She sat rigidly on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched tight around the sheets. He entered the room, briefcase in hand, returning from work. He looked at her with confusion, loosening his tie and setting the briefcase on the table.
“Who is she?” she demanded, her voice trembling with frustration.
He blinked, bewildered by her sudden outburst. “Who?” he asked, genuinely unsure.
Her anger flared. “The woman I saw at ‘Make My Day’ coffee house. You were having coffee with her.”
Confusion morphed into guilt. How did she know? How much did she know?
“She is…” He hesitated, drawing a breath, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide with anger and a raw, aching discontent.
“She’s my girlfriend,” he confessed, the words tumbling out. “We’re discussing settling down, getting married, after this project is finished in a year.”
Her breath hitched. She felt faint, her vision blurring. Slowly, she stumbled backwards, until her back pressed against the wall, her hand reaching for support. How could he? If he had a girlfriend, what was her place in his life? Was she even important to him? The questions spiraled, unanswered.
“Sam…” he began, reaching for her.
She flinched at his touch. The world seemed to spin.
He paused, watching her, the silence growing, and she could feel her own breath hitching, her heart thumping against her ribs.
The author’s note is removed as it is not part of the story.