chapter2

Her voice carried across the whole shop. Every head turned.

She pushed the stroller two steps closer, eyes dropping to the NASA logo on my chest. A thin, mocking smile.

"Ooh, top-tier national talent? And this is how you spend your time?"

My face burned. Not from shame. From rage.

But I opened my mouth and not a single word came out.

A few regulars nearby chimed in with laughing voices:

"Brittney, don't even bother. Everyone knows how devoted Kevin is to you — who could take him away?"

"Exactly. You two are rock solid. She's not worth getting upset over."

Brittney relaxed slightly at that. She looked me over again, her tone cooling from a blade to an edge:

"So what exactly did you come here for?"

My mind was moving fast.

I couldn't tell the truth. Not yet. I needed to understand what I was looking at.

"He's involved in a community science outreach program for kids," I heard myself say. "Our department wanted to discuss a potential collaboration. I was sent to feel it out."

Brittney's whole face changed. The suspicion melted away in an instant.

She broke into a smile and grabbed my arm:

"Oh my God, why didn't you just say so? Total misunderstanding! Come sit down, don't just stand there."

She steered me into a booth and parked the stroller beside the table.

The little boy inside started fussing. She fished a teething biscuit out of her bag and handed it over.

"Kevin is my husband," Brittney said, settling across from me, a glow of pride in her eyes. "That kids' science program — he's been living and breathing it lately."

I watched her. The way her eyes lit up when she said his name.

"Does he talk to you much about the project?" I asked.

"All the time," she said, dropping her voice like she was sharing a secret. "He's got so many ideas — wants the kids in the neighborhood to get exposure to science early. His sister is a researcher, and she's always been a huge influence on him."

I dug my nail into my palm.

Those words. Those ideas. They were mine.

Back when we first got married, I talked to Kevin constantly about community science outreach — said once we retired, we'd build something like that together.

And now they were his. Recycled into something he used to charm another woman.

The door opened.

A middle-aged woman walked in carrying grocery bags, and when she spotted Brittney she broke into a grin:

"Out buying things for Kevin again?"

Brittney stood up to chat. The woman had a carrying voice — every word landed clearly:

"You two, I swear. I'm fifty-something and I've never seen a couple so wrapped up in each other. Kevin gets up at five every morning to make her breakfast. My daughter would be so lucky."

Brittney waved her off with a laugh. "He won't even let me set foot in the kitchen. What am I supposed to do?"

"That's not stubbornness — that's love," the woman said, giving Brittney's arm a pat. "Alright, I'm off." She headed out.

Brittney came back and sat down, still smiling. "Our neighbor. Always going on about Kevin. Gets a little embarrassing, honestly."

I didn't say anything.

Kevin didn't cook.

Six years of marriage, and he'd set foot in our kitchen fewer than ten times. Every time I came home late from a long shift, the fridge was empty.

He'd told me cooking just wasn't his thing. Said we could always order in.

But here he was, getting up at five every morning to make breakfast for another woman.

The husband I thought only cared about his research — the one I'd thought was too deep in his work for romance — had been saving all of it. Every tender, thoughtful gesture. Saving it for a second life.