: to be honest about Morra, about the business, about all
Speaker 1: of it. For a moment, he seems to shrink, as
Speaker 1: though folding inside his hodie. O kay, he says, softer
Speaker 1: than I expect. The silence before he speaks again is heavy.
Speaker 1: Nothing was supposed to happen, he says, words tumbling all
Speaker 1: at once. I was lonely. Everything got complicated, and she Marrow,
Speaker 1: she was just there. She understood what I was trying
Speaker 1: to do with the shop. She listened, She actually cared
Speaker 1: in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
Speaker 1: He pauses, shoulder slumped, jaw fluxing. They got out of hand.
Speaker 1: It wasn't supposed to go there, but it did. I
Speaker 1: don't move, Wayne. He makes a face, a grimace, frustrated
Speaker 1: and cornered. A couple months ago, after the expansion, the
Speaker 1: late nights, the tasting events, all the changes, suddenly we weren't.
Speaker 1: We weren't on the same side anymore. Even me Mara
Speaker 1: helped that. First it was just talking. Then I don't know.
Speaker 1: It was like the lime blurred without either of us
Speaker 1: meaning it. And then it wasn't blured, it was just gone.
Speaker 1: My hand's curled tighter. So it's not just the late
Speaker 1: nights or the texts of the payments. It's more than
Speaker 1: just a work thing. He nods, the guilty twitch at
Speaker 1: the corner of his mouth. We slept together. Yeah, The
Speaker 1: words hang there. There is a brutal and fussy honesty
Speaker 1: to them, And for a second I almost respect him
Speaker 1: for not packaging it up at a lie. But in
Speaker 1: the shame, the anger, at the humiliation, fleshs are sharp.
Speaker 1: I have to look away. He talks fast now that
Speaker 1: it's out. He wasn't, Hannah, it wasn't about love, Not really,
Speaker 1: It was stress and confusion and feeling like I was drowning,
Speaker 1: and she she just kept showing up, taking on parts
Speaker 1: of the load. We got close, and the next thing
Speaker 1: we were crossing lines I didn't even see coming. I
Speaker 1: searched his face for a trace at the old Bend.
Speaker 1: The one who used to argue with me about ott
Speaker 1: installations and city parks, who told me drunkenly, honestly at
Speaker 1: a festival in the rain, that I'd be impossible to lose.
Speaker 1: Now he sits here, hans chammed between his knees, a
Speaker 1: man who has already lost something, but refuses to admit.
Speaker 1: Just how much you involved our business? I say, my
Speaker 1: voice level, hitting each syllable as if their fence bosts.
Speaker 1: He brought her in on decisions I should have known about,
Speaker 1: paid her for things that didn't exist, led to staff,
Speaker 1: to investors, to me. Was any of it real, Ben,
Speaker 1: or was it all another story for your own peace
Speaker 1: of mind? He flinches. It wasn't planned at Mara needed
Speaker 1: the money. She said the shop could be a lifeline
Speaker 1: for her work, and look, I should have come clean.
Speaker 1: I kept telling myself I'd fix it, all that I
Speaker 1: could reverse the mess before it exploded. But every time
Speaker 1: he asked, I just felt smaller, more desperate, like I
Speaker 1: was already failing. I hold up the folder, flicking it
Speaker 1: open to the emails. He told her everything, all the
Speaker 1: things he used to tell me. He buries his face
Speaker 1: in his hands. I know, I know, Anna, I messed up.
Speaker 1: I betrayed us, I betrayed our shop, and it was
Speaker 1: stupid and cowardly. There is a long, low rattle from
Speaker 1: the firch. I hear dog barking somewhere down the block.
Speaker 1: The city, indifferent carries on around us. I'n hail, shallow, shaky.
Speaker 1: If you just said something, if you just told the truth.
Speaker 1: He looks up, red rand I was afraid of losing me,
Speaker 1: or of admitting you already had. He doesn't answer. The
Speaker 1: pause drags out, and it begins to feel like the
Speaker 1: shape of a whole marriage, a gap of words, a
Speaker 1: delay of consequences, each of us waiting for the other
Speaker 1: to go first. I finally speak. This doesn't just herrit ben.
Speaker 1: It humiliates me. It makes me doubt every good thing
Speaker 1: we built together. His face buckles pain and apology, warring awkwardly.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. If I could go back,
Speaker 1: he breaks off, a hand to his forehead. Can we
Speaker 1: fix it at all? Is there anything you want from me?
