Chapter 8
I arrived at the apartment with no bag and no expectation of staying.
Marcus opened the door. The photograph he had removed was still gone, but the blue bowl from my mother sat on the kitchen counter. I had forgotten to take it on moving day.
“I found it under a towel,” he said. “You can bring it home.”
“Thank you.”
We sat at the table where he had questioned me after dinner.
“I’ve decided to stay here until the lease ends,” he said. “After that, I’m moving.”
I nodded. “Have you found a place?”
“Not yet.”
He drew a slow breath.
“I’ve also decided I don’t want to get back together.”
For months, I had known this was possible. Knowing did not soften the words.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Please don’t apologize.”
“I needed to tell you in person.”
“I’m glad you did.”
He looked down at his hands. “I still love you in some ways. I kept hoping that would be enough.”
I gripped the edge of the chair.
“Every time I pictured us together again, I thought about that dinner,” he said. “I’d ask myself whether you were okay, and you’d smile. I need a relationship where I can believe the answer.”
“You deserve one.”
“So do you, someday. I hope you tell the truth in it.”
Tears blurred my sight. I let them fall.
“I wanted to be that person with you,” I said.
“I know.”
We sat together for a long time. Then he stood and brought me the bowl. I held it against my chest as I walked to the door.
“Nia,” he said.
I turned.
“I had good years with you. What happened doesn’t erase every day before it.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“It doesn’t make this easier.”
“No.”
I left before either of us had to say goodbye again.
At Imani’s apartment, I told her Marcus had ended it. She sat beside me on the couch. I cried until I was too tired to speak.
For weeks, I had pictured two outcomes: Marcus taking me back, or Marcus leaving and never wanting to see me again. He had chosen a path that held both tenderness and loss. I could not make him a villain for it.
The next morning, I went to work. I answered emails. I spoke to my manager about a new project. At lunch, I stepped outside and cried for five minutes, then returned to my desk.
Life kept asking me to take part in it.
Serena contacted me a month later. She was moving out of the apartment she had shared with Andre. She had enough people to help with boxes, but she needed someone to take her old dining table to a donation center.
“I can borrow Imani’s car,” I said.
“If it’s too strange, I’ll ask someone else.”
“I can do it.”
When I arrived, Serena had packed almost everything. Her mother and two friends carried boxes downstairs. I lifted one end of the table with Serena.
At the doorway, we had to turn it sideways. We struggled, laughed once despite ourselves, and finally got it through.
After we loaded it, she offered me water.
We stood in her nearly empty kitchen.
“Marcus told me you broke up,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
“Thank you.”
She looked around the room. “I still get angry with you.”
“I know.”
“I also see that you’ve answered my questions when I asked them. Both are true.”
I held the glass with both hands.
“I don’t know what we are,” she said.
“We don’t have to decide.”
She gave a small nod.
I delivered the table and sent her the receipt. She replied with a simple thank-you.
That night, Imani and I made dinner together. I told her I wanted to look for my own place.
“You can stay here,” she said.
“I know. I’m grateful. I think I’m ready to build a home again.”
She set a bowl in the sink. “Then I’ll help you look.”
I found a small apartment fifteen minutes from work. The living room had one large window and barely enough space for a sofa. My mother came to see it, then immediately began measuring for curtains. Imani brought a lamp she no longer used.
On moving day, I placed the blue bowl on a shelf. I wore the necklace Marcus had given me. Its meaning hurt, but I did not want to hide from that part of my life.
May you like
I stood in the middle of the room after everyone left.
It was quiet. For once, I did not fill the silence by checking whether someone had messaged me. I opened the window and let the evening air in.
