The kitchen was quiet in the early morning light, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound interrupting my thoughts. I reached for the coffee pot, its glass surface warm against my fingers, and watched as the dark liquid filled my mug. Glancing up, my eyes landed on the family calendar hung beside the fridge. It was an unassuming grid of days, punctuated by birthdays, appointments, and reminders. But there, on September 18th, was a small note that stood out like a whisper in a silent room.
“Alex, 3 PM,” it read, written in a hurried scrawl that I recognized immediately. My spouse’s handwriting. I had heard of Alex before, an old friend from college days, someone who had been a part of stories told like folklore around the dinner table. Yet, there had been no mention of any meeting.
I placed the mug down with deliberate care, letting the steam curl up in lazy tendrils as I leaned closer to the calendar. My mind churned, a whirlpool of questions and uncertainties. What was this meeting? Why had it been kept so secret, or perhaps just forgotten to be mentioned? My fingertips brushed over the date, as if touch could extract understanding.
The kitchen, with its familiar clutter and everyday mess, suddenly felt alien. I could hear the faint rustle of the newspaper from the living room where my spouse sat, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I needed to approach this carefully, to gather more information before jumping to conclusions.
Returning to the table, I picked up my phone and scrolled through shared messages. Nothing unusual stood out, no hint of an upcoming reunion or casual catch-up. It was as if this meeting had been purposefully tucked away, unshared and private.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” my spouse asked, appearing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand.
“Oh, just the usual,” I replied, my voice steady, betraying none of my inner turmoil. “I noticed a note on the calendar about meeting Alex. What’s that about?”
There was a pause, just a fraction of a second, but enough to register. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just catching up. I forgot to mention it, I guess.” The explanation was delivered with a smile, but it felt rehearsed, like a line from a play.
“Right,” I said, nodding, though I felt far from convinced. Something didn’t add up.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
