No. Danielle makes my real life work.
I read it twice.
Below that, another message.
What we have is separate. Don’t make it complicated.
My real life.
I was the real life. I handled the mortgage and the groceries and the insurance calls and the scheduling and all the invisible load of a functioning household, and Marcus disappeared every Thursday and came home and set his keys on the counter and I asked how his day was.
I wasn’t his partner. I was his infrastructure.
I left the coffee shop a little after seven.
Tessa stopped me at the door.
“For what it’s worth — none of us knew you were still together when we got involved with him.”
I looked at her for a moment.
“I believe you,” I said.
Whether I forgave them for the car — I still don’t fully know. But Marcus was the one who had made a promise to me. They hadn’t.
