The man leaned against the chipped edge of the breakroom table, glancing at the clock. Lunch break was ticking by, and his childhood best friend was late—same old Jake, always running on his own time. They’d been inseparable since kindergarten, classmates through college, two sides of a coin. But life had flipped that coin long ago. He’d married young, had three kids, watched gray creep into his hair and lines carve his face. Jake, though, stayed a bachelor, free as ever.

The door swung open, and there he was—Jake, 43, striding in like he’d just stepped out of their senior yearbook. His skin was smooth, his hair still dark and thick, a grin splitting his face. The man felt a pang, suddenly aware of his own sagging shoulders, the weight of years Jake seemed to defy.

“Hey, man!” Jake clapped him on the back, the old familiar rhythm of their greeting kicking in. They traded small talk—weather, work, the usual—until Jake’s grin widened. “Got big news. I’m getting married.”

The man blinked, then laughed, a short, surprised sound. “No kidding? Congrats!” He shook Jake’s hand, firm and warm. “When’s the wedding?”

“Next month. Wanted to ask you in person—will you come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, nodding. Jake’s eyes sparkled, youthful as ever.

“What about you? What’s new?” Jake asked, leaning back in his chair.

The man hesitated, then let it spill. “I’m filing for divorce.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open, a silent O hanging between them. No words, just that stunned gap.

“Still coming to your wedding, though,” he added, forcing a half-smile. Jake just stared, the air thick with everything they didn’t say.