May 9, 2026. The Atlanta morning arrived with a soft gray haze that promised rain later. David stood on the balcony of the Midtown condo, coffee in hand, watching the city wake up in pieces. Delivery trucks rumbled down the street below. A jogger in neon shoes dodged puddles from last night's drizzle. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded. Ordinary life continued, unaware that several marriages were quietly coming apart at the seams.
Rebecca joined him a few minutes later, still in his shirt, hair messy from sleep. She leaned against the railing beside him, shoulder brushing his.
"Paul called at 7:15," she said, voice still rough with sleep. "Wanted to know if I was free for a video call tonight so he could show me the sunset from his hotel balcony. I told him I had a long client dinner. He said 'Don't work too hard' and hung up. The man is literally on vacation in paradise and still believes his wife is out here grinding at work."
