There.
Ugly little thing.
Out in the open.
Mark does not rush to fill the silence.
Does not tell me not to be.
Does not rescue me.
He just lets the truth sit.
And somehow that is worse.
Or better.
I genuinely cannot tell anymore.
“Yeah,” he says eventually.
Just that.
Yeah.
As if he understands completely.
As if he maybe was too.
I breathe out shakily.
Another silence.
This one gentler.
Less jagged.
But still full.
Still carrying all the things we have not said.
I know if we stay on this call much longer one of us is going to say something irreversible.
I am not sure whether I want that or am terrified of it.
Possibly both.
I look at the clock on my desk.
4:47 p.m.
A normal time.
A completely normal Sunday late afternoon.
Yet nothing about this feels normal.
“I should let you go,” I say quietly.
