Now it feels like the scene of a crime I didn't realize I was part of.
And there it is.
The mug. Waiting on the corner of my worktable, steam curling into the quiet morning air. Dark roast. Right on time.
Yesterday, it would've made me smile. That tiny flutter of being thought of and seen.
Today, it makes my stomach turn.
I never asked for it. It started showing up, like he did. Present but uninvited. Thoughtful in a way that, at the time, felt romantic.
But now? It feels calculated.
My hand trembles as I pick it up. The ceramic is warm, familiar, deceptively comforting.
Too easy.
Too much like a lie.
I carry it to the sink and pour it out. The coffee vanishes in a slow swirl, taking hope with it.
It's a quiet funeral for a feeling I should've never trusted.
The barn is too still. Like the air's bracing for what I'll do next.
And I don't know what that is.
Not yet.
I march to the sound system, scrolling through playlists I used to love. "Uplifting Pop Anthems" feels cruel now. "Indie Darling Daydreams" belongs to someone else, someone softer, someone still willing to believe.
Then I find it.
The playlist I made after Daniel. The one who stole my most personal proposal concept and used it to propose to a record executive's daughter like it was his own brilliant idea.
That playlist came from betrayal.
Today, it fits.
I crank the volume. The opening crash of distorted guitars ricochets off the rafters. It's angry. Ugly. A KEEP OUT sign in sound. Everything Ever After, Inc. isn't supposed to be, and what I need it to be right now.
Let him sit in his polished little loft and hear it. Let him feel it vibrating through his perfectly stacked folders.
I started this war yesterday. I didn't know how personal it was until now. There's no truce in sight. Not until I figure out who the hell I've been sharing my mornings with.
I try to work. Ben and Clara's enchanted forest proposal needs final sketches. I stare at the page, glowing mushrooms, starlit trails, but the magic's gone.
All I see are numbers. Risks. Red flags he would've circled with a polite smile and a tone that made me feel stupid for not seeing them first.
I close my eyes, and the memory plays again. The drone lesson.
He stood close behind me, his voice low, his hands over mine. At the time, I thought it was connection. Now I wonder, was it intimacy, or a move more calculated? Was he guiding me, or keeping me still? Helping, or showing how easily he could take the lead?
When the drone landed, I thought we'd done it together. Now it feels almost rehearsed. Like he was making a point, how seamlessly he could step into my world and take the reins.
Maybe he never wanted to share it with me. Maybe he wanted to own it.
Or maybe I'm seeing it all wrong, twisting it to match what I've learned. I don't know which version of him is real. And that's what scares me most.
