Years passed quietly. Friends stopped calling. Invitations disappeared. My life became smaller, but I accepted that shrinkage as the price of devotion.
Until the afternoon everything unraveled.
I had just left the house on my way to a tutoring session when I realized I had forgotten my wallet. Annoyed at myself, I turned the car around, already planning how quickly I would grab it and leave again.
When I opened the front door, the late afternoon sun poured through the windows, illuminating the living room in a way that felt almost theatrical.
Maya was not in bed.
She was standing near the dresser, steady on her feet, her posture relaxed, her hair loose around her shoulders. For a split second, my mind rejected what my eyes were seeing, scrambling for a logical explanation that would preserve the last five years as something other than a lie.
She was not alone.
A man I had never seen before was kneeling by the bed, folding clothes and placing them into an open suitcase. They were laughing softly, an easy sound, intimate and familiar.