UlrickMasters

The house was too quiet again. Aaliyah Jackson moved through her morning routine like muscle memory, shower, moisturizer, silk blouse, black slacks, heels by the door. Her husband, Julian, sat at the kitchen table in a designer dress shirt, tie loose, coffee mug beside his laptop. He barely glanced up as Aaliyah walked in, heels in hand, hair pulled back tight, quiet and elegant. “Morning,” she said softly. “You’re late,” he replied, eyes never leaving the screen. “I still have time. My first client isn’t until” Julian cut her off. “You say that every morning, and yet somehow, you’re always rushing.” She poured coffee slowly. Measured. “Julian, I don’t need a lecture. Not today.” “Of course not. God forbid someone holds you accountable.” She turned, cup in hand, and studied him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Julian finally looked up and smirked. “It means you walk around like you’re the only one with pressure. Like you’re the only one sacrificing for something bigger. Newsflash, ther...

The sun hit him like it had something to prove. Dwayne stepped out of her building and into the morning glare, barely noticing the world around him. Everything felt too loud, horns, voices, the rhythmic thud of a delivery truck backing up. He moved on autopilot, jaw clenched, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, heart hammering like it was trying to outpace the thoughts in his head. He reached his car but didn’t get in. Instead, he leaned against the door, eyes shut, trying to breathe. Her voice was still in his ears. “Please… don’t go.” Soft. Unexpected. Real. And that was the problem. It felt too real. Too close. He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the driver’s side window. The man looking back at him looked calm. Detached. Controlled. But it was a lie. Just like everything else. He got in the car, shut the door harder than necessary, and sat there. Engine off. Keys in his hand. Forehead pressed to the wheel. You let her in. That wasn’t the plan. There ...

The kettle hissed just before it clicked off. Dwayne stood barefoot in his kitchen, staring at the rising steam like it held answers. He dipped a honey ginger tea bag into the mug and poured hot water over it, watching the color deepen with each steep. Calm on the outside, chaos brewing underneath. His phone buzzed again. Then again. The screen lit up with notifications, emails, missed calls, calendar pings, all from people who didn’t understand what time off meant. He flipped it face-down on the marble counter and took a long breath through his nose. No more pretending he was fine. He hadn’t gone in to work all week. Told the team he needed space to recalibrate, which was the truth, just not the whole truth. The doorbell rang. He didn’t move right away. Then a second buzz. Short, familiar. Only one person used the doorbell and the security code. Marcus. By the time Dwayne opened the front door, Marcus was already stepping inside like he owned the place. Six-foot-two with a build that ...

The house was quiet again. Marcus had left hours ago, but his presence still lingered in the air, like the ghost of someone who had seen too much but still did not know enough. Dwayne sat alone in his darkened living room, the TV off, the room lit only by the pale glow of the streetlamp outside. His mug sat cold on the coffee table, untouched since Marcus left. The weight in his chest had not lifted. If anything, it had gotten heavier. He should not have told Marcus anything. Not because Marcus didn’t deserve the truth, but because the truth had sharp edges. And if Sienna really wanted to hurt him, she would start with the people closest to him. Dwayne leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like a man bracing for impact. He had dragged Marcus into a storm he had helped create. The truth no one knew, not even Marcus, was that Dwayne had not been running from his past. He had embraced it. The first time was for Marcus. The second, for someone else. And after ...

Dr. Aaliyah Jackson sat motionless in her car, the trailhead shrinking in the rearview mirror as dawn spread itself thin across the sky. Her hands rested on the steering wheel, but she wasn’t gripping it anymore. Her knuckles had gone white during the drive back, though she hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t stop thinking about Dwayne. Not just what he said. How he said it. Measured. Calm. Unapologetic. Like he had sorted through every version of guilt and decided none of them fit. She should have told him to leave. She should have drawn the line. Therapist and patient, no blurred roles, no secrets exchanged outside the office, no early-morning confessions on jogging trails. But she didn’t. Because something in his voice, in his eyes, had asked for more than therapy. It had asked for understanding. And worse, it had received it. She let out a slow breath and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Her gold wedding ring tapped lightly against the leather. The sound echoed in her ear...

  The morning light made everything look honest, which felt cruel. Aaliyah sat in her office, back straight, pen poised above a half-finished note she could not bring herself to write. The words blurred. Her handwriting looked foreign, like someone else’s hand had tried to impersonate her calm. The session before this had gone fine. Surface-level problems. Predictable tears. She said all the right things, used the right tone, even smiled at the right moments. No one noticed that her mind was elsewhere. It had been two days since the trail. Two days since Dwayne looked at her and told her the truth like it was a gift. She had not seen him since, had not expected to, and yet the memory lingered like smoke she could not wash off. Her phone buzzed on the desk. Dwayne Walker. She froze, then reached for it. Dwayne: You still think about it? Her stomach tightened. They had messaged before, but this was the first time since the meetup. The first time since he confessed. She he...