SHAPES UNSPOKEN

- 4 -

HAPPY READING 🥰

Sean Britto

It has been a week since Anna and I stood on that terrace, inches apart, breathing the same air like we were the only two people left in the world.

A week.

And I still can’t shake it.

I’ve tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the tension from the divorce. Maybe it was just the fact that I haven’t touched a woman in over a year.

But no.

It was more than that.

The way my heart pounded in my chest that night caught me off guard. I’m not some teenage boy who doesn’t know how to control himself. I’ve been married. I’ve been in love. I’ve built a family. Yet standing in front of Anna made me feel… exposed. Awake.

Maybe I just need to get laid and get it out of my system.

I haven’t been in the dating pool for so long I don’t even know what the rules are anymore. Do women still want stability? Loyalty? A man who comes home every night and puts his family first?

I thought that was the goal. Settling down. Providing. Being present.

But Cindy left.

So what does that say about what I have to offer?

The thought lingers longer than I’d like.

That night at the gala, I was so caught up in Anna I had to leave through the back before I embarrassed myself in front of half of Manhattan. I don’t even know if she’s seeing someone. I don’t know what she likes. I don’t know what she wants.

All I know is she’s in Guyana for work and every time I close my eyes I see her.

The way her lips parted.

The way her breath hitched when I touched her face.

The softness of her skin under my palm.

The way her eyes darkened when I leaned in.

It’s dangerous, the things my mind does with those memories.

Today is Saturday, July 20th. The summer heat is already blazing through my bedroom window.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Steph bursts into my room like a hurricane and launches himself onto my bed.

I grunt dramatically as he lands on my chest. “You trying to take me out this early?”

He giggles, bouncing.

“Hey, buddy. You ready for breakfast?”

Instead of answering, he dives under the covers. I grab him and tickle him until he’s gasping for air.

“Daddy stop!” he squeals.

I finally release him and he crawls up next to me, resting his head on my shoulder.

Moments like this make everything else fade.

Steph and I have been good. Really good. He asks about his mother sometimes—usually at night or when something reminds him of her. Whenever I call Cindy, she answers immediately to speak to him. I don’t say a word to her. I hand him the phone, let them talk, and when he’s done, I hang up.

No small talk.

No arguments.

No pretending.

It angers me that she can’t be civil with me. That we can’t have a real conversation about what’s happening between us. Some days it feels like I was married to a stranger.