The Last Supper

Emma sat at the dining table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the polished wood. The evening light filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the room. She'd spent hours preparing the meal that now lay artfully arranged on two china plates: perfectly seared salmon fillets resting on beds of wild rice, vibrant mango salsa adding splashes of sunset colors, and thinly sliced cucumber rounds fanned out like pale green moons.

The front door clicked open. The sound of his shoes resonated down the corridor, slower than they used to be. When he appeared in the doorway, his tie hung loose around his neck, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He managed a weak smile that didn't reach beyond his lips.

"It looks beautiful," he said, sliding into his chair.

They ate in silence. Forks scraped against plates. Ice clinked in water glasses. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away seconds that felt like hours. Emma watched David cut his salmon into increasingly smaller pieces, pushing them around more than eating them.

"David," she eventually spoke, her words quavering though she tried hard to keep them firm. "We need to talk about us."

His shoulders tensed. He set down his fork with deliberate care, as though the silverware might shatter if handled too roughly.

"Do we have to do this now?" His eyes remained fixed on his plate. "Can't we just enjoy this meal together?"

"Enjoy?" The word tasted bitter on her tongue. "We're sitting here pretending. This isn't enjoyment. It's DENIAL!"

David's jaw tightened. "I'm not in denial. I'm just... tired. Work has been—"

"It's not about work." Pain squeeThe room fell silent again, the weight of their unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air.The room fell silent again, the weight of their unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air.zed her chest as he fell back on his familiar defenses, hiding behind justifications. The gap between them had grown so wide that even this carefully prepared meal couldn't bridge it. "We can't keep pretending everything is fine when we both know it isn't."

"Then what do you want me to say?" His voice cracked. "I don't know how to fix this, Emma. I don't know what you want from me anymore."

Tears welled in Emma's eyes, blurring the candlelight into golden smears. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe some things can't be fixed. But we at least owe each other honesty."

Stillness descended upon the space once more, their unexpressed realities pressing down like a suffocating blanket. As they sat there, surrounded by the remnants of their last dinner together, they both knew that this was the end of their journey as a couple.

Emma stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the sunset. The lyrics of Alex Warren's song "Carry You Home" played softly in her mind:

"Oh I hope you know I will carry you home Whether it’s tonight or 55 years down the road Oh I know there’s so many ways that this could go Don’t want you to wonder darling I need you to know"

She turned back to David, her voice steady. "I will always care for you, David. But we need to find our own paths now."

David nodded, tears in his eyes. "I understand, Emma. I will always cherish our memories."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they both knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter. They would carry the love they once shared in their hearts, but it was time to move forward, each on their own journey.