“Mark thinks you should try the bitter marmalade.”
He wanted to say: I have become the furniture of your betrayal. I am the chair you sit on while thinking of him. I am the mirror that watches you dress for him. I am the fifth in a series of humiliations that now have their own gravity.
He looked at the marmalade. Orange, glistening, cruel.
But he had told himself that at the second. And the third. And the fourth.