My phone rang around 11:40 p.m. Her name lit up the screen. She hadn't called or texted once since she walked out. I let it ring twice before answering. "Hey," she said. Her voice was softer than usual, not shaky, but slower, like she'd had wine or something stronger.
Hey, I said. There was a pause. I wasn't sure if I should call, she continued. It's late. I didn't reply.
I just I remembered that documentary you watched last year, the one about Arctic wolves? You told me the Alpha pair mates for life. Remember that? I didn't answer her question. Are you calling to talk about wolves, Cindy?
She exhaled sharply. No, I just I don't know. I've been thinking a lot about us. The quiet here feels different than the quiet at home. Yours feels more intentional.
I waited. Do you miss me? She asked. That was the moment she really called for that question. The test.
I don't know yet, I said. Another long pause. Okay, she whispered. I could hear a song playing faintly in the background. She always played old playlists when she got sentimental.
You don't have to be cold, Martin, she said. I'm not being cold, I replied. I'm being clear. She didn't say goodbye, just hung up. I stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Then I opened my contacts, scrolled to her name, and hit delete. Not because I was angry, because I didn't want to keep making space for someone who might not be planning to stay. The following Monday, Ava from work caught me in the elevator. She's in sales, sharpeyed and blunt in a way that makes most people nervous. We'd never talked much outside meetings.
"You've got a sec?" she asked. "Sure. She hesitated, then said, "I didn't know if I should bring this up, but I saw Cindy this weekend. I didn't flinch. "Where?
Riverfield Music Hall, Friday night. I nodded slowly. "She likes that place. "She wasn't alone," Eva added, watching my reaction. Guy in a gray jacket, tall glasses.
They looked together. How so? Arms touching, shared drink. She leaned into him during the set, smiling. You know the look.
I nodded again. Thanks for telling me. She paused. You okay? I'm fine.
I wasn't lying. That night, I came home and pulled out our wedding album, sat with it for a while, then slid it into a storage bin in the hallway closet. Not out of spite, just done pretending the photos still matched the present. After that, I opened her side of the dresser. There were still a few things she hadn't taken.