The apartment felt smaller every morning now, like the walls were leaning in to eavesdrop. I woke to silence and the faint hum of the city a block away, and for a moment I let myself believe in the small ritual of us: the heat of Mark’s body, his arm thrown over my waist, the crinkle of sheets that smelled like him. Then the phone buzzed on the nightstand like a warning bell and the world came back.
There were three missed calls: one from Mom, one from a number I didn’t recognize, and one from my manager, Jenna. A text from Lily sat under them like a match waiting to be struck: People are talking. Call me. I swallowed hard and rolled out of bed, the mattress yawning empty when I moved.
Mark stirred at the sound of the messages, one eye opening. “You okay?” he asked, voice sleep-rough.
“
