He hadn’t smashed it. He hadn’t thrown it away. He’d just taken it. Quietly. Effortlessly. And never given it back.
I closed the drawer. Not gently. Not with anger. Just finality. He hadn’t lied when he said I didn’t need it. He just hadn’t told me why.
6
WOLFE
She wasup before the sun. I heard her feet against the floor before the light shifted through the curtains. No sound from the shower. No cabinets opening. Just that slow, careful movement. Like she was trying not to make an impression.
I stayed in the hallway. Watched through the corner of the kitchen glass as she moved through the space.
She didn’t open the fridge. Didn’t pour coffee. Just stood near the window, arms wrapped around her chest, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like she thought the fabric could make her smaller.
It didn’t.
She didn’t look for me. Didn’t ask where I was. Didn’t try to speak. And that bothered me more than I wanted it to. Because Cloe never stayed quiet without an angle.
And this silence?
It felt likestrategy.
I watched the way her shoulder dipped slightly—still sore. Her knee locked as she turned. She was favoring one leg. She hadn’t taken the painkillers. She wasn’t playing weak. She was surviving.
But I knew the difference between submission and patience. And this wasn’t surrender. It waswaiting.
She moved through the living room like a guest who used to be a lover. Her gaze flicked toward the alcove—at the ring—then snapped away too fast.
Let her see it.
Let her know it was still here.
Justnot for her.
I watched her walk back toward the hallway, head down, breath shallow. She passed right by me. Didn’t see me. Didn’t know I was watching. But I was.
And I didn’t stop. Because she wasn’t asking questions anymore. Which meant she was learning.
Or planning.
Either way?—
I’d be ready.
I woke at 5:04 a.m. Didn’t check the clock. Didn’t need to. My body didn’t care about the time. It needed movement. Neededpurpose.
I stripped off the black shirt I hadn’t really slept in and pulled on my running gear—tight, efficient, black.
Everything was black today. Even my thoughts. The treadmill fired up beneath me like it had something to prove.
I didn’t stretch. Didn’t breathe deep. Just started. A full sprint. First stride like a hammer. Second like a blade. By the third, I was already sweating.
The room echoed with the pounding of my feet. Hard. Heavy. Intentional. I wasn’t exercising. I wasbreaking the floorbetween what I wanted and what I couldn’t let myself take.
She heard it. I knew she did. The rhythm bled through the walls like a warning no one had the guts to say aloud.
Let her hear it.
Let her know I was still here. Still moving. Still in control—even if she never saw me do a damn thing.
