Across town, Marcus sat at the private corner table at Cedar & Vine, Rachel’s hand folded into his while a waiter poured champagne. He silenced his phone without reading my messages. He believed he had all the time in the world, that home would wait the way it always had. He lingered over dessert, then coffee, then one more glass, and finally drove back at 9:40, rehearsing the same apology he had used for nine years.
He expected the porch light glowing and Caleb already asleep. Instead the driveway was dark. The front door swung open to bare walls, missing photographs, and a single envelope resting under the kitchen light. His hands shook as he tore it open.
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