See you next Friday.
The air seemed to leave my lungs.
The note wasn’t addressed to me.
My hands began trembling as I stared at it.
For a long time, I simply stood there in the kitchen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
When you’ve been with someone for more than a decade, your mind refuses to jump to the worst conclusion immediately. Instead, it scrambles to invent explanations.
Maybe the florist included it by accident.
Maybe it belonged to someone else.
Maybe Marcus didn’t even see it.
But my gut told me something different.
My gut whispered the one thought I didn’t want to face.
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