I liked that she had something fun to look forward to.

Then November arrived.

Then December.

The sidewalks iced over, the wind cut sharply—and still Mike would grab his keys and ask, “Ice cream run?”

I laughed at first. “Really? In this weather?”

Vivian was already grabbing her coat.

“Guess so,” Mike said, smiling.

That’s when I started paying attention.

“Which place did you go to?” I asked one night.

“The one by the gas station,” Vivian answered quickly.

Another time, Mike mentioned driving “a little farther” so Vivian could “clear her head.”

Small inconsistencies. Nothing concrete—but they began to pile up.

Some nights they were gone forty minutes. Others, nearly an hour. Vivian returned quieter, cheeks flushed in a way that didn’t match the cold.