A shadow of guilt

That evening...

Marc slipped out of bed quietly, murmuring, "I've gotta go handle something, babe," as he hastily dressed. A heavy sigh escaped him, the weight of his choices pressing down.

Buttoning his shirt in haste, Marc's mind became a tangled mess of thoughts. He muttered a half-hearted "I'll be back soon" to the woman, attempting to shrug off the guilt gnawing at him.

As Marc reached for the doorknob, a soft voice pierced the dimly lit room. "Marc, please... don't go," Claire's voice trembled with a mix of desperation and uncertainty, her silhouette outlined by the moon's gentle glow filtering through the curtains.

Turning halfway, Marc hesitated, his hand still on the door. Claire was sprawled out on the bed, tangled in the sheets, with her hair spread out like rays of sunshine. She knew her slender figure was on full display, as a last attempt to entice him to stay.

"Claire, you know I can't stay. It's late," he replied, attempting to keep his tone firm despite the conflict raging inside.

Her voice tinged with a pleading tone as she pouted, "But why tonight, Marc? Why do you have to leave every time?"

He turned to face her fully, the weight of his double life becoming almost palpable. "You know why, Claire" Marc's words faltered, knowing the explanation sounded hollow even to his own ears.

With tears glistening in her eyes, Claire reached out, her hand lightly grazing his arm. "Marc, I miss us. I miss you and there is something we need to talk about" she confessed, her voice cracking with emotion.

Marc's resolve wavered, torn between two worlds. "Claire, please understand," he pleaded, his voice a mix of guilt and longing. "I need to go. I'll make it up to you, I promise." "When?" "It'll all be sorted this weekend!"

A momentary silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words and fractured promises. With each step away from her place, guilt pierced through Marc's facade. He scrambled to justify his actions internally, though they didn't align with his conscience.

Yet, he kept convincing himself that he was doing what was best. "It'll all work out fine. I'm Marc Foster, right? The one everyone looks up to," he repeated to himself, seeking solace in reassurance.

Despite the vibrant city lights in the distance, Marc's thoughts were clouded by excuses. He clung to the notion of being the flawless, admired man.

At a red light in the Uber, the city's glow clashed with Marc's inner turmoil. But he swept those emotions aside, steadfast in the belief that he was making difficult choices for their 'perfect' future.

"I'm doing what's best for us," he reiterated, trying to persuade himself of his righteousness.

Stepping out into the bustling street, Marc's mind swelled with false confidence. Guilt loomed, but preserving his image mattered more than any remorse he felt.

As Marc hurried toward his apartment building, the unease persisted. With his phone in hand, he checked messages, attempting to dispel the growing disquiet.

"Hey," a soft voice called out from the dimly lit hallway.

Surprised, Marc looked up, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face. "Hey," he responded.

"I missed you today," she said, her voice carrying a note of longing.

"Yeah, it was a busy day at work," Marc mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

She stepped closer, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Are we still on for this weekend?"

Marc hesitated, his mind racing. "Yeah, of course. Just caught up with some things," he assured, attempting composure.

She reached out, gently touching his arm. "Is everything okay?" concern laced her words.

"Yeah, just work stuff. Don't worry about it," Marc replied, striving to reassure her.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, letting the matter go. "It's always work stuff", she sighed as he walked away.