Speaker 1: I shake my head. I've no idea. I need time
Speaker 1: and I need space, and I need you to be
Speaker 1: honest about what you want to, not just escape by
Speaker 1: until it blows over. He wipes his sleeve across his eyes.
Speaker 1: I want my life back, I want us back. I
Speaker 1: don't know how to do that, but please, let's try.
Speaker 1: Don't make a decision now, please. I don't commit to anything.
Speaker 1: I can't. There's too much hurt, too much insult layered
Speaker 1: over the injury. But I nod as a concession to
Speaker 1: his desperation, or maybe to my own confusion. I beat
Speaker 1: passes a tremor of peace in the war zone between us,
Speaker 1: then stands to leave, then sits back down and sure.
Speaker 1: I gather the folder, holding it to my chest as
Speaker 1: a buffer, a threat or reminder. I'll stay at Julia's
Speaker 1: to night, I say, Rose, Crisp, give me a little
Speaker 1: time before I decide next steps for the shop or
Speaker 1: for us. He nods, swallowing, do you need me to
Speaker 1: tell Marrow to leave? I look at him, the answer
Speaker 1: full of exhaustion. That's your mess if I'm not cleaning
Speaker 1: it up. Then accepts this is body, limb, mouth working
Speaker 1: around words that don't move past his lips. I leave
Speaker 1: the kitchen to pack a bag. I grab essentials, pausing
Speaker 1: just once in the living room, tracing a finger acrosses
Speaker 1: a ramic mug, one of Marrower's, a cheery orange edge,
Speaker 1: half a world away from how I feel my hand
Speaker 1: shake as I fit things into my duffel. All the while,
Speaker 1: the silence from the kitchen pushes like pressure behind my eyes.
Speaker 1: In the hallway, I pause, keys in hand, then approach,
Speaker 1: but not too close. Anna, I'm sorry, he whispers again,
Speaker 1: like an echo, stretched thin. I squeeze my bag, nod once,
Speaker 1: and walk out into the stairwell. The door closes with
Speaker 1: a dull final thought, and the aftershock settles into my bones.
Speaker 1: Julia's apartment is lit with low lamps, the air smelling
Speaker 1: of vanilla and something sharp, possibly gin from last night.
Speaker 1: She lets me in worthlessly and hugs me arms tight,
Speaker 1: face dugged into my shoulder. There's a comfort there, an
Speaker 1: adult and show we help that lets me fall apart
Speaker 1: a little, just for a moment. Did you get the
Speaker 1: answers you needed, Julia asks, pouring me ginger tea into
Speaker 1: an old calven mug. Yes, I say too many. Maybe
Speaker 1: she doesn't rush to fill the silence. That's the best
Speaker 1: part about her. She just lets things be as broken
Speaker 1: as they are. But even as I let myself glat
Speaker 1: for a while, my cheek pressed into her sofa, the
Speaker 1: city's noise is muted behind layers of Glassenbreca can still
Speaker 1: feel crowded, shifting dread. There are an answered e mails
Speaker 1: from staff and supplies already paying my phone. There will
Speaker 1: be no escaping the way this terir is through everything.
Speaker 1: Ben and I have built the public face of the sho.
Speaker 1: I can picture its cracks threatening to become visible each
Speaker 1: staff member's glance in coming days. A quiet, pleading question
Speaker 1: night deepens. I text my sister briefer than I planned.
Speaker 1: Ben cheated, It's bad. I'm safe at Julia's. The little
Speaker 1: typing dots bob then vanish. Then her reply arrives, fears
Speaker 1: and certain, do you need me to come? I say no,
Speaker 1: not yet. I assure her that Julia's here, that I'll
Speaker 1: keep her posted, and she sends heart imogies, simple, childish
Speaker 1: but steadying. Sleep is an hour by our negotiation, the
Speaker 1: adrenaline refusing to flag. I scroll through old pictures. The
Speaker 1: early shop paints Blattagen's Ben beananing beside me on opening day,
Speaker 1: The more recent shots always with someone's staff parties. New
Speaker 1: mugs lined up in a row, Mar's orange glaze, peeking
Speaker 1: into the edges of the frame. I studied each image,
Speaker 1: looking for signs, for signals i'd missed, as if proof
Speaker 1: or absolution might be encoded in colors or smiles. I
Speaker 1: four a m I'm writing out everything unneed to handle,
Speaker 1: accounting lockouts, staff meetings, of vendor contracts. I'm bracing for
Speaker 1: how the story spreads, how staff divide allegiance, how customers
Speaker 1: who believe in our IMD react if the misspells beyond
Speaker 1: the doors, The humiliation of disclosure, the logistics of separation,
Speaker 1: and quieter under all of it, grief, confusion, love zecho
Speaker 1: is still faint enough to confuse the pain. The next day,
Speaker 1: the shop looms like an accusation. I arrive before opening,
Speaker 1: using my key. The air is thick with anxiety and
Speaker 1: the remnants scent of espresso and cleaning spray. The new
Speaker 1: mugs glint in this land of morning sun. Bold and cheerful,
Speaker 1: almost mocking. Burn is behind the counter, handshaking as he
Speaker 1: grinds beans. He looks up when I enter. His eyes
Speaker 1: are rined and red. Face lacks and depleted. Staff trickle in,
Speaker 1: awkward and subdued, each quick to disappear into their routines.
