If she heard all that and still wanted me gone, I'd go. I'd respect her choice.
But I wasn’t going to let her spend the rest of her life believing no one ever came back.
The drive felt longer than usual. Queens in the early evening, streetlights starting to flicker on, the city doing what it always did.
I didn’t rehearse what I was going to say. Every time I tried, the words came out wrong—too polished, too much like a speech.
I'd just tell her the truth. Whatever came out, however it sounded.
I parked not too far away from her building and sat there for a minute with my hands on the wheel.
This might be the last time. The last time I walked through that lobby, rode that elevator, and stood outside that door. If she told me to go, I had to mean it. Had to let her move on without me hovering in the margins of her life.
I got out of the truck.
The lobby was quiet. The elevator was slow. I watched the numbers climb and thought about the first time I'd made this trip. Chinese food in hand, telling myself I was just checking on her. Knowing even then that I was lying.
Third floor. The hallway stretched out ahead of me, with the same ugly carpet and the same flickering light near the stairwell.
Her door.
I knocked before I could talk myself out of it.
I heard footsteps inside. Then silence. She was looking through the peephole. I could feel it.
I didn't try to look calm or confident or any of the things I usually performed without thinking. I just stood there. Let her see whatever she saw.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Maya stood there in a dress I'd never seen beforeLight blue. Simple. The kind of thing she might wear to a nice dinner. Her hair was down, brushed smooth. She was even wearing earrings.
She looked beautiful.
But my stomach dropped when the realization hit me.
She had plans. She was going somewhere. With someone else.
I'd picked the wrong night. She'd moved on already, found some guy who hadn't screwed everything up, and I was standing here like an idiot about to pour my heart out while she had a date waiting.
"I'm sorry," I said, stepping back. "I didn't realize you were heading out. I can come back another?—"
"Shane." She caught my arm. "I'm not—" She stopped. Took a breath. "I was coming to see you."
I stared at her. "What?"
She looked down at the floor, as if trying to find the words there.
"I've been standing in this apartment for an hour trying to figure out what to say." A small, embarrassed laugh escaped her. "I got dressed. Did my hair. And then I just... couldn't make myself walk out the door."
I didn't know what to do with that.
She’d been coming to me.
While I sat in my truck, convincing myself to try one last time, she’d been here—putting on a dress, working up the courage to do the same thing.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
