The afternoon started ordinary enough—an oil change for Mom’s car, a grocery run that turned into a coffee stop, the kind of errands that make a house feel like a lived-in thing rather than a set. Mom left a list tacked to the fridge and a kiss on Mark’s cheek before she shut the door. Lily bounced around in a sun dress, all bright jokes and music on her phone.
Everything looked ordinary.
Only some small things had changed the shape of that ordinary. The way Mark moved through the house now carried a history between us—an invisible ledger of glances, an inventory of tiny touches. The air between us felt charged, like an old wire humming with a current that wanted to arc.
I was in the kitchen rinsing strawberries when I heard him behind me. He came up close enough that I felt the warmth
