Dan’s late nights had become a pattern a slow-burning ache I tried to ignore. He always had an excuse: overtime, client calls, urgent deadlines. At first, I believed him. We used to be close sharing dinners, inside jokes, and late-night talks under the glow of our kitchen lights. But those moments had faded, replaced by silence and distance. I missed him, but more than that, I missed us. Deep down, something in me had begun to shift a quiet suspicion growing louder with every empty evening.
