Koch

hen turned back to the director, a forced laugh rattling in his chest. "Alena? Married? No, no, Davion, that's impossible. She woul

anxiety in my chest. The doctor had been kind, her words of encouragement a balm. Now I just needed to pick up t

t had surrounded him moments ago evaporated, replaced by a flicker of disbelief, then a growing, self-ass

I knew you' d still be waiting for me. It' s almost our anniversary, isn't it? Our original wedding date. You remembered." He didn' t wait for my answer. He plunged ahead, hi

you? All those years, waiting for me... did it take a toll?" I remembered his fake concern, a performance he' d perfected. The way he' d ask about my day during those rare calls, never tru

ll, almost imperceptible movement, ready to tel

e pharmacy counter. "Excuse us, Doctor," he said, not to a doctor, but to the pharmacist, his tone condesce

"Oh, Jake, no, Alena was here first. I can wait. My little headache isn't as impor

sed to waiting. She won't mind, will you, Alena?" He turned to me, hi

e echo of a thousand forgotten moments, a thousand times I' d been pushed aside. I remembered the endless nights crying into my pillow, clutching my phone, hoping for a c

ft to deal with the crushing weight of reality alone. His "top-secret work" wasn't always top-secret. Sometimes, his "busy schedule" involved taking Britney to obscure indie concerts, comforting her after

g to catch a glimpse, a stolen moment. He had come home once, briefly, after two years. He' d knelt, ring in hand, and promised to cut Britney off, to focus on us. I' d been ecstatic, a fool beli

d simply ceased to ex

es. "Your prescription is ready." She handed me a small bag. "Remem

widened, his smug smile dissolving into a mask of pure s