Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
And neither was I.
This couldn’t be it.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed felt louder than any argument we never had. Because we didn’t fight. Maybe that was the problem. We seemed to effortlessly fit together.
I stood there for a long time. Long enough for the tea she had made to go cold on the counter. Long enough for my muscles to start aching from holding myself still, like if I didn’t move, the moment might rewind. Like she might knock again and tell me she said it wrong. That she was scared but staying.
She didn’t. I couldn’t even manage to hallucinate her image here.
I tried to eat. Took chicken out of the fridge, stared at it like it had personally offended me, shoved it back in untouched. My stomach twisted anyway, hunger and nausea tangled together until neither won.
I sat on the couch where she’d been sitting, where her warmth was probably still lingering, and let my head fall back against the cushion.
Her eyes.
That was the part I couldn’t get past.
They’d been empty. Not angry. Not dramatic. Just hollow. Like something inside her had gone quiet and taken the light with it.
What the hell changes in forty-eight hours?
I had only been gone two nights. A brutal case, back-to-back shifts, the kind that bleeds into your bones. She knew. She kissed me goodbye like always, told me to be safe, told me she would see me when I got back.
Nothing about her then had hinted at this.
I lay down fully clothed sometime after midnight. Stared at the ceiling until the streetlight outside cast moving shadows that looked like someone pacing.
I didn’t sleep.
At three a.m. I checked my phone again, like it might magically contain an explanation if I stared hard enough.
Nothing.
By morning, my head was pounding and my thoughts were jagged, looping the same questions over and over.
What scared her? Who said something? What memory got loose in her head? And the worst one—What did I miss?
I went for a run at dawn, punishing my body because it was easier than sitting still. Miles blurred together. Sweat burned my eyes. My chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.
By the time I got back, I knew I couldn’t keep spiraling alone.
So I called Nita. She was supposed to be staying at Lamonte’s last night. She had text him dinner was waiting and so was she for when he got off shift. Things were good for them and I was happy. I felt like a fucking idiot calling my girlfriend’s sister to ask why she dumped me, but Char wasn’t answering my texts or calls because I tried them.
She answered on the third ring. “Dante.”
“I need to ask you something,” I said, skipping pleasantries because I didn’t trust myself to keep my voice steady if I didn’t.
There was a pause. “Okay.”
“She ended things last night.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I know,” Nita explained shocking me.
That hit harder than I expected.
“She didn’t tell me why,” I stated. “Not really. I need to understand what changed.”
Nita exhaled slowly like she knew this was coming but she really didn’t have the patience for it. “And I need you to hear something you’re not going to like.”
“I’m listening.”
“If Char asked for space,” she explained, “you need to respect it.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not chasing her down. I just want to know what happened.”
“I know,” Nita continued. “But wanting answers doesn’t give you a right to them.”
That stung, even though I knew she wasn’t wrong.
“I care about her,” I whispered. “I wasn’t planning on walking away.”
“I know,” she stated again. Softer now. “And for what it’s worth, I’ve come to appreciate the man you are for my sister. You’re steady. You’re safe. You show up.”
That word again. Safe.
“So why does she look like she just burned her life down?” I asked.
“Because she doesn’t trust peace yet,” Nita explained. “Because when things get good, her brain tells her it’s borrowed time.”
I closed my eyes.
“Char has imposter syndrome,” Nita continued. “About everything. Happiness included. She doesn’t believe she’s allowed to have it without paying for it somehow.”
“So she punishes herself,” I added.
“She takes control,” Nita corrected. “Leaving before she can be left. Choosing pain she recognizes over stability she doesn’t.”
I leaned my elbows on the counter, phone pressed tight to my ear.
“She told me she needs to find herself,” I shared.
Nita was quiet for a beat. “She does.”
“And I’m the problem,” I added.
“You’re not,” Nita replied firmly surprising me. “You’re the proof that she’s changed. And Dante, that scares her more than anything.”
That landed in my chest with a dull ache.
“She doesn’t want to do this tied to anyone,” Nita went on. “Not because you’re wrong for her. But because right now, she needs to know who she is without leaning on someone who makes it easier.”