Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the storm brewing inside Amelia. She stared, unseeing, at the lukewarm latte she'd barely touched. The chipped ceramic felt cold against her clammy hands. Another text from Mark, a smiley face and the promise of a "fantastic evening." She felt a tightness in her chest she couldn't quite name. She’d been feeling this lately, a hollow ache that settled in her stomach every time she saw his name flash on her phone.
Suddenly, a woman across the small table, with hair the color of burnt caramel, cleared her throat. “Is that…Mark?” she asked, a tentative smile playing on her lips. Amelia’s stomach twisted. “Yes,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. The caramel-haired woman's smile faltered, her face draining of color.
"He... he told me he was going to the cinema with you," the woman said, her voice trembling. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Amelia watched as the other woman reached into her bag, pulling out a worn, leather-bound notebook. She flipped it open, revealing an intricate, almost obsessive, list of dates and events. Amelia's own heart sank to her boots as she saw the familiar handwriting and the same carefully planned outings she had grown weary of.