It showed up in small, shameful ways. A split-second delay before she answered when he called her name. A sting when she saw couples at the grocery store arguing about nothing. A wave of anger so sharp it startled her when she realized she missed being selfish. And then guilt followed, predictable as a clock.
Because Marcus had been the one who used to carry heavy groceries without being asked. Marcus who used to kiss her temple when she was stressed. Marcus who once drove two hours because she’d mentioned, casually, that she craved a specific kind of dumpling from a tiny place they’d visited once. He had been that man.