My bracelet caught on the cracked vinyl seat just as the bus doors opened. You looked down at me struggling to move our bags from the aisle, sitting monk-still as people unceremoniously squeezed past us.
Wool knotted in my stomach as I tried to free myself. “You goin’ to help?” I asked. But no, you just sat with a hand on my thigh, rusty wedding band reflecting the artificial light.
My bracelet freed and I moved the bags. You tucked my hair behind my ear and kissed my neck with chapped lips. “I love you,” you said. I turned away.