Not because of what it used to mean.
Because it’s still useful.
Because I decide what it means now.
I move back to my spot by the window.
There's a thin break in the clouds lets a narrow shaft of sunlight through. It touches the edge of the building across the street, pale and brief, then disappears again.
I watch it without attachment.
Saturday mornings have always been like this for me.
Quiet.
Intentional.
A place to take inventory.
And what I know—what I am absolutely certain of—is this:
I didn’t imagine what we had.
But I won’t accept being an afterthought dressed up as a choice.
I finish my tea slowly, rinse the mug, and set it in the rack.
The apartment feels steady around me.
So do I.
Whatever comes next will come.
But it won’t happen on his terms.
Not anymore.
The knock comes just as I’m rinsing my mug.
It’s firm. Familiar.
When I open the door, Jamie is already mid-sentence.
“Before you say anything,” she says, stepping inside, “I need to confess something.”
Levi follows her in, juggling two pizza boxes and a six-pack. “Hi, Audra. I brought bribes.”
Jamie shoots him a look. “Give me two minutes.”
He holds up a hand and retreats toward the kitchen. “I’ll pretend I’m invisible.”
Jamie turns back to me. She doesn’t sit. Doesn’t soften it.
“I overheard them,” she says. “At the gala. Chuck. Alex. Derek.”
I don’t respond right away.
“I heard enough to know what Sunday was,” she continues. “And I thought—” She stops, exhales. “I thought Derek would come clean. Before it ever reached you.”
