Page 163 of Suite 7

* * *

Back in my office, I pull up Instagram.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

Vera’s profile loads. Her last post is from Thursday, four days ago. A photo of a sunset from her loft window. Caption: Sometimes you need to stop and breathe.

Before everything exploded.

She hasn’t posted since. Hasn’t shared stories. Her profile picture is still the same, us at the beach last summer, both laughing.

I scroll through her feed. Our friendship documented in squares. Brunch photos. Birthday celebrations. Random Tuesday nights. That trip to Portland last spring.

Nine years. Nine years of real, I’d have sworn to it.

But now I find myself looking at photos from two, three years ago — Kane appearing at the edges of some of them, a family dinner, a birthday — and I wonder. Was she already aware of him then? Was something already there, underneath? Did she come to Thursday nights partly for me and partly because it kept her close to him?

I close Instagram before I spiral further.

Monday, six forty-five PM

* * *

I’m home. Standing in my kitchen. Staring at the cutting board and knife in front of me.

I was going to make dinner. Bought groceries on the way home. Salmon. Asparagus. The meal I make when I need to feel in control.

But my hands are shaking too much to hold the knife safely.

I go from still to furious in one breath.

I grab the dish towel. Ball it up. Press it to my face.

And scream.

Not words. Just sound. Raw and ugly and hurt.

When I’m done, I’m shaking. Tears streaming. The towel damp.

I set the towel down. Pick up my phone.

Kane’s text is still there. Still unanswered.

Kane: I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I’d like a chance to talk. Friday at 7? Your place or mine or somewhere neutral. Your choice. I love you.

Friday. Four days away. Four days to prepare what I want to say. Four days to decide if I’m ready.

Or four days to stay angry.

I start typing.

Me: Friday. Seven PM. My place. Come alone.

My finger hovers over send.

This is it.

Am I ready? Not to forgive. Not to forget.