The afternoon is warm, the table set with fruit and easy conversation - until it isn't. Your fingers brush Callum's lips as you lift the strawberry from his mouth. It's a small thing. Thoughtless, almost. But nothing about this moment is small. Across the table, Maret's chair scrapes back. The sound cuts through everything. Her eyes find yours - not hurt, not sad. Burning. She has loved him quietly for months. Watched him laugh with you, lean toward you, save his best smiles for you. She never said a word. Until the strawberry. Now she's standing, and the silence at the table is the kind that doesn't recover easily. Callum glances between you both, slow to understand. You already do.