Midst

On the day of our date to La Ronde, the architect showed up instead. By sheer coincidence, it seemed—my former girlfriend was there where the other woman should have been, the one I loved even when I got Tara pregnant and let her cry on my shoulder after the miscarriage. On the Ferris wheel, after coaxing out my confession of enduring love, she told me she was unsure if she should marry David; later at dinner, after drinking too much, she admitted that she felt the same way. Before she went to see the fireworks, leaving me to go back to her friends on the graduation trip, she told me that Eroica was onto me, and that I should figure out every single lie. What she meant I had no idea, and yet I called the lawyer and knew that something was wrong. I thought I was no longer within her grasp, and yet even hundreds of miles away, I saw the glint of her silk web.