What We Pretended To Be のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

Maria: I check my phone before I even fully open my eyes. Nothing. No message. No missed call. Not even something small I can pretend means more than it does. I stare at the screen a second longer than I should, like it might change if I give it time. It doesn’t. I drop the phone back beside me and sit up. I’m not doing this today. That thought feels forced at first. Like I’m trying to convince myself of something I don’t fully believe yet. But I still get out of bed, still move through my morning like nothing is off, like yesterday didn’t leave anything behind. By the time I get to the clinic, it works. A little. The sign outside catches my eye as I walk in. Haven and Tails Veterinary Clinic. I remember when I first picked the name. It felt soft and safe and exactly what I needed it to be. It still does. The moment I push the door open, the noise hits me. “Maria, thank God.” “I’ve been gone for eight hours,” I say, slipping my bag off my shoulder. “That’s too long. He’

Maria: I know something is wrong before my mother says anything. It’s in the quiet. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that feels arranged, like someone has been waiting for you to walk into it. I drop my bag by the console and slip off my heels, wincing a little as my feet hit the cold floor. Last night is still sitting in my body. Too many people, too many smiles, too much pretending everything was effortless. “Mom?” I call. “In here.” Her voice comes from the dining room. I walk in expecting the usual. Coffee. A comment about the gala. Something small and sharp disguised as advice. Instead, she’s seated already, posture perfect, phone placed neatly in front of her like it belongs in the conversation. Waiting. That’s new. “Good morning,” I say, pulling out a chair. “Good morning.” She doesn’t move to pour anything. Doesn’t ask if I’ve eaten. Just watches me settle. I reach for the glass of water in front of me, more for something to do than because I’m thirs

Daniel: I should have left ten minutes ago. That is usually how I measure things. Time. Efficiency. When something has served its purpose and when it is no longer necessary to stay. It is a simple system. It works. Tonight, I stay. Someone is speaking to me about numbers. Expansion, timing, projections. I follow just enough to respond when required. My answers are correct. They always are. The conversation moves on without hesitation, which means I am doing this properly. It does not feel like it. Because underneath all of it, there is something else running. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just present in a way that refuses to be ignored. She said it too easily. That is what keeps returning. Not the word itself. That would have been simple. Expected. Necessary, even. It is the way she said it. Like it did not require effort. Like she did not need to prepare for it. Like she was not performing. I have spent enough time around people to know the difference. I look across the r

Maria: His name sits on my screen like a question I’m not ready to answer. I don’t pick up immediately. I stare at it, thumb hovering, like I need a few more seconds to gather myself into something presentable. Something that doesn’t sound like I just cried hard enough to give myself a headache. I swipe at my face, inhale slowly, then answer. “Hello?” There’s a small pause on the other end. Not awkward. Just… him listening. “You didn’t answer earlier,” Daniel says. Of course that’s what he notices first. “I was busy.” Even I don’t believe that. Another pause. I can almost picture him, standing somewhere still, processing, deciding what matters enough to say out loud. “Where are you?” “At home.” “Alone?” I hesitate. It’s brief, but it’s there. “Yes.” He lets that sit for a second. “You sound different.” I almost laugh, but it comes out tired instead. “I’m fine.” “You’re not.” It’s not comforting. It’s not soft. It’s just… accurate. And for some reason, that makes it

Maria: The clinic feels normal today.Not quiet exactly. There is always some kind of noise here. A soft whine, a bark that comes out of nowhere, the low hum of the air conditioning that never quite goes unnoticed. But normal in the sense that nothing is asking anything from me. No expectations. No pressure. Just animals that either need help or attention, and both are easier to deal with than people.I tie my hair back as I move around, double checking a chart I have already checked twice. I am not making mistakes. I am just… slower. Like my thoughts are walking instead of running.A golden retriever is on the table, looking personally offended that I am touching his paw.“You are fine,” I tell him, pressing gently around the bandage. “This is all very unnecessary drama.”Lily laughs from behind me. “That is rich coming from you.”I don’t turn. “I am ignoring you.”“You cried, slept, woke up, and continued. That is not something I will ignore.”“I did not cry that much.”“You absolu