I told myself it meant nothing, then I told myself that again when it stopped being true, and soon we were meeting in hotels and her apartment, building a life made of lies. With her, I felt wanted instead of needed, and that difference became my excuse.
At home, Lauren grew quieter, and one night she asked, “Do you still see me when you look at me,” and my silence answered before my words could lie.
Later she held my hand and said, “Just don’t leave me while standing next to me,” and I promised her I wouldn’t, already planning the next betrayal.
When Olivia suggested a weekend trip to Asheville, North Carolina, I refused until I said yes, telling Lauren I had a work conference.
She only asked, “Will you call me when you get there,” and I said yes.
I called once, sounding loving while Olivia showered behind me, but then I stopped answering as the days stretched into ten. Lauren’s calls turned into silence, and I ignored them, choosing escape over responsibility.
When I returned home, the house felt wrong, quiet in a way that meant absence instead of rest. Her medicine was gone, and a letter waited on the bed.