Chapter 1: The Distance Between Them

Maggie Bennett used to believe love was meant to be grand—a force that filled rooms, painted the sky, made your heart race with possibility.

That’s what it had been in the beginning. She and Oliver had burned so brightly, drawn to each other like moths to a flame, fueled by late-night talks that stretched until dawn, by road trips with no destination, by the simple thrill of knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

Now, twelve years later, love felt more like a quiet sigh at the end of the day.

It wasn’t bad. It was just… small.

Like the half-empty coffee cup sitting beside her laptop.

Like the distance between them in bed at night.

Like the words they didn’t say anymore.

Maggie exhaled, staring at the email that had been sitting in her inbox for weeks.

Final Notice: Accept or Decline Art Residency in Paris.

Her pulse quickened. She had applied on a whim, never expecting to get in. And yet—there it was. A year in Paris, painting in a studio near the Seine, immersed in everything she had once dreamed of.

It was a perfect opportunity.

So why hadn’t she told Oliver?

Because she already knew what he’d say.

“Paris? That’s expensive.”

“How would we make it work?”

“Are you sure this is the right time?”

He wouldn’t tell her no, exactly. He would just make it impossible.

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to fight for her dream—or if she wanted an excuse to stop waiting for him to.

A car door slammed outside.

Maggie quickly closed her laptop.

Oliver was home.

Too late to bring it up now.

Oliver Knew Something Was Wrong, But He Didn’t Know How To Fix It

There was a moment, right before Oliver walked through the door each night, when he wondered if tonight would be different.

If maybe Maggie would look up and smile the way she used to.

If maybe he’d pull her into a kiss instead of the absentminded peck on the cheek.

If maybe they’d talk about something real instead of schedules, bills, and what to make for dinner.

But it never happened.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the kitchen, loosening his tie.

“Hey,” Maggie murmured from the couch, not looking up from her book.

Oliver leaned against the counter.

“Sorry I got home late.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

It hadn’t been fine in a long time.

She used to wait up for him.

Now she went to bed before he even made it upstairs.

He hesitated, wanting to say something, anything, to close the gap between them. But instead, he muttered, “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

Maggie just nodded and turned another page.

The space between them stretched wider.

Maggie’s Breaking Point

“Okay, I’m just going to say it—marriage should not be this boring.”

Maggie sighed and poked at her croissant while Gina, her best friend since college, dramatically waved her cappuccino in the air.

“Gina—”

“No, listen. You used to be the kind of person who planned spontaneous road trips and painted murals on your kitchen wall. Now you’re—” Gina gestured vaguely, ”—this.”

Maggie frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You’re shrinking. He’s shrinking you.”

Maggie bristled. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? When’s the last time you told him something important? Like—oh, I don’t know—maybe about Paris?”

Maggie looked down at her plate.

“Mags,” Gina said softly. “Why haven’t you told him?”

Because she knew he wouldn’t tell her not to go.

He would just make her feel like she couldn’t.

“It’s not that simple,” Maggie murmured.

Gina sighed. “Okay, fine. Then let me ask you this: If Oliver weren’t in the picture, would you have already bought your plane ticket?”

Maggie opened her mouth—then closed it.

Because the answer was yes.

Meanwhile, Oliver Was Trying To Remember What They Were Missing

“Let me guess,” Jake said, tossing a baseball in the air. “Maggie’s mad at you again.”

Oliver groaned. “She’s not mad. She’s just… different lately.”

“Maybe because she’s married to a guy who never does anything fun anymore.”

Oliver frowned. “I do fun things.”

“Name one.”

Oliver opened his mouth—then shut it.

Jake smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Oliver sighed. “It’s not that simple. I work. I take care of things. I’m doing my best.”

“Yeah, well, maybe your best isn’t enough,” Jake muttered.

The words stung.

And the worst part was—Oliver already knew they were true.

How It Started

Maggie didn’t sign up for the dating forum.

Gina did.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” Gina muttered, typing furiously into her phone.

Maggie sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing your life.”

“Gina, no—”

“Relax, I’m not signing you up for Tinder. This is an anonymous connection forum. No photos, no real names. Just conversations.”

Maggie snatched at the phone, but Gina held it away.

“Gina, I’m married!”

“And?” Gina arched an eyebrow. “It’s not like you’re looking to cheat. I just want to see what’s out there.”

Maggie rolled her eyes.

This was ridiculous.

But later that night, when Gina sent her a screenshot of a message from a stranger, Maggie felt a strange pull in her chest.

It was just a message.

Reading it didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Oliver didn’t find the dating forum.

Jake did.

“This sounds like you, man.”

