The first crack was so small, so silent, it was less a sound and more a change in atmospheric pressure. It wasn’t in something he did, but in the space left by something he didn’t do.
He didn't look for me.
We were at a backyard barbecue at his colleague’s house, bathed in the golden, forgiving light of late afternoon. It was the kind of scene that belonged in a catalog for happy family.
Kids shrieked with joy, chasing each other through the sparkling arc of a sprinkler. The air was thick with the scent of charcoal, caramelizing meat, and sweet cut grass.
I was leaning against the fence, talking to Priya, a friend from my old design life. I felt good. Light. My skin still hummed with a pleasant memory from that morning - a slow, laughing tangle with Leo in our sunlight bedsheets
