I laughed, hollow and bitter, before slicing into the cake that waited on the table. The sweetness filled my mouth but offered no comfort, no joy. It was sustenance only, as empty as the promises that had bound us.
I sent a message to him through the encrypted line we had once shared. His reply came instantly, calm, distant, as if nothing had been disturbed:
“What is it?”
I heard the faint echo of clinking glasses, the background buzz of celebration, and my stomach turned as my fingers dug into the table. I paused, counted two beats, and spoke deliberately:
“Where are you?”
“At the office. Why?” His voice remained that same polished mask of serenity. The sounds of laughter were gone, yet the warmth and light he had offered another lingered in my mind, suffocatingly vivid.
I glanced at the lingering image, at the joy that had excluded me, and whispered, cold and final:
“We’re done.”
“You stir trouble again,” he said, his tone like marble.
A thin, sharp smile touched my lips. “Enjoy your memories with her, Don. Perhaps you’ll treasure them more than you ever did ours.”