Speaker 1: There are glances, short and darting. I keep my instruction simple,
Speaker 1: clinical inventory, as usual morning prep. No one asks questions.
Speaker 1: Mara doesn't show. It's Leela who quietly hands me an
Speaker 1: envelope addressed in Mars's tidy scroll inside a brief note
Speaker 1: and the single check final pyment slash consulting along with
Speaker 1: the lion. I'm sorry for my pardon all this. I
Speaker 1: wish it had gone different. She offers, no dress, no
Speaker 1: further explanation. The news of my temporary leave is officially
Speaker 1: announced that afternoon, I send out the carefully worded email
Speaker 1: to staff, careful to avoid details. Personal matters have arisen.
Speaker 1: I'll be away for a short time. Please respect my privacy.
Speaker 1: Ben will coordinate operations in the interim. Within minutes, their
Speaker 1: replies begin a trickle of well wishing, concern and questions,
Speaker 1: too polite to state directly by early evening, where it
Speaker 1: has already shifted among the nearby shops and neighboring businesses.
Speaker 1: Julia tacts heard rumblings already, people being nosey want me
Speaker 1: to run interference, I replied with a grateful yest. She
Speaker 1: promises to deflect any gossip. Even so the fragile sense
Speaker 1: of dignity threatens to crack. I can feel things in
Speaker 1: spooling quickly. Akash, after his shift, offers a brief hug.
Speaker 1: We're here if you need us, Lee lingers to refill
Speaker 1: nutkin dispensers. Then, when the last customer leaves, pulls me
Speaker 1: aside with a fierce look. Ye didn't deserve it. Whatever
Speaker 1: you need to do is justified. We believe you. It's
Speaker 1: this more than any other kindness, which nearly enders me.
Speaker 1: Even as allies close ranks, the financial fall grows heavier.
Speaker 1: The accountant calls about discrepancies in payeril. This confusion over
Speaker 1: who approved supplier or orders, especially with Mars suddenly absent.
Speaker 1: I feel a polite but pointed email from the investor
Speaker 1: requesting clarification on the creative partnership and where the morrow
Speaker 1: will deliver another round of mugs. I draft, careful replies,
Speaker 1: and set up temporary locks on business accounts. But every
Speaker 1: task is haunted by the weight of what's been lost,
Speaker 1: not just trust, but competence, the smoothness with which we
Speaker 1: once handle crisis together. By dinner, I'm exhausted, too tired
Speaker 1: to eat, too wired to sleep. Chilia finds me hunched
Speaker 1: over her kitchen table, eyes red, fingers cramping from texting.
Speaker 1: She makes me toastin in sais I eat at least
Speaker 1: a slice. I chew without tasting, then called once, then again.
Speaker 1: Julia watches me watch the screen light up with his
Speaker 1: knee the third time, I answer unture why his voice
Speaker 1: is cracked werell with weeks of pent up guilt. I
Speaker 1: can't breathe, he says immediately. I don't know how to
Speaker 1: fix this. Tell me what to do. I let the
Speaker 1: silence stretch. Finally, I say, put the shop first, be
Speaker 1: honest with staff, and leave me out of the next
Speaker 1: partnership decision. I need you to respect that. In the
Speaker 1: quiet that follows, I can hear him breathing. Okay, he whispers, Okay,
Speaker 1: I'll do that. I screwed up. Aye. I am so sorry, Anna.
