Joe's alarm shattered the silence at 6 AM, the same time it had gone off every weekday for the past few years. He reached across the bed, his palm meeting cold sheets where Evie's warmth should have been. For a disorienting moment, he thought she might be in the bathroom or kitchen. Then reality hit.
She was gone.
Wednesday morning. The first day of his new temporary life as a married man living alone.
Joe rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling fan making circles above the bed. They'd bought that fan together during their second summer in the condo, when the air conditioning had broken down during a vicious heat wave. Evie had insisted on the more expensive model with the wooden blades. "If we're going to look at it every night and every morning, it might as well be pretty," she'd reasoned.
Now he stared at it, counting the rotations, five, ten, fifteen, avoiding the inevitable moment when he'd have to stand up and face the day.
Usually, this was when Evie would roll over, mumbling something about five more minutes. He'd kiss her forehead, tell her to sleep in, and slip out of bed to start the coffee.
The apartment felt unnaturally quiet as Joe shuffled to the kitchen. He reached for the coffee pot, measuring grounds. He caught himself about to make enough for two and paused, the second scoop hovering over the filter before he returned it to the canister.
While the coffee brewed, Joe moved to the bathroom. In the shower, Joe thought about the note. He knew it by heart now.
"I'm so sorry for springing this on you. I know you're scared. I am too. But I promise I'll come back to you. Three months, and then we'll be together again. Take care of yourself while I'm gone, okay? I love you more than anything. I'll be thinking of you every single day. Your loving wife Evie."
After the shower, Joe dressed and moved back to the kitchen. The apartment felt too quiet, too still. While he sipped the coffee, he leaned against the counter, surveying the living room.
Everything looked exactly as it had when Evie was here, yet completely different. The throw pillows on the couch remained in the arrangement she preferred. Her stack of true crime books still occupied the corner of the coffee table. Her favorite mug hung from its designated hook. But the space felt like a museum exhibit of their life together rather than the living thing it had been.
His phone buzzed as he was heading out the door.
Sam: Checking in. How you holding up?
Joe stared at the message. Sam had been his best friend since college, the best man at his wedding, the one person besides Evie who could read his moods. He'd called Sam after Evie's bombshell announcement, venting his shock and hurt in a twenty-minute tirade that had probably violated several FBI confidentiality requirements.
Joe: First morning alone. Feels weird. Heading to work.
Sam: Work helps. Keep busy. Call if you need anything. Seriously.
Joe: Thanks man.
He pocketed his phone and locked the apartment door behind him. At least at work, he'd have problems to solve, designs to revise, deadlines to meet. Problems with solutions, unlike the unfixable situation at home.
---
At the office, Joe threw himself into work with unusual intensity. His inbox, typically a source of mild dread, became a welcome distraction. The Westlake project, which had been giving him headaches for weeks, suddenly seemed manageable compared to the emptiness waiting at home.
"You're here early," Collins remarked, stopping by Joe's desk with his oversized coffee mug. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Just wanted to get a jump on those revisions you asked for," Joe replied, not meeting his boss's eyes.
Collins nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Good man. Those are due Friday but earlier is better."
Joe worked through lunch, ignoring the reminder from his phone that it was time to eat. By mid-afternoon, his back ached from hunching over blueprints.
At 6:15 PM, when most of his colleagues had already left, Joe was still adjusting load calculations. His phone buzzed again.
Sam: You good?
Joe: Yeah, just finishing up some work. Don't feel like going home to an empty apartment.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.
Sam: Makes sense but you gotta go home sometime. Want to grab a beer?
Joe considered it. A beer with Sam meant easy conversation, sports talk, maybe some gentle ribbing about Joe's tendency to overthink everything. Tempting, but the thought of social interaction felt exhausting.
Joe: Rain check? Kind of wiped. Saturday still good though.
Sam: Roger that.
It was nearly 9 PM when Joe finally shut down his computer.
The drive home was easier without rush hour traffic. Joe pulled into their parking spot and sat in the car for a moment before heading inside.
The condo looked exactly as he'd left it that morning, with one exception. The coffee cup he'd abandoned in his rush to leave sat in the sink, a brown ring staining its interior. It was the kind of thing that would normally irritate Evie. "Rinse it at least, Joe," she'd say, not angry but baffled by his occasional carelessness with household tasks.
Joe washed the cup thoroughly, then decided to clean the entire kitchen. He scrubbed the stovetop, wiped down the counters, even reorganized the spice rack into alphabetical order. By the time he finished, it was nearly 10 PM and he realized he hadn't eaten dinner.
The refrigerator offered little inspiration. Milk, a half-empty carton of eggs, some withering vegetables, condiments. The freezer yielded a frozen pizza. Joe opted for cereal, eating it standing at the counter while scrolling through his phone.
He pulled up his photos, finding himself drawn to images of Evie. Here they were at his cousin's wedding last summer, Evie stunning as usual. Here they were hiking in the Everglades. Here they were on their anniversary.
Joe abandoned his half-eaten cereal in the sink, his appetite suddenly lost.
Sleep came eventually, restless and shallow.
Thursday and Friday followed a similar pattern. Joe woke up early, worked late, texted sporadically with Sam throughout the day. The condo became a place to shower and sleep, nothing more.
By Friday night, exhaustion had begun to take its toll. Joe had been surviving on coffee, vending machine snacks, and sheer stubbornness. He'd completed the Westlake revisions a day early, earning a rare compliment from Collins, but the professional victory felt hollow without Evie to share it with.
"Going home at a reasonable hour?" Collins asked, stopping by Joe's desk on his way out.
"Yeah, got plans this weekend," Joe replied. His only real plan was Sam's visit, but that was enough to justify leaving before 7 PM.
Outside, Miami greeted him with one of its spectacular sunsets, the sky painted in violent oranges and pinks. It was the kind of sky Evie would have insisted they stop to appreciate, maybe pulling over somewhere to watch the colors deepen and fade. Joe drove straight home, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
His phone rang as he was unlocking the front door. Sam's name flashed on the screen.
"Hey," Joe answered, shouldering his way inside.
