(Eric's POV)
I land Thursday. Tell no one.
Not Rebecca, not my deal lead, not the driver I dismiss two blocks from home so I can walk the rest of the way and think, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm trying to think my way toward.
The house is empty at dusk. I let myself in with my own key, and the silence that greets me has a specific texture to it — not the silence of nobody home for an hour, but the settled quiet of a house that's been empty since morning.
The refrigerator holds the calendar. Rebecca's handwriting, precise even in a grocery-list context, blocks penciled in for the week.
Wednesday — Jack.
Sunday — Jack.
Fair (Jack).
Recital (Jack).
I read it the way you'd read someone else's mail — not meaning to, unable to stop once you've started. My name appears nowhere on
