BOUND TO THE OTHER SIDE

Diane Diane had been doing very well at not checking Daniel’s page. Since yesterday morning, which wasn't much of an achievement, but she was choosing to count that as progress anyway. Which was why it seemed particularly unfair that his wedding photograph was currently staring at her from her mother’s phone. “Oh,” her mother said. Diane looked away. Too late. She had already seen the white dress. The flowers. Daniel’s hand resting comfortably at his new wife’s waist. And his face. That was the worst part. He looked happy. Not politely happy. Not, "the photographer told us to laugh," happy. Happy. Her mother turned the phone face down on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. Your aunt sent it to me. I didn't know what it was.” “It’s fine.” It wasn't. But Diane had become very good at saying that. Her father was making tea at the counter. He suddenly became intensely interested in the kettle. Nobody looked at her. Which somehow made it worse. Diane picked up her mug. “So,” she said with forced brightness, “ten weeks.” Her mother sighed. “We don't have to pretend that picture didn't happen.” “I'd actually really like to.” “Diane.” “Mum.” There was a brief silence. Her mother reached across the table and covered Diane's hand. “You don't have to leave because he got married.” “I’m not leaving because he got married.” Her mother gave her a look. Diane lasted approximately three seconds. “Fine. I'm not leaving entirely because he got married.” That earned the smallest smile. Progress. Diane withdrew her hand and wrapped both palms around her mug. The research posting had existed before the wedding. Technically. A ten-week archival and field assignment documenting abandoned settlements along the northern restricted zone. Miserable weather. Difficult roads. Limited mobile reception. Several weeks of interviewing elderly residents who remembered settlements that no longer appeared on modern maps. Her colleagues had competed vigorously not to go. Diane had volunteered. There was something appealing about going somewhere nobody knew her. Somewhere nobody would lower their voice when they asked how she was doing. Away from the concerned looks with thinly veiled pity. Somewhere she wouldn't accidentally see Daniel smiling beside the woman he'd known for less than a year. Three months. That was how long it had taken him to propose. Only three bloody months! After six years with Diane. Six years of "I'm not ready yet". Marriage is just a piece of paper. Why do we need to change something that works? Apparently, Daniel had undergone a profound philosophical conversion immediately after their breakup. Diane had spent several months trying not to calculate exactly how long it had taken. She wasn't always successful. “You could still pull out,” her father said. Diane looked at him. “And tell everyone what?” she asked incredulously. “That you've changed your mind. Any of your junior colleagues could have done this if you hadn't volunteered,” he said with a shrug. “Very professional,” she said, with a slight roll of her eyes. “They'll survive,” he countered, in that gentle yet firm tone of his. "You've earned the right to be indecisive. This is technically below your pay grade anyway." “I'll survive too,” she said quietly. Her father looked as though he wanted to argue. Instead, he poured the hot water into the teapot. Diane loved him for that. Her family had been careful with her since the breakup. Too careful, as if she was some fragile thing that could shatter at any moment. But at least that was better than the alternative. Nobody criticized Daniel unless she did first. Nobody told her she was better off without him. Nobody said there were plenty of other men. Her mother had once started saying, Everything happens for a— Diane's expression had apparently been sufficiently alarming that she had never finished the sentence. She appreciated that too. She wasn't really devastated. That was the ridiculous part. She slept, ate, worked, laughed. A bit less than before, but she would never admit that to herself. She had submitted a paper two weeks after the breakup and presented at a conference the following month. She was fine. Except sometimes she remembered that Daniel had spent six years being uncertain about her and apparently three months being certain about somebody else. Then something inside her went very quiet. Her phone vibrated beside her, pulling her to the present. She looked down. FIELD RESEARCH OFFICE Transport confirmed for 06:30 tomorrow. Please ensure you have your research permit and identification. Mobile coverage becomes unreliable beyond Dunley. A second message appeared. Remain within the locations listed in your field authorization. Do not approach restricted boundary infrastructure. Her mother was watching her. