A Near Miss

The stale air of the diner clung to Rome like a second skin, a greasy film that mirrored the unease coating his insides. He nursed a lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste a familiar companion to his gnawing frustration. It had been weeks since Reka had vanished, weeks of unanswered calls, of doors slammed shut in his face, of a silence that screamed louder than any argument they’d ever had. He traced the condensation on the glass, his mind a frantic carousel of accusations and justifications. *Seventeen years.* He’d given her seventeen years. And for what? For her to up and disappear like a thief in the night?

He stirred the coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic with an aggressive rhythm. What was so wrong with their life? He’d provided. He’d… been a man. Was it too much to ask that she keep her mouth shut about a few things? Things that were none of anyone else’s business. The thought of her airing their dirty laundry, of people looking at him with pity or, worse, disgust, sent a fresh wave of heat through his veins. He’d seen the way Mrs. Henderson, Reka’s so-called friend, had looked at him the last time he’d seen her, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. He’d dismissed it then, a woman’s silly sentimentality. Now, it felt like a betrayal.

He’d followed a whisper, a rumour, to this forgotten town an hour’s drive from the city. A bartender, a man with eyes that had seen too much and cared too little, had mentioned a woman fitting Reka’s description, a quiet thing who’d paid in cash and kept to herself. Rome had latched onto the description like a drowning man to driftwood. He’d spent the last two days here, a ghost haunting the edges of a town that didn't even know he was there, his hope dwindling with each passing hour.