Thomas did not yell.
That made it worse.
After I admitted I kissed Adrian, he sat back down at the kitchen table like his body had simply lost momentum.
The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock above the stove.
“I always thought if this happened,” he said slowly, “there would be shouting.”
“I didn’t want it to happen like this.”
“It never does.”
His voice was steady. Too steady.
I stood across from him, unsure whether to move closer or give space. For six years, I had known exactly how to respond to his moods. Now I felt like I was facing a stranger.
“Are you in love with him?” he asked.
The question landed gently but carried weight.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I know I feel alive when I’m with him.”
Thomas nodded once.
“And you don’t feel alive here
