Page 160 of Suite 7

Me: No worries! Rain check?

Was that the first lie? Was she in his bed while I was texting her?

I keep scrolling. Six weeks of cancelled plans and vague excuses and careful responses.

October 22nd. Kane: Can’t make Mom’s dinner. Tell her I’m sorry.

October 30th. Vera: So tired today. Early night for me.

Every excuse suspect now. Every cancellation evidence. Every text a potential lie.

But there’s nothing definitive. No smoking gun. Just six weeks of me being oblivious while they covered their tracks.

My stomach churns. I close the text thread before I make myself sick.

The office phone rings. I ignore it. My work cell buzzes. Ignore that too.

My personal phone stays mostly silent. Just the usual spam and work notifications. And Kane’s one message from this morning.

Nothing from Vera.

A week. It’s been a full week since I caught them. Since I told them not to contact me.

And she’s actually doing it. Actually staying away.

Part of me knew she would. Vera always respects boundaries. But part of me hoped she’d fight harder. Show up. Refuse to let me push her away.

The silence from her hurts almost as much as the lying.

My phone buzzes.

I grab it, heart jumping.

Marcel.

Not Vera. Not Kane. Marcel.

Marcel: I’m downstairs. Can I come up?

I stare at the message. Marcel’s been texting me all week, checking in every day since Sunday when I called him sobbing. He’s been the one steady thing. The closest thing to Vera and Kane without actually being them.

But now he’s here? At my office?

Suspicion curls in my stomach.

Me: Did Kane send you?

Marcel: No. I came because I’m worried about you. Texting isn’t the same as seeing you.

Me: If you’re here to plead his case, you can leave.

Marcel: I’m here to see if you’re okay. That’s it. But if you want me to leave, I will.

I stare at my phone. At the presentation I’m not working on. At the walls of my office closing in.

Me: I’ll come down.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting across from him at the Starbucks in my building’s lobby. He’s gotten me my usual, oat milk latte with an extra shot. He’s drinking black coffee, looking at me with those calm, assessing eyes.