Eventually, I forced myself forward. I went back to work. I moved apartments. I dated casually, though my heart felt like something cracked and fragile.
And then, last month, everything changed.
I was sitting at a small café downtown, stirring my coffee absentmindedly, when I saw a familiar face.
Mark’s sister, Elise.
My stomach dropped.
I stood immediately, ready to leave. I wasn’t prepared to relive anything connected to him.
But she caught my arm.
“You need to know the truth,” she said, her voice shaking.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I followed her.
She drove me in silence to a quiet suburb I didn’t recognize. The houses were modest, tidy, almost too peaceful.
We stopped in front of a small beige house with a ramp leading to the door.
My heart began pounding.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender.
And then I saw him.
Mark.
He looked ten years older.
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