Oliver barely glanced up as Jake shoved his phone at him.

“What?”

“Some woman’s post on a forum. It’s like she’s inside your brain.”

Oliver sighed. “Not interested.”

“Come on. Just read it.”

Oliver skimmed it.

And froze.

The words hit too close to home.

It was like someone had taken his own thoughts and put them into a post.

“See?” Jake grinned. “You should message her.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why? It’s anonymous. No harm, no foul.”

Oliver scoffed.

But that night, he kept thinking about the post.

And eventually, he typed out a response.

“Just to see.”

Chapter 2: The First Message 

Maggie Told Herself She Wasn’t Going to Answer

She almost deleted the app twice.

The first time, her thumb hovered over the icon for a full thirty seconds before she forced herself to close the phone instead.

The second time, she actually tapped it open—but only to see the message notification glowing at her, pulsing like a heartbeat.

It wasn’t curiosity, she told herself.

It wasn’t that she wanted to talk to someone else.

She just… wanted to know what kind of person had responded.

Maggie picked up her phone, then put it down.

She stood up, paced the kitchen, then sat down again.

What if he was a creep?

What if he was worse—someone nice?

What if he was someone who actually understood her?

That thought terrified her the most.

She opened the message.

Oliver Told Himself He Wasn’t This Guy

Oliver had never done something like this before.

He told himself that at least ten times as he sat in his car after work, staring at the notification on his phone.

He should delete it.

Ignore it.

Pretend this never happened.

But something about the words from the post kept nagging at him.

The way they described love getting smaller.

The way it felt like someone had reached inside his chest and written down what he hadn’t been able to say.

He could just read it.

That wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked the message.

ArtHeart22: Do you ever feel like love should be more than routines and bills and “how was your day” conversations?

Pendragon77: Yeah. I used to think it would always feel big. But now…

ArtHeart22: Now it feels small.

The response came quickly.

Pendragon77: I don’t know if love gets small, or if we do.

Maggie exhaled sharply.

She wasn’t expecting something that honest.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed:

ArtHeart22: Maybe both.

A minute passed.

Then:

Pendragon77: Yeah. Maybe both.

Maggie felt something in her chest tighten.

She should close the app.

She didn’t.

Torn Between Guilt and Something Else

Maggie

After she sent the message, Maggie sat perfectly still, phone balanced in her lap, like moving would make this more real.

She had expected something else.

A man flirting.

A shallow conversation.

Not… this.

Not something that made her feel like she had been seen for the first time in years.

That wasn’t fair.

Oliver saw her.

Didn’t he?

She stared at the blinking cursor.

Then, without fully deciding to, she sent another message.

Oliver

Oliver knew exactly what he should do.

Close the app.

Forget the conversation.

Go home and make a real effort with Maggie.

But instead, he kept staring at the screen.

Because the thing was—this didn’t feel like flirting.

It felt like relief.

Like finally letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

So when the next message came through, he answered.

The Messages Became a Lifeline

At first, the messages were few and far between.

Maggie would respond in small bursts, never right away. She told herself it was because she wasn’t that invested.

Oliver was more cautious. He didn’t check constantly.

Not at first.

But over the next few days, the messages became easier.

They talked about small things.

Dreams they once had.

Places they’d always wanted to go.

Then, bigger things.

Regrets.

Things they never told anyone else.

How they both felt like they had disappeared into someone else’s version of themselves.

Maggie hadn’t felt this open in years.

Oliver hadn’t felt this wanted in longer than he wanted to admit.

They weren’t looking for something.

But they had found something anyway.

The Grocery Store Encounter—Both With Plans for the Evening

Maggie wasn’t expecting to see Oliver at the store.

He never did the shopping.

And yet, there he was, standing near the wine display, holding a bottle she hadn’t seen in their house in months.

“Hey,” he said, startled.

“Hey,” she echoed.

For a moment, they just stood there.

Something about the moment felt off.

“Are we… having wine with dinner?” Maggie asked, nodding toward the bottle.

Oliver hesitated. “Uh, no. Just… picking something up. For later.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her cart. “You’re getting flowers?”

Maggie glanced down at the bouquet and almost blushed.

“Yeah. Just… felt like having some around.”

Oliver nodded, gripping the bottle a little tighter.

“So… you have plans tonight?” he asked, voice careful.

Maggie hesitated. “Yeah. Gina and I are going to an art exhibit.”

Oliver nodded. “Sounds fun.”

She glanced at him. “And you?”

“Work thing.”

They both nodded again, standing there a moment too long, like they were waiting for one of them to ask more.

Neither did.

“Well, have a good night,” Oliver said, stepping back.

