Ethan’s POVThe night air was thin, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional laugh from a late‑night bar. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and the weight of the day pressing against my chest like a stone. My friends’ voices replayed in my head, each jab a tiny bruise.“Thirty years old, bro. At this point, are you even waiting for a miracle?”I could hear Mark’s grin in the words, the way he’d tossed them over a beer like they were nothing.Then, softer but sharper, my ex’s voice slipped underneath: “You make me feel like I’m with a boy, Ethan.”The sentence landed in my gut, a reminder that I’d been stuck in a loop of inadequacy for years. I kept walking, the sidewalk slick from a recent rain, my steps echoing the hollow feeling inside me.I turned the corner and saw her, leaning against the brick wall of the corner diner, a cigarette glowing between her fingers. She wore a tight black dress that hugged her curves, her hair falling in loose waves over her
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