Sienna
MARCUS' message arrived on a Saturday night while I was going through quarterly reports on my laptop.
Marcus: Back home Tuesday morning.
I read it twice, then set my phone down without reacting. It was consistent with him—efficient, controlled, as if even returning home was a logistical update rather than something personal.
My thumbs moved before I thought too much about it. Should I pick you up?
The reply came quickly. No need. I'll go straight to the office.
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary before locking it.
"Of course," I muttered under my breath, already returning to my work.
By Tuesday, the rhythm of the office had settled into its usual controlled chaos. Meetings, approvals, design revisions—everything moving exactly as it s
