She said she’d be home around ten.
Midnight came and went.
At first I worried — the normal way you worry about someone you love.
What if something happened?
What if her car broke down?
What if she needed help?
Then the other thoughts arrived.
What if she was with him?
I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to lie down, unable to stand. The clock ticked too loudly, each second more time passes. Outside, the moon hung low and bright, then slowly disappeared as a cloud slid over it.
The room dimmed.
Somewhere else, Jessica was laughing.
David kissed her slowly, deliberately, like there was no reason to hurry. The room was quiet. Comfortable.
“How’s your fiancé?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel stuck.”
“Do you love him?”
She hesitated just long enough to matter.
“I don’t even know what love is.”
David pulled her closer. His hand lingered at her waist, then lower. She licked her lips, wanting more.
“Does he expect you back soon?” he asked.
“He’ll be asleep,” she said.
“Good,” he said, pouring another shot.
Back in the apartment, I stared at the window. The cloud moved, revealing the moon again — too bright, too exposed. My stomach clenched. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut, a heavy certainty I tried to talk myself out of.
You’re imagining it.
You’re overthinking.
You’re not enough — that’s the real problem.
I started listing my failures to give reasons:
I don’t make enough money.
I’ve gained weight.
Maybe I should cut my hair.
Maybe I should be different.
David lit a cigarette. Jessica waved the smoke away, then leaned into it anyway.
“I don’t usually smoke,” she said. “But tonight… why not?”
His hand slid around her neck. Not tight. Possessive. Intimate. They moved together without words, bodies finding a rhythm that erased the rest of the world.
I cried quietly so the sound wouldn’t escape my throat.
We had talked about getting married.
The cloud passed over the moon again, and this time it didn’t come back. The window went dark. I stared until my eyes burned.
I slept for maybe half an hour.
The heat clicked on. The pipes knocked softly. Then the door opened.
Something was set down on the table. Keys, maybe. The bathroom door opened and closed. I stayed perfectly still, pressed into the far edge of the bed, my heart pounding so hard I was afraid she’d hear it.
She slipped into the room carefully.
Too carefully.
Her body was warm. Damp. I could smell alcohol. Cigarette smoke. She eased herself under the covers like someone trying not to wake a child.
I felt the heat of her through the sheets.
I wondered if she’d said goodbye to him.
I wondered if she would say goodbye again tomorrow.
I lay there awake until morning, knowing something had ended — even if I didn’t yet have the words for it.