Christopher felt lightheaded. The room spun. His friends’ voices came through like echoing waves, first loud, then soft. Sweat beaded across his forehead and then on his neck. That small trickle down his neck itched, bringing him back to reality. Back to his friends and the conversation at hand.

“Hold on. Say that again.” Christopher’s face was sweaty, like he’d run seven miles.

Mitch, one of Christopher’s best friends, said, “Chris? You doing okay?” The conversation stopped all eyes on his sweaty face. The restaurant’s dull murmur of voices continued, except the group of friends. Mitch turned to face his friend, putting his hand on his shoulder. But Christopher pushed it away.

“Stop walking on eggshells around me, Mitch!” No one breathed, waiting to see what Christopher would say. “Say. It. Again.” His lips never moved, but the sound was clear, crisp, and angry.

Mitch threw up his hands. “Sophia is going on vacation in two weeks, Christopher. We,” he pointed to a few of the people sitting at the table, “only know about it because we are involved with 316’s fundraiser.”

Mitch and the rest of Christopher’s friends ran in similar circles. In their small community, it was bound to come up that someone knew the husband’s wife’s ex-best friend. Sophia worked for a small nonprofit organization, Project 316, feeding and sheltering homeless people, sometimes securing them permanent housing while waiting for their social security or disability payments to start. In their small Kansas community, the homeless population grew to more than forty people who needed consistent, regular assistance. Half of them didn’t qualify for any state assistance. The other half had mental health or substance abuse problems. Christopher, before the divorce, worked with her, securing more than three million dollars to build a new shelter and provide food and clothing through the winter months for the next five years.

Two years after their separation, Sophia’s career took off. Today she was making four times what Christopher was. As aggravated by her success as he may have been, he never said unkind things about her or towards her. Someone, somewhere, was watching his behavior. He knew it. And he was sure she did, too.

“She’s not a bad person, Christopher,” Jennifer added. Jennifer worked closely with Sophia, ensuring every donation given to Project 316 was directed to the correct agency or person. Jennifer was also blessed with employment commensurate with her skills, education, and experience. Besides Christopher, everyone at the table had a successful career and solid work experience. Even Mitch struggled simultaneously as Christopher, vying for similar spots in the various companies, managed to catch a break. Christopher was the only person sitting at the table working for less than 85k a year. Even Sophia was making more than that, according to the divorce decree. Christopher scrimped and saved just to make that happen. The one thing separating all the friends from Christopher was his short time living in the Kansas community – sixteen years. Everyone else, including Sophia, was born and raised in Garden City.

Christopher stood up, excusing himself from his friends. “Thank you, Mitch, for dinner. Jennifer, you aren’t wrong. Sophia’s not a bad person. I was terrible for her, and she was bad for me. Things didn’t work out.” He laid his napkin on the chair and walked out of the restaurant.