Emma pushed her shopping cart down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the items on her list. The fluorescent lights of the supermarket buzzed overhead, a mundane soundtrack to her domestic mission. She'd insisted on doing the shopping alone, relishing the normalcy of the task after months of being cooped up.
As she debated between two brands of pasta sauce, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise of the store, sending a jolt through her system.
"Emma? Is that you?"
She froze, her hand hovering mid-reach. That voice. She knew that voice. Slowly, she turned, pasting on what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Mark stood there, a basket hanging from his arm, looking as surprised as she felt. His hair was a bit longer than she remembered, and he'd grown a neat beard. But his eyes –
