64

64
The door creaked as Savannah stepped in, the light from the hallway spilling into the foyer like truth she didn’t want to touch.

She heard Marcus in the kitchen. The familiar clatter of dishes. The hum of jazz playing low from the speakers. The air smelled like garlic and rosemary.

Home.

Her chest ached.

She took off her shoes like always. Hung her coat. Tried to smooth the chaos in her hair, wipe the war from her lips. Damien’s fingerprints were no longer on her skin but they were inside her, and she didn’t know how to scrub that clean.

Marcus turned when she walked in. “Hey, birthday girl.” He smiled, his eyes warm and open. “I made your favorite chicken piccata and mashed sweet potatoes.”

Savannah’s heart clenched. She wanted to cry.

“You didn’t have to

“Of course I did,” he said, setting down a spoon and walking over. He cupped her face with both hands. “You deserve it.”

She smiled through the tightness. “Thank you.”

He kissed her. Soft. Familiar. Gentle.

And she didn’t feel it.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a second, she tried to imagine it was Damien.

Wrong. Stop that. You love Marcus.

“Dinner’s ready in five,” Marcus said. “I’ll pour you some wine.”

She nodded and stepped away. Her legs felt disconnected from her body, like she’d borrowed them from someone steadier.

In the bathroom, she locked the door. Turned on the faucet. Splashed water on her face like that could wash out the noise in her head. Her reflection stared back messy mascara, swollen lips, guilt smeared like gloss.

She picked up her wedding ring from her purse and slid it back onto her finger. It felt cold.

Dinner

They sat at the table. Candles. Napkins folded just the way she liked them. Marcus poured her wine. She barely tasted the food.

He talked about work. About a new hire who kept forgetting to mute on Zoom.

She laughed at the right parts. Nodded. Smiled. Played her role like a woman who hadn’t betrayed the man sitting across from her.

Then Marcus reached over and touched her hand. “You okay, Sav?”

She blinked. “Of course. Why?”

He studied her. “You seem… distant.”

She forced another smile. “Just tired. Long day.”

He didn’t push. That’s what made it worse. He trusted her.

After dinner, they sat on the couch. He turned on a movie. She leaned into his chest, trying to remember what safety felt like. What love felt like.

But all she could think about was the sharp contrast of Damien’s hands. The way he didn’t ask. The way he took.

Her body tensed, and Marcus noticed.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You sure you’re okay?”

Savannah nodded quickly. “I think I just need a shower and bed.”

“Okay.” He kissed her temple. “Happy birthday again, baby.”

She forced a laugh and left the room.

In the Shower

She stood under the hot water, arms wrapped around herself.

She scrubbed until her skin stung. Until the soap was gone. Until Damien’s voice finally faded from the back of her mind.

But deep down, she knew: it wasn’t over.

Not even close.