“You too,” Maggie murmured.

And then, they went in opposite directions.

Both of them had plans for the evening.

Neither of them told the other what they really were.

The Decision to Meet—The Final Justifications

That night, Maggie stood in front of her mirror.

She wasn’t dressing up.

She just… wanted to feel like herself again.

The black blouse? Casual.

The red lipstick? Just something different.

This wasn’t about meeting someone.

It was about seeing if she could still be someone.

Oliver straightened his collar.

This wasn’t a date.

He wasn’t cheating.

But for some reason, he still felt like he needed an excuse for what he was doing.

He told himself this was just curiosity.

That he just wanted to see where the conversation led.

Still, he avoided looking at himself in the mirror.

Maggie and Oliver left the house at different times.

Headed toward the same destination.

Neither of them had any idea what was waiting for them.

Chapter 3: Lupe’s Hideaway

Maggie gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as she navigated the dimly lit streets leading to Lupe’s Hideaway.

Her heart was hammering.

This was stupid.

Worse than stupid.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

Every red light, every slow-moving car felt like a sign—like the universe itself was telling her to turn around.

But she didn’t.

Because the truth was, she wanted to see who had been on the other side of those messages.

She wanted to know if the connection she felt through the screen was real—or if she had just imagined it, made it into something bigger than it was.

She told herself that she’d just take a look.

If it felt wrong, she’d leave.

If he wasn’t what she had imagined, she’d walk away.

No harm, no foul.

Just one last detour before she went back to her real life.

The neon glow of Lupe’s Hideaway came into view.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t too late.

She could still turn around.

Instead, she pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine.

She took a deep breath, but it didn’t steady her.

Then she got out.

Oliver’s grip on the steering wheel was so tight his fingers ached.

He had taken two extra turns before finally forcing himself toward Lupe’s Hideaway.

He was an idiot for doing this.

He knew that.

But something kept pulling him forward.

Every excuse he had come up with to justify this—curiosity, harmless conversation, just meeting someone for a drink—felt hollow.

He wasn’t that guy.

He wasn’t someone who looked for something outside of his marriage.

And yet, here he was.

About to do something he could never take back.

“I’ll just see who she is,” he muttered to himself.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

The glow of Lupe’s Hideaway appeared ahead.

Oliver felt a spike of something sharp in his chest.

Regret?

Guilt?

Or something worse—hope?

He pulled into the lot and killed the engine.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the entrance.

This was it.

Last chance to leave.

Instead, he exhaled, got out of the car, and walked toward the door.

Maggie stepped inside and instantly regretted it.

The air was warm and heavy with the scent of coconut and citrus. Low, golden lights made everything feel too intimate.

She hadn’t expected this.

A cozy, tucked-away bar that felt like a secret.

She had pictured something busier, more anonymous—not a place where the bartender made direct eye contact and raised an eyebrow like she already knew what Maggie was here for.

There were only a handful of people scattered in booths and at the bar, and Maggie felt exposed.

She had arrived early, too nervous to be late.

Now, sitting here, waiting for him—whoever he was—felt like a bad idea.

This was a mistake.

She wasn’t ready.

Her feet were moving before she even made the decision—backing toward the door, ready to leave.

Then, just as she turned—

The door swung open.

Maggie froze.

And standing in the doorway, looking just as stunned as she felt, was Oliver.

For a long, frozen moment, neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

The weight of realization crashed over them at the same time.

Oh. Oh.

“No,” Maggie whispered.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Oliver muttered.

Maggie’s pulse pounded in her ears.

She felt like she had been punched in the stomach.

Oliver took one slow step forward, still processing.

“This is what we’ve come to?” he asked, voice unreadable.

Maggie let out a sharp laugh—not out of humor, but because the situation was so insane she couldn’t process it any other way.

“Apparently.”

They stared at each other, the entire weight of their marriage, their mistakes, their disconnect hanging between them in the space of that single word.

Before either of them could speak again, a voice cut through the air.

“You two came looking for something new,” said the bartender smoothly.

Maggie and Oliver turned at the same time.

Behind the bar stood a woman with dark eyes, golden hoop earrings, and an expression that was entirely too knowing.

“I have a better offer.”

She leaned forward, sliding a drink across the counter toward them.

It was a deep, ruby red—like something meant to be dangerous.

“One week,” she said, her voice soft but certain.

“No past. No future. Just now.”

Maggie swallowed, not sure what to say.

Oliver was just as frozen.

“Fall in love again… or walk away forever.”

The words landed like a challenge.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Because the truth was—

Neither of them wanted to be the first to leave.

Check the next post for additional chapters