I took a shaky breath, my heart aching. “I want to believe you, Topher. I do.” I swallowed hard, the words tearing at me. “I want this. But I can’t… I just can’t. Please… let me go.”
Topher’s face fell, the hurt clear in his eyes. He held my gaze for a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s really what you want.” He slowly released my hand, stepping back as if he was finally accepting it. “I’ll… I’ll sleep on the couch out here.”
If that’s really what you want.The words hit me like a slap, each syllable digging in. This was what I’d chosen, wasn’t it? This was what I wanted: to be free of the risk and to keep myself safe. As he turned away, a hollow ache settled in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to call him back, but I knew that for now, this was the choice I had to make.
That night, I packed my things slowly, each piece I folded reminding me that this was the right choice, even if it didn’t feel like it. I stuffed clothes into my bag as quietly as I could, my hands moving mechanically while my mind raced.
I stayed up for hours, glancing toward the door, half-tempted to leave then and there. But something kept me rooted, watching the faint glow of dawn creep into the room. It was easier this way, I told myself. If I left before anyone was awake, I could skip the painful goodbyes.
When I went into the living room that morning, Topher was sleeping on the couch, the morning light catching the edge of his jaw. I felt a pang deep in my chest.
I tightened my grip on my bag, the weight of my decision dragging every step. Without looking back, I turned and headed for the door, my heart clenching with each inch that took me further from him.
As I slipped out, the door gently closed behind me. The air was calm, quiet, and undisturbed.
This was the right choice. The only choice. The only way to protect myself from falling apartwhenhe left.
Because he would.
If Topher could abandon the values on which he built his company, what was stopping him from abandoning me? No matter what promises he made, I couldn’t afford to believe them. Not when the cost could beme.
23
The weeks blurred together.Days stretched into one another, a hazy mix of work, routine, and quiet avoidance. Every morning felt like dragging myself up from the bottom of a lake, the weight on my chest sinking deeper with each passing day.
I needed a job, something to keep my mind occupied and my wallet from running dry, so I found one at the coffee shop that Josephine had told me about, called Brewed Awakening. No experience required, daily pay, and enough hours to help me scrape together rent for a tiny apartment along the streetcar line.
Unfortunately, everything reminded me of Topher.
And I do mean everything.
A well-dressed customer walked in, nodding politely to me. Of course, he was wearing a suit. Just like Topher always did, looking perfectly polished even when he was doing something simple, like pouring a glass of water. My heart did a ridiculous little flip as I made the guy’s order.
I turned to the milk station, grabbing a jug as usual, but as I poured, another memory surfaced.Only whole milk, Topher would say.None of this skim nonsense. I felt my chest tighten.Get a grip, I told myself, but that didn’t stop the ache.
A mother with her toddler approached, and I handed her a napkin along with her coffee. I could practically see Topher then, setting the table with meticulous care, one napkin at each place.
Then came the music. The speakers crackled to life withTotal Eclipse of the Heart,and I nearly dropped a cup. Right on cue, a memory of Topher in Josephine’s kitchen, lip syncing while he stirred pasta, hit me like a punch.
I sighed, setting a fresh latte on the counter, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I was exhausted—tired of feeling hollow, of seeing ghosts of Topher in every coffee cup, every napkin, every faint echo of a song. The ache of it all had wound itself around my heart.
Then, a magazine on the counter caught my eye, one of those glossy entertainment rags. In the bottom corner of the cover, I spotted a guy who looked eerily like Topher. Fantastic. As if I weren’t already haunted by reminders of him in every corner of my life. I leaned in for a closer look, and my stomach dropped. No way. ItwasTopher, arm casually draped around Hollywood’s latest “It” girl, Serena Blake, both of them smiling.
The headline screamed: “Is Serena Blake Dating Billionaire Financier?”
My heart did a painful backflip, then shattered into a thousand pieces right there in my chest.
Of course he’d moved on—and with a Hollywood star, no less. They were probably jet-setting around the world in matching private planes, hers lined with designer pet carriers, his stocked with his erg machine. I could picture them lounging on some private island, sipping drinks out of coconuts carved with their initials, laughing at how quaint “normal” people were.
She’d bring out her latest script, and they’d debate whether the billionaire in her movie should drive the red Ferrari or the black one.
Maybe they’d host charity galas together, cooing over the endangered alpacas they were “saving”—all for the tax break, naturally. Topher wasn’t one to give anyone a leg up out of the goodness of his heart.
I should feel relieved. Or, at the very least, certain that I’d made the right choice. But there I was, four weeks since I’d last seen Topher, serving coffee to strangers, and every little thing still brought him rushing back to me. I’d walked away thinking it would bring me peace and give me the control I’d been desperate for. Instead, I felt hollow, as if I’d left a part of myself behind, something I couldn’t shake, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I had done the right thing.
I missed him. And not just the big things, like his ridiculous, overconfident pep talks or the way he’d look at me like he could see right through the walls I kept up. It was the little things. The gifts he thought would “improve my day,” like an obnoxiously bright yellow notebook because he’d read somewhere that yellow “boosts creativity.” Or that stubborn crease between his eyebrows when he was trying to solve every problem all at once.
And, somehow, in those small details, the ache was worse. Because those were the things that weren’t supposed to matter, right? The things that shouldn’t be clawing at me. But there I was, hearing a song he once sang, imagining him in every business-suited customer I saw, wishing I could turn and see him grinning at me, like none of this had ever happened.
