“He didn’t leave because of you,” she said gently, as if reading the thought before it could root itself.
“I know,” I whispered.
And I did.
That knowledge didn’t ease the hollow in my chest, but it kept it from swallowing me whole.
I straightened, wiping my hands on a hand towel, squaring my shoulders.
“Mommy!”Michelle called from the living room.“Morgan won’t share!”
“I will,” Morgan protested.“In a minute!”
I smiled despite myself.“I’m coming,” I called back.
I walked toward the sound of their laughter—toward the mess and the noise and the life waiting for me.
Behind me, the door remained closed.
Ahead of me, the day continued.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the ache and the disappointment, a quiet truth settled into place.I had not lost myself this time.
I had stayed.
* * *
IHADN’T SEEN OR HEARDfrom Creed since Christmas, and the silence he left behind felt deliberate, as if he had erased himself with the same precision he used to control every other part of his life.He didn’t just disappear from me—he vanished from IWM as well, leaving behind an absence that was impossible to ignore.
When the building came back to life after the New Year, I caught myself searching for him without realizing I was doing it.My eyes skimmed meeting agendas for his name.I checked instant messages out of habit.I listened for the sound of his voice cutting through the halls—sharp, commanding, unmistakable.But there was nothing.Not even during executive meetings, where his presence had once been a constant, anchoring force.
His chair at the head of the table remained empty, a silent declaration that he had relinquished control and walked away without explanation.No one questioned it.No one dared.Creed Kirkland didn’t disappear unless he wanted to, and the entire organization seemed to understand that instinctively.
The only person who knew where he was—if anyone did—was his assistant.And that bulldog of a gatekeeper wasn’t offering even a hint of information.
At first, I told myself it was for the best.
My girls didn’t deserve the kind of uncertainty Creed left in his wake.They deserved stability, not the ache of wondering whether someone they cared about would suddenly reappear or vanish again.And if I was being honest, neither did I.Logic told me I was doing the right thing.Logic insisted this was self-preservation.
But logic had no power over the slow, corrosive ache that settled beneath my ribs.It didn’t stop my hand from drifting toward my phone in quiet moments, expecting his name to light up the screen.Expecting something—anything—that would tell me I hadn’t imagined what we’d shared.
There were no missed calls.No unread messages.Just silence.
For months, I had lived suspended between hope and restraint, believing that if I waited long enough or fought hard enough, I would finally understand where I stood with him.Now I did.
He was gone.
And yet, the truth I hated most remained untouched.
I still loved him.
The realization cut clean and deep, like a blade pressed precisely where it would do the most damage.I hated how persistent the feeling was, how it refused to loosen its grip despite everything.No matter how carefully I tried to compartmentalize him, I couldn’t erase the memory of the nights he held me in the dark or the way he whispered my name like it mattered.I couldn’t pretend he hadn’t shown up when I needed someone most.And worst of all, I couldn’t undo the future I had allowed myself to imagine.
Me.
Him.
My girls.
