No Return
You let them swallow you or you move to the universe next door.
The universe next door had a life expectation that fluctuated between five minutes and two hours, refreshing constantly. So Silvia and Jim had grabbed a bite to went out on a picnic to that universe, expiration date on Monday noon.
That day, at that hour, each would take a plane back to their lives. They would come to terms with that thing inside of them, act on it, tell each other about it.
Or not.
How could they tell from the picnic?
So a peck goodbye and later, honey. Because they were still the friends, the lovers, the companions. And that was the right thing to say to such a person, no ceremony, no hiding.