Then I silence my phone.
No more distractions. Not tonight.
* * *
Della
The shower is hot—almost too hot—but I let the water run down my back, welcoming the sting. I lean forward, pressing my palms to the cool tile, letting the heat melt some of the tension coiled inside me. It slides over my skin, over my thoughts, trying to wash away everything I can’t say out loud.
It’s strange… how calm it feels here. Too calm, maybe.
This morning, I was having coffee with Adriana talking about reports and meetings. And now—I’m here. At the lake. In this house. Withhim.
The man who once broke my heart.
And yet… something about today feels different.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower. The air in the room is cooler, gentler. A large, soft towel is folded neatly on the sink. The steam has collected on the mirror, and when I run my palm over it, the face looking at me is still uncertain. But it has a shadow of peace.
I move to the bag Dorian packed, hesitating at first—as if I might disrupt whatever care went into it. But inside, everything is exactly right: comfortable clothes, simple, familiar. Even small things—moisturizer, hairbands—are there.
I let out a quiet breath and smile, unsure what I’m feeling.
He packed for me.Carefully. Thoughtfully.
And somehow, that’s what rattles me most—the softness. The unspoken care.
I dress slowly, taking my time. I choose a pair of leggings and an oversized soft sweater that smells like clean cotton. I towel off my hair and leave it loose, damp strands curling lightly at the ends. Then I sit on the edge of the bed, sweater sleeves pulled over my hands, trying to gather myself.
Eventually, I stand and pad barefoot toward the tall windows that overlook the lake.
The sun has begun its descent, casting gold over the water. This—this is my favorite time of day. There’s something sacred in it. The hush before the dark. The stillness that seeps into you if you let it.
Outside, the lake glistens like something waiting to be remembered.
Inside, I feel the pull in two directions.
Part of me wants to run as far and fast as possible. Another part of me just wants to stop and breathe.
Because the truth is, he’s stillhim. Dorian. The one who hurt me, yes—but also the only man I’ve ever loved.
And this version of him—the one who gives space, who doesn’t push, who remembers what I need without asking—he’s making it harder to keep my guard exactly where I’ve kept it for years.
Just for tonight… maybe I don’t have to fight it all.
Maybe I can step outside this room, go down those stairs, and just… sit at a table and have a plate of pasta.
Not as a woman carrying old wounds.
Not as the one owed answers or apologies.
Just… as myself.
For this one evening.
I look at my reflection briefly in the mirror—loose hair, bare face, a sweater too soft to belong in battle. I don’t know who I am with him anymore. But I want to find out.
One step at a time.
