Nathan’s expression hardened.
“I wanted to know how I felt before this became a huge conversation.”
I almost laughed again, but there was nothing funny left.
“It was already a huge conversation.”
He started saying my name.
I walked away.
I barely slept that night.
At first, my thoughts kept circling back to Susan.
Her apartment.
Her knowing Nathan forgot to eat.
Her knowing about the extension.
But by morning, another memory had begun pushing through all of that.
Two years earlier, after my father died, my mother had been alone.
She wasn’t helpless, but she’d struggled.
The house felt too big.
Every small repair reminded her Dad was gone. I hated being several states away while she tried to rebuild her life.
I’d asked Nathan if we could consider moving closer.
Not immediately. Not recklessly.
Just consider it.
Nathan had shut the idea down.
“My career is here,” he’d said. “We can’t just pick up our entire lives.”
I’d been angry, but eventually I’d accepted his argument.
His work was specialized. He had seniority. We had stability.
Moving, he’d insisted, simply wasn’t realistic.
But apparently Seattle was.
That afternoon, while Nathan was at work, I messaged Susan.
“Can we talk?”
She replied almost immediately.
“Yes.”
We met after work at a quiet coffee shop.
Susan looked uncomfortable before she even sat down.
“I need you to know nothing has happened between Nathan and me.”
“I didn’t come here to ask if you’re sleeping with my husband.”
That seemed to surprise her.
“I want to know how much you know.”
Her expression changed.
“About Seattle?”
“About Nathan.”
Susan looked down at her hands.
“Probably more than I should.”
