The waitress slid two chipped mugs onto the table without a word. Ethan wrapped his hands around his coffee, grateful for the heat, though it didn't reach past his chest. Maya stirred hers without drinking.
After a long silence, she finally spoke. "You know… last year, when we tried to get that place—we were so sure we could make it work. Four months in, we were already drowning. Breaking the lease, moving back into your dad's back house… I don't think I've felt the same since."
Ethan stared into the steam rising off his cup. He didn't like hearing it out loud, but he couldn't deny the truth. "I know," he said quietly. "I've felt it too. Like… like I failed you. Failed us. So I just shoved it down. Worked more hours. Saved what I could. Just… kept my head down."
Maya's eyes watered, though she blinked it back. "But it's like you disappeared. No dinners. No movies. No date nights. Just work and home. Work and home. Ethan… it's driving me crazy."
His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should've talked about it. But half the time I didn't even know what I was feeling. Just… numb."
The apology barely left his lips before his temper sparked again. He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "And then I find out about Robert? He's a realtor. He's doing better than me. You think I don't see the temptation? That you might—"
Maya slammed her mug down so hard coffee sloshed over the rim. Her voice cracked, loud in the empty diner. "Don't you dare, Ethan. Don't you dare say that. Do you think these last four years meant nothing to me?!"
The air trembled.
At first, Ethan thought it was just the force of her words, but no—it was something else. A vibration running under the table, through the floor, up his spine. A low, steady hum that didn't belong to the lights, the jukebox, or the trucks outside.
Maya froze. Her eyes darted around the diner. The hum deepened, throbbing like a heartbeat, growing louder with every breath between them.
Their argument didn't stop—it only seemed to feed it. Ethan snapped something cruel he didn't mean. Maya shot back with venom. The hum swelled, rattling the silverware against the table, filling their teeth with vibration.
Finally, Maya shoved her chair back, palms slamming against the table. "Enough!"
The hum answered like thunder rolling under the earth.
She stormed out into the fog. Outside, her lighter sparked again and again until the flame caught. She lit her cigarette with trembling hands, each inhale harsh in the quiet night.
Ethan followed, guilt heavy in his chest, but he stopped short when he saw what she was staring at.
The diner's neon lights buzzed pink and blue. The idling semis glowed faintly red. But beyond the circle of light, there was nothing—no highway, no stars. Just thick fog pressed against a black, endless void.
The hum lingered, softer now, as though waiting.
They stood side by side, silent, unable to name what they were feeling but certain something was off.
Neither said a word as they climbed back into the truck. Ethan started the engine, and the headlights cut a narrow path through the fog.
The road swallowed them as they drove on into the night.