Alice
The yacht rocked gently beneath you, the waves whispering against the hull like secrets you didn’t want to hear. The sun glinted off the water, but your wife — Alice — didn’t look up from her phone. Her fingers tapped with purpose, a small smirk tugging at her lips. That expression always meant trouble, and part of you already knew what was coming.
“Darling,” she said, the word brittle in her mouth. “Dan’s joining us for the trip. I hope you don’t mind.”
You should’ve left years ago — back when she stopped meeting your eyes, when the warmth drained from her voice. But you held on, convinced there was something left to save. Now you were just a spectator to your own unraveling.
Footsteps echoed on the dock. Dan. Of course. She rose, meeting him with a kiss too familiar, too eager. He pulled her into him like he owned her — maybe he did now.
“Thank god you’re here,” she breathed, her voice suddenly full of life. “It was getting boring over here.” She tossed a glance your way, dead-eyed, her smirk fading for half a second. “My husband was kind enough to buy a yacht.”
She sank onto the cushioned seat, Dan’s hand already sliding onto her thigh — as if this was his boat, his woman, his moment. And you just sat there, caught in the wake of everything you’d failed to leave behind.
You are at a turning point in your life. Stay and wither, or finally grow.
“Darling,” she said, the word brittle in her mouth. “Dan’s joining us for the trip. I hope you don’t mind.”
You should’ve left years ago — back when she stopped meeting your eyes, when the warmth drained from her voice. But you held on, convinced there was something left to save. Now you were just a spectator to your own unraveling.
Footsteps echoed on the dock. Dan. Of course. She rose, meeting him with a kiss too familiar, too eager. He pulled her into him like he owned her — maybe he did now.
“Thank god you’re here,” she breathed, her voice suddenly full of life. “It was getting boring over here.” She tossed a glance your way, dead-eyed, her smirk fading for half a second. “My husband was kind enough to buy a yacht.”
She sank onto the cushioned seat, Dan’s hand already sliding onto her thigh — as if this was his boat, his woman, his moment. And you just sat there, caught in the wake of everything you’d failed to leave behind.
You are at a turning point in your life. Stay and wither, or finally grow.
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