Replaced by this man sitting in the morning sun, stating my need as a simple, observable fact.
He says it without judgment or condition.For the first time, running myself into the ground isn’t the price of my own existence.Rest isn’t a weakness I have to apologize for.
Theshouldsandhave-tosin my head go quiet.
The silence is staggering.
I look at him, and something tight and rusted inside my chest gives way.
I narrow my eyes, a spark of something other than anxiety flickering to life.“Does Sal have breakfast on his menu by any chance?”
Matthew stills.His steady gaze sharpens with surprise.Then, the careful neutrality dissolves, and warmth spreads across his face, softening his features.
“Sadly no, but I promise it’ll be just as remarkably simple,” he says, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing.
A genuine smile reaches his eyes, making their green look brighter.
Heat rushes into my cheeks, fierce and unexpected.
It bypasses the chaos in my head and speaks directly to a quieter part of me.It makes me feel understood.
The warmth in his eyes seems to deepen, mirroring the unexpected ease settling in my chest.
I nod, smiling a small, less shaky smile in return, holding his gaze for a moment longer than I have all morning.
“Now can you please go change?”he asks, voice warm.
I sit up, plucking at the front of my sweater.“What?Are you saying this doesn’t look good enough?”I tease.
“Five minutes.”He laughs, shaking his head at me and holding up five fingers.“You have five minutes.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting longer than that, Matthew Warren.”
A little spark of defiance, of playfulness I haven’t felt in ages, awakens within me as I say his full name.Turning away before he can reply, leaving his soft laughter echoing behind me by the pool, I head back towards the house.
I ascend the stairs.My legs are heavy, the climb requiring effort, but it feels different from the leaden descent of this morning.The crushing weight on my chest, the sheer dread of facing the day, has lifted just enough to let me breathe.
James is still James.Bancroft is still Bancroft.The café still hangs by a thread, and soon, I’ll have nowhere to live.
The facts remain brutal and unchanged.
Yet, something inside me has shifted.
Matthew’s eyes, the shared laughter, his quiet insistence on this break…
It hasn’t extinguished the darkness.But somewhere deep inside, a tiny, stubborn ember has been lit.A fragile flicker against the overwhelming odds.
I pause at the landing.For the first time since last night, the familiar ache in my chest is no longer the heaviest thing I carry.Instead, I feel the faint, steady pulse of possibility.
TWENTY SEVEN
“NO, HELEN, I swear I’m fine,” I insist into the phone, pacing the length of Matthew’s quiet guest room.
I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror.Still pale.Still drowning in this ridiculously large tracksuit.But upright.
Mostly.
“Ay,Ames,peroyou never take a day off!”Helen’s voice crackles with concern.“It’s that dinner with James, isn’t it?He’s the reason.Estúpido!”
