The aroma of coffee drifted softly through the apartment, swirling with the scent of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. Leah stood by the kitchen counter, bleary-eyed and exhausted, stirring two cups absentmindedly.
She didn't usually make breakfast.
That had always been Daniel's thing—waking up early, brewing her favorite coffee just right, making breakfast with quiet care, leaving a kiss on her cheek as she rushed out the door.
But today, she had woken up before him.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the weight of last night—the soft decorations still hanging in the hallway like ghosts. Maybe it was the way he had smiled at her without warmth, without even a trace of the man who used to light up just seeing her walk into the room.
Her hands paused, clutching the edge of the counter.
He's been doing this every single day…
The thought pressed into her, heavy and sharp.
She set the plates on the table, fixed the mugs, and looked toward the bedroom door.
---
Daniel emerged quietly.
He was dressed, face washed, expression unreadable. His eyes scanned the breakfast table, lingered for a moment, then drifted back to Leah.
"Morning," she said softly.
"Morning," Daniel replied, taking a seat. His tone was polite. Detached.
Leah sat opposite him, waiting—hoping—for some sign of emotion. Appreciation. Frustration. Anything.
Instead, he buttered his toast in silence.
"So… I made your coffee," she said, almost too cheerfully. "The way you like it."
Daniel took a sip. Nodded once. "Thanks."
They ate in a stillness broken only by the quiet scrape of cutlery.
Leah forced a smile. "I was thinking… maybe we could do something this weekend? Go out?"
"I might have some work to finish," Daniel said, not unkindly, just matter-of-fact. "We'll see."
We'll see. The words hit her like a wall.
There was no argument. No raised voice. No accusation.
Only distance.
The kind that didn't yell. It just… existed.
Leah glanced at the clock. "I should get going."
Daniel nodded, still chewing.
She grabbed her bag and lingered by the door for a second. "Okay… I'll see you tonight."
Daniel didn't look up. "Drive safe."
She hesitated. Then left.
---
The office buzzed with energy as Leah stepped inside—laptops humming, voices bouncing off glass walls, the familiar tempo of corporate life in motion.
And there he was.
Chris.
Standing near the coffee machine, laughing with a colleague, his hand gesturing in that confident, relaxed way that had first caught her attention.
It hadn't meant anything, at first.
Just friendly chats between colleagues. Coffee breaks. Shared jokes. Occasional late-night project collaborations. It had all felt innocent—until it hadn't.
She remembered the first time it shifted. The way his hand had brushed hers a second too long. The way his compliments felt personal, like he saw her as more than just Leah the employee. The way he'd looked at her, like she was wanted.
And she had liked it.
Even when she knew she shouldn't.
One night, the project ran late. They were alone. He leaned in. She didn't stop him. It was electric and terrifying and wrong, but it made her feel alive in a way she hadn't in months.
She had told herself it was a mistake. That it wouldn't happen again.
But Chris knew how to read her silences.
And every time he touched her again—softly, insistently—she let him.
Again.
And again.
It had become a rhythm. A dangerous, addictive rhythm.
---
"Hey, stranger." His voice pulled her back to the present.
Leah looked up to see Chris grinning at her. "Didn't see you this morning."
"I got in a bit late," she said quickly.
He leaned closer. "You're glowing. Sleep well?"
There was a playful undertone in his voice, the kind she used to find thrilling. Today, it made her stomach knot.
"I have meetings stacked today," she deflected. "Pretty packed."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "So… no time for us?"
Leah hesitated. "Not today."
His smile faltered for just a second. "Everything okay?"
She gave a small nod, trying to steady her voice. "Just tired."
Chris looked at her carefully, then leaned in slightly. "You know where to find me if you need a… break."
She forced a smile. "I'll be fine."
---
Leah left the office on time that evening.
It was the first time in weeks she had walked out while the sky was still golden. As she stepped outside, something felt strange—foreign, almost.
She glanced at the sunset, the warm orange spilling across the horizon. It reminded her of the way Daniel used to sit by the window, sketching the sky as it shifted.
How long had it been since she'd noticed a sunset?
Or come home before dark?
Her chest felt tight with something unspoken.
She didn't have an answer for it. But she drove home in silence, letting the minutes pass quietly, knowing—though she wouldn't admit it—that something had already begun to shift.