I give him a small, sad smile that feels like an apology I shouldn’t be making, and step into the elevator.
At work, Graham brings lunch like he somehow knew I didn't get to eat and pretends not to notice how little I eat.
After work, I don’t go home. I don't get into the car waiting for me.
The penthouse,ourpenthouse, doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels staged. Like a set built around a lie I was too eager to believe.
I walk, breathing in the spring air and giving myself time to think. Then, like muscle memory, I let my feet lead me to the closest CTA entrance, and I go to my old apartment instead.
Emily doesn’t ask questions at first. She just hands me tea and sits beside me on the couch like she knows better than to rush whatever it is I am working through.
She laughs, asking if wine is more appropriate than tea for this visit, and I try my best to give her a smile that she doesn't believe.
I check my phone more than I would like to admit. No messages from Julian.
So, I stay.
Two days pass.
Then my phone buzzes.
Julian:Where are you?
Julian:We share a room. A bed. That’s the arrangement.
The word hits like a bruise.
Arrangement.
Of course, that's his concern. Not if I am ok. Not if something happened to mom. Not how I have been feeling after over a week of silence and neglect.
Emily looks at my face and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
She studies me. Knows better.
“Lucy.”
I swallow. “Julian’s just busy with work. I wanted to spend time with you.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
But I can’t say the truth out loud. I can’t sayI thought he loved me. Because if I say it, it becomes real. And if it’s real… then so is the loss. If it's real, the hope I have been clinging to will slip away.
So, I sit there, holding my phone like a lifeline, and let the silence settle where love used to be. And somewhere deep down, something fragile starts to fracture.
Chapter 43 - Lucy
Julian leaves for the trip before dawn. I know because I wake to the sound of movement beside me, quiet, careful, like he doesn’t want to wake me, and for a moment, I pretend to be asleep because I don’t know what to say anymore.
The room smells like him, clean and familiar.
I feel the bed shift as he stands.
I hear the rustle of clothes, the muted click of cufflinks, the careful zip of his suitcase.
He pauses, and I can feel it. That hesitation. That weight in the air like something unfinished pressing between us. When I finally open my eyes, he’s standing at the foot of the bed, watching me like he’s memorizing something he might lose.
