ence in the house was immense, a physical presence. I looked at the elaborate meal I' d prepared-the shrimp étouff

I washed the dishes, scrubbing each plate until it gleamed, the repetitive motion a strange comfort. I didn't feel anger, not

my spicy, vibrant Creole cooking that Ethan always complained was "too much." I' d become a line cook at a greasy spoon diner because it was sim

r a weekend with his ex-girlfriend. For a man whose friends

cting a storm of tears and accusations. He found me on the couch

throat. "Jo?

ok at him.

out this weekend... Sabrina was just really lonely. Her influencer deal fell through, a

er bite of g

ould have. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small,

y at a gas station. It probably cost twenty dollars. I thought of the d

he box from him and set it on the coffee table, right next to a s

ixture of confusion and growing frustration. "

d, turning my attention back

e thought I was being difficult. But this wasn't about being di