“Then let me come back on my own time.”
This silence stretches. He releases a resigned sigh.
“You will come back…won’t you?” He says it calmly, but the tremor under the words makes my throat tighten.
He’s not really asking if I’ll return. He’s asking if I’ll come back tohim—to whatever we still are, whatever we might be.
If I’ll let him love me, even then.
I press my hand to the spot just beneath my necklace.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice holds. I make sure it does.
Another beat passes. I imagine him sitting in the dim morning light, phone pressed tightly to his ear, jaw clenched. I worry whether he’s gotten any sleep.
“I’ll call,” I say softly. “And text. If that’s okay.”
The breath he lets out is sudden and ragged. “Jesus, Olivia.”
He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t need to. I shift the phone to my other ear, blinking hard against the heat behind my eyes.
“I love you,” I whisper. It’s the only thing I can give him that doesn’t feel like a compromise.
There’s a low sound from his end, so soft I almost miss it, before he says “I love you too, Olivia. You…” Then there’s a pause, like he’s trying to hold something back. “You have become my whole life.”
It shouldn’t stagger me—Nathaniel has never held back with me—but the conviction in his voice leaves something trembling in my chest.
I miss him with a sudden, startling clarity, the kind that makes distance feel like a mistake. And for a moment, I can’t remember why I ever thought I needed to run.
The train slows. A soft lurch, a screech of metal on metal. The voice overhead announces the approach to Fitchburg.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, baby,” he says.
“I will,” I murmur. “You too.”
I don’t say goodbye. I don’t think either of us could bear it.
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen for a beat longer. Then I end the call with a swipe of my thumb, the sound of his voice still lingers in my mind like it’s stitched into the fabric of the world around me.
The train eases into the station, and I sit still, hand resting over my heart, holding the ache there where only I can feel it.
The platform is mostly empty,the usual morning rush already gone. The sky is overcast, the kind of pale, indifferent gray that makes everything feel somewhat melancholic. I step out of the station and pull my coat tighter around me, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder asI open the Uber app. There’s a driver already circling nearby. Twenty minutes to Ashby.
When the car pulls up, I get in without speaking. It smells faintly of peppermint and worn leather. We pull away from the curb, and I rest my forehead against the cool window. The road stretches out ahead, lined with familiar houses—white clapboard, wind-chimes, front porches still strung with Christmas lights no one’s bothered to take down.
I text Nathaniel:
Got in okay.
It isn’t much, but I reread it twice before hitting send. It’s the best I can offer without cracking something open.
His reply comes within moments.
NATHANIEL
Thank you for letting me know. I’ve been thinking about you all morning.
I close my eyes. My fingers curl in my lap like I’m trying to hold the warmth of his words there a little longer.
