I asked Marcus to come to the apartment.
Not for coffee, not for logistics. I told him to bring nothing. I told him I needed to talk and that he needed to just listen until I was finished.
He arrived at seven on a Friday. He sat on the couch, his hands in his lap, and he did exactly what I asked. He listened.
I told him everything. Not the way I had told it in anger or in grief, but the way you tell something when the emotion has settled into fact. I told him about the anniversary and what it had done to my sense of worth. I told him about the months of dismissal, about the feeling of being a fixture in my own marriage. I told him about standing outside his office building after Chicago and knowing that the man inside had betrayed me in the most complete way.
I told him about Devin. No
