What Lay Beyond Him

Lately, the dreams have left me gasping for air. In the dreams, Mark Collins and a strange woman are always there—so close, so intimate it stings. When I wake up, the space beside me is usually cold. Mark always said the company was busy; back then, I believed him without question. That weekend, I decided to buy the cranberry bread he loves. Passing the cafe on the corner that we often go to, the glass door caught a familiar profile. It was Mark. Across from him sat a woman in an off-white knit sweater, her long hair falling over her shoulders, smiling with eyes that curved at the corners. Mark Collins reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair off her shoulder. That touch was so tender, I almost forgot how long it had been since I'd felt anything like that. I stood frozen, my hands and feet icy cold, breath growing heavy and labored. I don't know how long I stayed there, until they stood to leave—only then did I instinctively slip behind the phoenix tree. The woman linked her arm with Mark Collins's; they walked side by side, laughing and talking. I gripped the empty shopping bag so tight my nails nearly tore into my palms. When I got home, Mark Collins still wasn't back. I sat on the sofa, staring at the wedding photo on the wall, feeling only irony. The door lock clicked, and Mark Collins came in, changing his shoes. "Where did you go today? Didn't see any messages from you." His tone was flat, just like usual. I looked up at him, my voice trembling slightly, "And you? Went to the cafe?" Mark paused briefly while changing his shoes, then went back to his usual rhythm. "Yeah, talked over some things with a client." He avoided my eyes and headed straight to the bedroom. "Client?" I stood up and followed him into the bedroom. "A female client, wearing an off-white knit sweater, with long hair?" Mark Collins turned around, his face expressionless. "You were following me?" "I wasn't following you. I just happened to see it." I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt. But all I found was coldness. "Since you saw it, I won't hide it from you." He leaned against the wardrobe, his tone casual. "Her name's Amy Scott. We've been seeing each other for a while." A shiver ran through me. Even though I'd expected it, hearing it with my own ears shattered me. "Why?" My voice cracked. "What do all these years we've spent together mean?" "When feelings fade, they just fade." Mark Collins frowned, his tone sharp with impatience. "Don't make a fuss for no reason." "Make a fuss for no reason?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Mark Collins, you're cheating, and you actually say I'm making a fuss for no reason?" "At this point, what do you expect me to do?" He didn't look at me anymore. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through messages. I stared at his cold profile, and the last flicker of hope inside me broke completely. It seemed like it was really over between us.