He hadn’t answered what I’d offered.He’d simply told me where to be.
Anticipation and dread twisted together, sharp, and inseparable.
This was it.
Not forgiveness.Not resolution.
A test.
My chance—maybe my last—to face what I’d broken without hiding behind fear or obedience.
I called Aunt Ruth to let her know I might not be home.She answered with warmth and understanding, like she always did.
“Take your time, Peyton,” she said, her smile so audible it painted itself in my mind.
But I couldn’t mirror it.My heart was too heavy, too tangled in guilt and longing—in hope sharpened by uncertainty.
Because tonight wasn’t just about him.
It was about whether I was finally ready to trust without control.
To surrender without disappearing.
To stand fully exposed and accept whatever waited on the other side of his silence.
Chapter 3
The building was nearlyempty by the time five o’clock crept up on me.
I stood in front of the mirror in my office bathroom, smoothing my skirt, checking my reflection like it might tell me something I didn’t already know.My pulse was steady, but beneath it, something tighter coiled.
Anticipation.Nerves.Fear honed into readiness.
Be in front of the building at 5.
It hadn’t been an invitation.It hadn’t offered reassurance or explanation.Just direction.
