Avery:
I knew something was wrong the second he walked in.
Cruz was quiet. Not the broody kind of quiet he could be after a long day or when he was lost in his head—this was the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed.
He kissed my forehead, like always. Pulled me into him and held on for a second longer than usual.
Then he let go.
That’s what tipped me off.
Cruz never let go first.
We ate in silence. My food tasted like paper. He barely touched his. Kept glancing at the clock on the wall, tapping his fingers against his thigh like he couldn’t sit still.
By the time I rinsed our plates and leaned against the counter, he was still at the table, elbows on his knees, head down.
“Alright,” I said softly. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer at first.
And then—he
