I noticed the moment she didn't come.
At first, I tried to pretend I hadn't.
I sat on the couch, legs stretched in front of me, the remote untouched in my hand, the TV murmuring low like background noise for a life I didn't currently feel part of.
She always came.
Even on days she was exhausted.
Even on days we barely talked.
Even when I insisted she didn't have to.
She came anyway.
Tonight, the silence felt different.
Not peaceful.
Not soft.
It felt like something had split a little.
Something I couldn't name.
I kept glancing at the door.
Expecting her footsteps.
Expecting the soft knock she always used, like she wasn't sure she was allowed in even after I'd given her a key.
But minutes turned to an hour.
An hour to two.
And the room stayed empty.
I told myself it was nothing.
Work ran late.
Traffic.
A bad day.
But then I remembered the moment in the meeting room—the moment she saw Elias beside me, identical down to the smallest detail—and I felt something sink inside my chest.
She hadn't looked at me.
Not really.
She'd looked through me.
Past me.
Like seeing us side by side cracked open something she had kept carefully sealed.
And I hated that I didn't know what that something was.
I picked up my phone three times before finally letting it fall onto the couch cushion.
I didn't want to be clingy.
I didn't want to make her feel like she needed to explain every breath she took.
But the truth was painfully simple:
I missed her.
More than I had any right to.
More than made sense.
More than I could say without sounding like I had lost my mind.
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair.
The room was too quiet—so quiet I could hear my own thoughts tripping over each other.
Is it because of Elias?
The question pressed against my ribs like a bruise.
When I introduced him earlier, she froze—not fear, not shock, something else.
Something sharper.
Like she had been waiting for something to make her step back.
And the moment he appeared… she did.
I wanted to believe it was coincidence.
That she was overwhelmed.
That adjusting to two of us was simply strange.
But the feeling tightening in my chest wasn't going away.
I tried to distract myself—read, pace, stare at the ceiling—but everything circled back to the same point.
Her absence felt wrong.
Not dramatic, not catastrophic, just wrong in that quiet, persistent way that settles under your skin and refuses to leave.
By the third hour, I couldn't stay still.
I stood, walking toward the kitchen just to move, just to do something.
But then I stopped halfway.
Her mug.
The one she always used—the chipped white ceramic one she claimed tasted "better" even though I knew that made no sense—sat beside the sink.
I reached out and touched it.
Cold.
Completely cold.
I don't know why that small detail hit me harder than everything else, but it did.
She always warmed her mug before drinking anything.
Always rinsed it right after.
Always placed it on the left side of the sink, facing outward, handle turned the same direction every time.
But today… it hadn't been used.
Not warmed.
Not washed.
It hadn't been touched at all.
I stepped back, pressing my palms against the counter, grounding myself in the cool surface.
"Did Elias do this?" I muttered under my breath.
Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
But maybe by simply existing.
Maybe she saw us together and realized… something.
Something I didn't want her to realize.
The possibility crawled through me with a strange, sickening heaviness.
I didn't want to lose her.
Not to fear.
Not to confusion.
Not to the chaos my family always seemed to drag behind it.
Not to Elias.
Especially not him.
I grabbed my phone again, hesitating before typing.
Are you okay?
Simple.
Safe.
Non-demanding.
But I backspaced the entire thing before I could hit send.
I didn't want to suffocate her.
I didn't want her to think she owed me explanations just because I cared.
Even if I cared more than I should.
Especially because I cared more than I should.
I sank onto the couch again, elbows on my knees, pressing my palms to my temples.
What if this was the beginning of the end?
The thought came uninvited and sharp.
What if seeing Elias—seeing us side by side—made her realize how strange, how complicated, how heavy my life was?
What if I wasn't the safe choice?