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're doing the face.” “What face?” “The one where you've already decided something, and you're waiting for the rest of us to stop objecting.” Diane considered this. “I don't have a face for that.” Her father snorted. Traitor. Her mother sighed, resigned. “Call us.” “I will.” “Every day,” her mum said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “If there's signal.” “Then find signal.” “Mum, I'm conducting historical fieldwork, not being deployed.” Her mother's expression didn't change. Diane softened. “I'll call.” “Promise?” “I promise.” That was apparently enough. Her mother stood and began collecting cups that did not need collecting. Diane watched her for a moment. Ten weeks wasn't long. She knew that. Her parents knew that. And yet there was an uncomfortable pressure beneath her ribs as she watched her mother move around the kitchen. For the first time, Diane wondered whether taking a position so close to the restricted zone had been unnecessarily dramatic. Then her mother's phone lit up again. The photograph appeared on the screen. Daniel. His bride. His ridiculous, enormous smile. Diane stood. “Nope.” Her father coughed into his hand. Her mother grabbed the phone. “Your aunt has terrible timing.” “Your sister is a menace.” “She means well.” “That makes it worse.” Diane carried her mug to the sink. She was absolutely going. At eleven that night, she was still packing. Not because she had a lot to take, but because at some point she'd found the novel she'd bought eighteen months ago and decided that ten weeks in the middle of nowhere was clearly when she would finally read all eight hundred and twelve pages. The book went into her suitcase. Then came out. Then went back in. Diane stared at it. “This is why airlines have weight limits.” She muttered under her breath. She left it in. Her phone lay on the bed. She had not checked Daniel’s page. She wanted that recorded somewhere. She had, however, opened the app. Which was different. Somehow. Diane sat on the edge of the bed. His profile photograph had changed. Wedding picture. Of course. Her thumb hovered. This was pathetic. She knew it was pathetic. Knowing something was pathetic did not, unfortunately, make the urge disappear. She tapped. There were already dozens of photographs. Daniel kissing his bride beneath an arch of white flowers. Daniel dancing. Daniel laughing. Daniel looking at her as though... Diane locked the screen. No. She put the phone down. Picked it up again. Deleted the app. There. Problem solved. She stared at the phone. Then moved it across the room because apparently she could not trust herself not to do something stupid and pathetic. She resumed packing. Ten weeks. By the time she came home, people would have stopped sending wedding photographs. Daniel would be married rather than getting married. Her mother would stop watching her face whenever his name came up. And Diane would have stopped wondering what the other woman possessed that she hadn't. Why her and not me? She shoved a jumper into the suitcase harder than necessary. “That,” she told it, “was self-pity.” Diane sat back on her heels. For one brief, humiliating moment, her eyes burned. She blinked until it passed. She did not want Daniel back. That was the part nobody seemed to understand. She didn't really. She wanted the six years she'd spent believing his uncertainty was simply who he was. She wanted not to know that apparently he could look at somebody and think, Yes. Her. Just not Diane. Her throat tightened. She zipped the suitcase with more force than was necessary. Enough. Tomorrow she was going somewhere cold, remote, and inconvenient where there would be no weddings, no concerned relatives, and no internet connection strong enough to support emotional self-harm via social media. She switched off the lamp. Her phone vibrated across the room. Diane ignored it. It vibrated again. She groaned, climbed out of bed, and picked it up. Unknown number. One message. Your research authorization has been amended. Do not approach Boundary Marker 47 under any circumstances. Diane frowned. Boundary Marker 47 hadn't appeared anywhere in her assignment documents. She typed: Who is this? The message showed as delivered. No answer came. Then, before her eyes, the first message disappeared. Diane stared at the empty screen. “What the hell?” She checked her notifications. Nothing. Messages. Nothing. She stood alone in the darkened bedroom, phone in hand. After a moment, she took a screenshot of the empty conversation. Which was useless. Then she opened her notes and typed exactly what she remembered. Boundary Marker 47. Diane looked at the words. Ten weeks in the middle of nowhere had just become slightly more interesting.