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Her words hit different tonight.

Earlier, at Heroes, I knew something heavy had been on her mind. I could see it in her eyes when she sat at the bar, even if she hid it behind her half-smile and full glass of wine.

But this feels heavier, riskier.

There’s a pause, longer than usual.

She’s still typing. I can see it.

Then the words appear: Is it possible to feel like you’re breaking a vow without actually doing anything?

Fang950: Explain.

MoonDance77: I’m married. Unhappily. I try to keep the mask on, for the kids. But it’s slipping.

Fang950: You’re allowed to be honest here.

MoonDance77: That’s the problem. I’m too honest here. I say things I’ve never said out loud.

I read the last line three times, and write: You can trust me.

MoonDance77: I think I do. That’s what’s dangerous.

Another pause, longer still.

MoonDance77: I need a little space. Just for a bit.

Fang950: I understand.

MoonDance77: You’ve been… really kind. Thank you.

Fang950: I’ll be here.

MoonDance77: I know.

MoonDance77 has signed off.

I sit in the glow of the monitor for a long time.

Not angry; not scared.

Just hollow.

Because I know what she means.

But I know she won’t stay gone forever; at least, not from me.