Wednesday Notes

Every Wednesday night, I'd find Marcus in the archive room, humming the same

Fleetwood Mac song while organizing case files nobody else wanted to touch. He had this habit

of leaving sticky notes on documents. Not work notes. Random observations. "This coffee tastes

like optimism" or "The rain sounds different on Wednesdays." I started staying late too.

Told myself it was about the project. But really, I was collecting those notes like

breadcrumbs back to myself. My ex-wife used to say I disappeared into my work.

She wasn't wrong. After the divorce, I'd become a ghost in my own life, moving through motions,

avoiding mirrors and old playlists. Marcus never asked about the ring indent still visible on