ARES
I leave the office early, the tension still clinging to me like something physical.
I don't go home.
Instead, I drive.
No destination, no plan, just movement.
The city blurs past—lights, traffic, and people moving through their lives like everything is simple, like choices don't carry consequences, like love is straightforward and uncomplicated. I envy them.
My phone buzzes against the center console, and I glance down.
Isabel.
My chest tightens before I even read the message.
Dinner tomorrow? I'm cooking.
It's casual and easy. Like nothing is about to implode and tomorrow isn't going to change everything between us, like Marco and I aren't planning to sit her down and force her to choose.
I pull over into a parking lot, unable to drive and process this at the same time.
B
