This isn't weird.

Before or After

The night was black. An opaque layer of clouds blotted out the moon and stars, and with the porch light out and the curtains closed, there were no man made lights around for miles. Millie sat alone in her car, the engine off, studying the dense mass of pines that surrounded the edge of the property. In the darkness, they could have just as easily been a vast stretch of nothingness, empty space rolling out in all directions toward an invisible horizon—they were nearly indistinguishable from the sky—but there was an intangible, bristling quality to the void. As a small child, it had terrified her. Looking at it now, fully grown, she imagined herself as the last spark of life floating alone in a dying universe. Perfect freedom. Perfect peace.

The drive home had trapped her with thoughts for over an hour, the truth slowly sinking in as she rapidly cycled through a slew of violent emotions. The exhilaration of hearing Ben's voice, the relief of knowing he had never hated her, the pure elation of finding her longing for him reciprocated. Grief for the time they had been robbed of, grief for the life she couldn't go back to, for all those happy years sharing an apartment with the one person who truly felt like family. Tess was her home—at least, she had been, for the vast majority of Millie's adult life. But now that home had burned to the ground, and every single inch of that town would be a constant reminder.

By the end of the drive, devastation had won out. And so she sat alone in her car, staring out at the night, dreaming of the void, an empty existence free of anyone who could disappoint or betray her. It sounded so safe.

The fantasy dissolved as soon as she opened her car door, letting in the ambient noise of nocturnal forest life. The sharp staccato of a sleepless mockingbird echoed through the trees, a lonely bachelor singing his unrequited love into the night, backed by a chorus of chirping frogs and buzzing cicadas. She was not alone in the universe. It would all be so much simpler if she were.

The plan was to creep back into the house as quietly as she had crept out. If she could sneak in without waking anybody, and she kept her voice to a whisper, maybe she could call him again. There were so many questions, so many missing details, so much she wanted to understand before she faced the man sleeping in her bed. Her steps were as careful and calculated as a tightrope walker's as she tip-toed up the stairs to the patio, dead silent as she made her way to the front door—

"Hi, Millie."

Millie stumbled back. "Fuck, you startled me," she gasped. Her eyes had adjusted fully to the darkness, and she could just barely make out Arthur's silhouette sitting in a plastic patio chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap. He reached down to pick something up, and a camping lantern flickered to life.

"Where have you been?" he asked. His tone was more conversational than interrogative—curious, but not angry or accusatory. Still, there was something else there, just below the surface. Something sharp. A tension he couldn't fully conceal. But Millie didn't notice anything off about Arthur's demeanor. She didn't notice anything about him at all. Her attention was largely consumed with her own inner turmoil, and what little of her was actually present wasn't ready to look him in the eye.

"Out," she replied.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," Millie said. Then she paused, crossed her arms, and looked down at her feet. "Actually— No. No, it's ain't." She didn't notice the dread creeping into his expression.

Arthur rose to his feet. "What happened?" he asked. He tried to touch her arm, but she flinched.

"I talked to Ben," she said.

"Oh." He tried to sound interested—happy for her, even. "What did you talk about?"

"Tess," she replied.