Speaker 1: I don't offer forgiveness. I don't offer plans. I in
Speaker 1: the call and set my phone face Anne hand shaking.
Speaker 1: The next morning, Julia offers me fresh clothes, folded on
Speaker 1: the foot of the couch, like a care package in miniature.
Speaker 1: The day is already full of tasks, females vender call's
Speaker 1: insurance paperwork, but I moved through each with a precision.
Speaker 1: I haven't felt in weeks. Something in me is gone.
Speaker 1: No on, the pain pushed aside in favor of function.
Speaker 1: My sister calls for is fierce and low. Want me
Speaker 1: to come up this weekend. This time, I accept. She
Speaker 1: will arrive Friday, someone who knows the version of me
Speaker 1: before I became half of Ben and Anna. I checked
Speaker 1: the shop's website and see that the meat the artists
Speaker 1: muggle launch, the big event Marrow and Ben had planned,
Speaker 1: is listed as postponed. The social media feed is silent.
Speaker 1: The professional front is already cracking. Soon the personal will too.
Speaker 1: That afternoon, I walked past the shop, no inside, not
Speaker 1: yet through the window. I spot Ben at the counter,
Speaker 1: hunch hair disheveled, fielding what looks like a mild argument
Speaker 1: with the customer. I forced myself not to stop, not
Speaker 1: to wave, not to look any longer than necessary. When
Speaker 1: I returned to Julia's I met at the warm hum
Speaker 1: of easy company, my sister on the phone, Julia in
Speaker 1: the kitchen, music comin' low, then not in my summer collusions.
Speaker 1: I breathe, shaky but real. Eventually the world shrinks back
Speaker 1: to manageable. Julia pours coffee in one of the shops,
Speaker 1: old mugs, not one of Mars. She sits across from me,
Speaker 1: watching as a fidget with the handle. What now, she
Speaker 1: asks gently. I need to go back, I say, I
Speaker 1: need to close the sleep, decide what comes next, for
Speaker 1: the shop, for me, for Ben. She nods like she's
Speaker 1: known this was coming all along. Late that night, I
Speaker 1: stay out the window to city that carries on without concern.
Speaker 1: For the first time in days, the pressure liits a little.
Speaker 1: I realize I don't want to be defined by the
Speaker 1: end of a marriage or a business failure, by anyone
Speaker 1: else's betrayal. The next morning, I returned to the apartment
Speaker 1: to collect a few more things. Ben is there, pack
Speaker 1: looking up files. His presence is quiet, almost invisible, the
Speaker 1: kind of silence that wants signal comfort. Now turned unfamiliar,
Speaker 1: we talk about logistics, Who calls which venders, who notifies
Speaker 1: staff of scheduled changes, Who finally owns the orange sholaise mugs.
Speaker 1: It's all business, None of the old jokes or shared glances,
Speaker 1: just two people passing a fine print on a life
Speaker 1: they no longer holly share. As I shoulder my back,
Speaker 1: Ben looks up. Is this it? Then? I meet his gaze,
Speaker 1: my voice steady for now, he doesn't protest. There is
Speaker 1: relief in his acceptance, a kind of exhausted surrender. I leave,
Speaker 1: letting the door swing shut with a gentle click. Ac
Speaker 1: at Julia's I pull the Morrow mug from my back back.
Speaker 1: The glaze's orange, bright, almost brash in a flat kitchen lie.
Speaker 1: I run my thumb along the stand symbol no longer
Speaker 1: code I can't decipher, just a shape, solid and noble.
Speaker 1: I take the kettle off the boil and pour hot
Speaker 1: water into the mug. The steam calls upward, warming my cheek,
Speaker 1: grounding me in the weight of the clay. I sit
Speaker 1: at the table alone, the mug cuptomb of hands. The
Speaker 1: city moves outside, as always, corrs swishing through weg streets,
Speaker 1: distant voices rising then fading away. I take a sip
Speaker 1: that tastes plain but strong, and wait as the warm
Speaker 1: floods through me. For a long minute, I just breathe,
Speaker 1: feeling the radiating heat from the cup settle through the
Speaker 1: thin pad of my palms, pulse slowing, the smell of
Speaker 1: coffee grounding me more than the city's daily chir never could.
Speaker 1: There is no way to tell when exactly the hard
Speaker 1: part is over. I keep expecting a wave of fury,
Speaker 1: or tears, or hollow relief, but what fills me is
Speaker 1: something simpler, my emptiness, so clean it feels almost merciful.
