For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. My hand was still wrapped around the little gift bag I had brought him—a vintage silver watch he’d once pointed out in a store window. I had spent an hour getting ready. I had even driven downtown to surprise him because something in his text felt cold, rehearsed. Now I knew why.
He was wearing the navy shirt I bought him last Christmas. She was laughing with one hand on his jaw, leaning in like this wasn’t their first time. They weren’t nervous. They were comfortable. Familiar. Practiced.
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