The silence between us had grown roots.
It wasn't hostile. Not exactly. There were no raised voices, no slammed doors, no accusations left echoing down the hall. Just a quiet tension curled around everything like smoke—hard to see, harder to ignore.
Almost a full week had passed since the charity gala since she showed up. Since the air between Mark and me shifted into something colder, something distant.
He wasn't unkind. He wasn't even absent, not physically. We still worked side by side at the office. Ate dinner together most nights. Moved around each other with the practiced ease of people who knew the rhythm of shared space.
But something was missing.
The warmth. The ease. The way his hand used to brush mine just because. The lingering glances. The unspoken tether that had been pulling us closer and closer.
It was gone now, replaced by a version of Mark I thought I'd left behind months ago.
