He stopped. The radiator in the corner clanked loudly, a rhythmic, metallic ticking that matched the pulsing in his ears. He looked at the time at the top of the notepad. 8:11:05 AM. Time was moving too fast.
He highlighted the text. He didn't copy it. He didn't save it. He just looked at the timestamp at the top one last time: 8:10:42 AM . A precise moment frozen in time when he was still technically the man she thought he was. Note 11/16/2022 8:10:42 AM - Online Notepad
He hadn't opened a Word document. He hadn't opened a fancy writing app. He needed something disposable, something that didn't save to a cloud he shared with her, something that felt as fleeting as he felt. Online Notepad was perfect. No login, no traces, just a white box waiting to hold a secret. He began to type. He stopped
Arthur closed the laptop, stood up, and went to make the coffee. He would tell her today, face to face. The notepad had served its purpose; it had held his fear for a moment so that he didn't have to. 8:11:05 AM