Page 15 of October
And maybe I should've said something. Maybe I should've pulled away but I'd never had that kind of attention at work. That kind of steady warmth in a place that was usually cold and competitive.
She was beautiful, and everyone saw it. All the men fawned over her, orbiting her like moths around a flame. But for some reason, she only seemed to have time for me. She memorized how I took my coffee. She'd bring me one before I even asked. She could read my moods before I opened my mouth. She always made sure there was a seat beside her at the table during break,patting it like it had my name on it and I let it happen. because I felt Important. Manly. Attractive without having to ask for it. I loved Laura's attention. It was cute. Harmless. Light, like a breeze you barely notice until it's gone. She wasn't clingy or inappropriate, she just made me feel... seen. Not in the deep, soul-shattering way October does.
But in a way that mattered from nine to five. She'd compliment my shirts, joke about my grumpy morning face, bring me my favorite coffee when I looked particularly drained. It wasn't love. It wasn't temptation. It was just a pleasant rhythm we fell into—an unspoken understanding of each other's roles in the machinery of our workplace lives.
So to me, they existed in two completely different spheres.
October was my wife. My home. My stillness. My family. The love of my life. She was the place I returned to when the world felt jagged and ugly. She was laughter over dinner, feet tucked under mine on the couch, the hum of a life we'd built together.
Laura was... the opposite. Not a threat. Just a contrast.
With her, I moved differently. Sharper. Quicker. At work, she and I had efficiency down to a science. She made me feel smart, needed, powerful in a space that often tried to strip all that away from me. She knew how to read a room, how to make things happen, how to win.
So when October started getting jealous... it felt absurd. Completely out of nowhere. They didn't eventouchthe same parts of me.
Love and comfort and peace? That was October. That was sacred.
Efficiency, ambition, momentum? That was Laura. That was survival.
I couldn't understand what October thought she was seeing. Because in my head, it wasn't betrayal. It was balance. Or at least, that's what I told myself. Until today. The phone rang again, dragging me back to the present. I blinked and looked down. Her face. Laura's face. Smiling to camera with lips puckered in a kiss.
She had changed my lock screen. I didn't understand. How the hell did her picture get on my phone?
And then it hit me—like a slow, rising horror. That day. The day October showed up unannounced, furious and radiant and loud in the office. I was late for a meeting with my father. My mind was spiraling. I couldn't think straight. I kept checking my phone every three minutes, waiting for a text from October. For a word. A sign.
My father noticed. He'd scowled at me, then waved Laura over like I was a child needing supervision. "Give her your phone until the meeting is over," he snapped. "You need to focus. She'll handle anything urgent," and like a fool—I did.
I handed over my phone to a woman protected by my father, favored by my board, and clever enough to take an inch and turn it into a mile. Now her photo was smiling at me from the screen. Playful. Close. Personal.
I answered the call with dread already curling in my stomach like a fist I couldn't unclench. Laura's voice burst through the speaker, bright and cheerful.
"Did you see it?" she laughed, like this was a shared joke between us. "Surprise! I figured we're practically work partners—might as well have a cute pic for each other's contact. I'll take one of you next time, make it even."
I couldn't speak. My throat went dry. My mind blank. My fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the phone, still held to my ear like I was waiting for the rest of the sentence to explain something away. But there was nothing else. No sarcasm. No irony. Just her voice, sweet and casual and... intimate.
Just like that, everything shifted. Suddenly, I wasn't hearing her the way I usually did, through the lens of banter and professionalism and harmlessness. I was hearing her the way October might. The way someone outside our little "sphere" would. Her words landed differently.
"Cute pic ."
"We're practically partners."
"I'll take one of you next time."
A ray of light cracked through the door I had worked so hard to keep shut. A beam of truth I didn't ask for, but one I couldn't ignore. For the first time, I began to see how October had been seeing it all along. Because from the outside, it didn't look harmless. It lookedintimate.
Suddenly, I didn't feel like the composed, logical man with his priorities in order. I felt like a fool. A fool who hadn't realized that standing too close to the fire is still a kind of burning.
I didn't light the match. But I stood in the heat and called it harmless.
And October?
She was smelling the smoke.
Chapter Seven: The Cold Season
I moved into the guest room without ceremony. No suitcase. Just a pillow and a thin blanket tucked under my arm, the quiet of my footsteps louder than any fight we'd ever had. I wanted my own space. I didn't slam the door. I didn't even close it all the way that first night. I just lay down on the too-firm mattress,stared at the popcorn ceiling, and pretended I couldn't hear him outside the bedroom.
He didn't knock the first night. Or the second. Just lingered in the hall long enough for me to hear the hesitation in his breath. But by the third night, the knock came—soft, hesitant, the way you might knock on a stranger's door.
