Unpaid Debt
by Glass Iris
· 18/12/2025
Published 18/12/2025 17:07
She wrapped her hands around the coffee
like she was holding something that might break.
Told me that a comment—casual, years ago—
had lived in her long enough to bring
into a therapist's office.
I thought we were joking.
She said: I still think about it.
The light through the window
caught the edge of her knuckles, reddened
from the heat of the cup.
She wasn't asking for anything.
Wasn't even angry.
Just stating the fact of it
the way you might point out a stain
someone can't see themselves.
I gave her nothing in return.
No apology that would fit.
No way to unknow what I'd done.
But I took it—
the thing I didn't deserve.
The knowledge.
The weight of her small hurt
sitting on the table between us
like a third person
neither of us invited.