The ride back to private villa is quiet in that comfortable way that used to terrify me. Silence with another person always felt like a trap waiting to spring. Now it just feels like breathing room.
When we reach the villa, I grab my copy of the internal memo and head for the beach.
I need to think.
It will be dark soon, and the no-see-ums will be out in full force. Good thing I’ve slathered on the bug spray.
The sand is still warm from the day. I find a spot near the water’s edge and sit down with the memo spread across my lap.
I’ve read this thing probably eight times now. Memorized entire paragraphs. Circled key phrases with my pen until the margins look like the work of a conspiracy theorist.
But one line keeps pulling me back.
I chose institutional loyalty over individual truth. I will not make that mistake again.
I trace my finger over the words. Over Corin’s signature at the bottom.
This isn’t performative.
I’ve seen enough corporate apology memos to recognize the difference. This onebleeds. You can feel the shame between the sentences. The weight of five years of self-punishment finally finding somewhere to go.
Don’t run this time.
Jess’s voice echoes in my head. That phone call we had, weeks ago. Her gentle accusation that I hold people at arm’s length while they’re perfect and then leave when they’re not.
She wasn’t wrong.
I’ve been doing it my whole life. Building exit strategies into every relationship. Keeping one foot out the door so I’m never surprised when people disappoint me.
And Corin disappointed me. Badly. He made a choice that destroyed someone I loved and then he let me walk away without fighting for me.
Except.
Except he didn’t make the choice I thought he did. He tried to stop it. He documented his objections. He fought internally while I was building walls against a betrayal that wasn’t actually his.
God, I’m a cliché.
A walking case study in attachment issues dressed up in designer linen and a law degree.
The sun is sinking toward the horizon. Reds and pinks are already streaking across the water.
I think about everything that’s happened since New Year’s Eve. The one night stand I tried to walk away from. The workplace I told myself was purely professional. The slow unraveling of every defense I’d constructed against this man.
Somewhere between the storm confession and the desk sex and the internal memo, I stopped cataloging his flaws and started cataloging the ways he’s different from the man I walked away from all those years ago.
And yet.
There’s still this tiny voice in my head whispering that it’s only a matter of time before everything falls apart. Before he reverts to type. Before I discover some new betrayal I didn’t see coming.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Which is absolutely ridiculous, because at this point we’ve both kicked off our shoes multiple times, in multiple locations, and I’m pretty sure one of them is still lost somewhere in the study.
Stop waiting.
Stop running.
Stop being so goddamn afraid of getting hurt that you miss the chance to be happy.
