Familiar Lies
"Sweetheart! What’re you up to?" His laugh came through—the usual tender warmth. Piercing like an ice pick. "At the café, finishing a proposal," I replied. Nails dug into my palm; pain anchored me. "Rough day? Dinner ideas? I’ll cook?" Keyboard clicks echoed behind him—still at work. "Anything." I paused, eyeing my hollow reflection. "You… busy today?" "Sort of. Meetings galore.
Just wrapped one. Another project sync this afternoon…" Smooth, seamless. "Right." My tone flat. "Nothing else?" "Nah, just missing you." His chuckle—once sweet—now hissed like a serpent. "See you tonight," I said, hanging up. The lie. His voice lifted slightly, words quickened—minute tells I'd overlooked, now glaring like cracks under a lens. A meeting? With Lia to finalize wedding plans?
Scrolling Messages
Back at my seat, the dark coffee stain mocked me. A server replaced the cloth; I nodded mechanically, eyes locked on my phone. Lia’s profile pulsed. I inhaled, trembling fingertips scrolling up to her social feed. A default gray background, one post from yesterday: a photo of interlaced hands.
The man’s knuckles stood stark, a familiar Omega watch encircling his wrist—the one I gave Mark last year. The caption stabbed like a poisoned blade: "He says this hand belongs only to me now!" Flanked by bashful and heart emojis. My heart constricted; drowning breathlessness crashed over me. Zooming in on her profile picture revealed a youthful face—round-cheeked, wide-eyed, radiating an innocent, forest-fawn radiance. Her gaze held no artifice. A harsher truth struck: she genuinely didn’t know.
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"Sweetheart! What’re you up to?" His laugh came through—the usual tender warmth. Piercing like an ice pick. "At the café, finishing a proposal," I replied. Nails dug into my palm; pain anchored me. "Rough day? Dinner ideas? I’ll cook?" Keyboard clicks echoed behind him—still at work. "Anything." I paused, eyeing my hollow reflection. "You… busy today?" "Sort of. Meetings galore.
Just wrapped one. Another project sync this afternoon…" Smooth, seamless. "Right." My tone flat. "Nothing else?" "Nah, just missing you." His chuckle—once sweet—now hissed like a serpent. "See you tonight," I said, hanging up. The lie. His voice lifted slightly, words quickened—minute tells I'd overlooked, now glaring like cracks under a lens. A meeting? With Lia to finalize wedding plans?
Scrolling Messages
Back at my seat, the dark coffee stain mocked me. A server replaced the cloth; I nodded mechanically, eyes locked on my phone. Lia’s profile pulsed. I inhaled, trembling fingertips scrolling up to her social feed. A default gray background, one post from yesterday: a photo of interlaced hands.
The man’s knuckles stood stark, a familiar Omega watch encircling his wrist—the one I gave Mark last year. The caption stabbed like a poisoned blade: "He says this hand belongs only to me now!" Flanked by bashful and heart emojis. My heart constricted; drowning breathlessness crashed over me. Zooming in on her profile picture revealed a youthful face—round-cheeked, wide-eyed, radiating an innocent, forest-fawn radiance. Her gaze held no artifice. A harsher truth struck: she genuinely didn’t know.
NEXT >>
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