Speaker 1: I stay at Julia's for another day, while my sister
Speaker 1: is in bud fielding the logistical aftershocks as they roll in,
Speaker 1: bleak and steady. The shop continues running barely under Ben's
Speaker 1: stilted leadership. Two staff members call oup sick rumors spinning
Speaker 1: quietly in our close knit block of businesses, little ripples
Speaker 1: of confusion and sympathy washing through the usual chatter. The
Speaker 1: investor emails again to request an urgent update. I spend
Speaker 1: an outdrafting a neutral written summary that strips the emotion
Speaker 1: from collapsed promises and creative deliverables. All business now as
Speaker 1: it always should have. No one thanks me for my candor.
Speaker 1: I hand over a copy to Julia, just in case
Speaker 1: I need another witness. Some friends message supportive but awkwardolfos.
Speaker 1: Others keep a distance, careful not to presume what side
Speaker 1: must be drawn. I realize with a weird, almost scientific calm,
Speaker 1: that all the networks Ben and I knitted over years
Speaker 1: are suddenly taught and fragile. Fraz I don't want the
Speaker 1: burden of entangling. By late afternoon, Ben TeX's can we
Speaker 1: meet just to talk about the transition? I hesitate the
Speaker 1: urge to ignore him, calling at my resolve, but I
Speaker 1: know what needs doing. I agree to see him at
Speaker 1: the apartment in neutral territory for one last business meeting.
Speaker 1: This is no more left to say that is an
Speaker 1: arithmetic or precedent or frankly closure. We meet himidst boxes,
Speaker 1: mine and his half packed in parallel. Ben looks older
Speaker 1: than he did even days ago, uncertainty pinching the corners
Speaker 1: of his face. He speaks first. I'm going to step
Speaker 1: back from the daily side of the shop for a while.
Speaker 1: I'll keep the books open, but you should decide if
Speaker 1: you want to sell your share or whatever works for you.
Speaker 1: He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habby
Speaker 1: from when we just met, But his eyes don't rise
Speaker 1: to meet mine. I'll find a new vendor for ceramics.
Speaker 1: No more partnerships for a while. I nod. This is
Speaker 1: the only possible version of peace we're ever going to manage.
Speaker 1: I'll stay involved through the end of the quarter, at
Speaker 1: least on the paperwork we need to inform the staff together.
Speaker 1: His sighs defeated. Of course, I owe you that much.
Speaker 1: I'll tell them I light that you were kept in
Speaker 1: the dark. I wait for some purtise, for a lost
Speaker 1: tangle of self preservation, but it doesn't come, just a battered,
Speaker 1: broken admission. There are practicalities, splitting digital files, forwarding teas,
Speaker 1: drafting transition memos. The conversation is measured, no longer punctured
Speaker 1: by apologies or please just business, just adult endings. Then,
Speaker 1: for a terrible quiet minute, Ben hesitate with the old
Speaker 1: plea in his eyes. If you ever change your mind,
Speaker 1: if if you want to talk, or even try again
Speaker 1: some day, just say. But we both feel the finality underneath.
Speaker 1: There will be no second act, not like before. I
Speaker 1: shake my head quietly and gather my things. My foreign
Speaker 1: buzzes are riders waiting downstairs. My Sis is on her way,
Speaker 1: warmth in blood, and home in her voice. The apartment
Speaker 1: door is white behind me. As I leave Ben standing
Speaker 1: just inside, hands jammed in his jacket, neither of us
Speaker 1: offers so good bye. We already know the word is
Speaker 1: too small for what's been carved out between us. This
Speaker 1: is a hush and Julia's apartment. When I return, with
Speaker 1: my bag slung over my shoulder, the city beyond is
Speaker 1: blue and crisp, late sun falling through her window, Clean
Speaker 1: and ordinary. I set my things done in sid at
Speaker 1: the old kitchen table. The marimok orange unblinking beside me.
Speaker 1: For the first time, I hold it without flinching. I
Speaker 1: pour myself a generous cup of coffee, letting the steam
Speaker 1: worm the hollow in my chest. Holding the mouk steady,
Speaker 1: I watch the surface ripple and catch the light. The
Speaker 1: truth tastes bitter and honest. I drink it anyway. I
Speaker 1: am alone, but unhidden. The story finally wholly my own,
Speaker 1: and that is the end. Thank you for listening, and
Speaker 1: I will see you in the next one.