It’s permission.
Time looks different when you’ve been living on the edge of loss.
A day passes and feels like a year.
A week passes, and it feels like a single breath.
Julian continues to show up. He is there when Köhler makes changes. He is there when Teller looks relieved. He is there when Emily takes one look at my face and says, “Okay, don’t lie, what did he do?” and I can’t even answer because the answer is too complicated to fit into a sentence.
Sometimes I catch Julian watching me with something raw in his expression.
Sometimes I catch myself wanting to lean into him, let him wrap me in his arms. I start to warm to him. I start to think... what if?
But then I remember the office door opening and that woman walking out. I remember Richard’s smug smile. I remember thephotos. And even though I know now that Richard was the one behind all of that. That Julian didn't cheat on me....
But I still see the profiles. The way my file sat beside other women’s like I was cattle.
I remember nearly a month of silence from the man I love.
And my body goes cold again.
Julian doesn’t push.
He takes the cold like he deserves it.
But at night, my brain replays Paris and all the months leading up to it.
The way he held me. Kissed me. Spoke to me. The way he would listen like I was the only voice he ever wanted to hear. How I thought maybe just maybe he was soft and vulnerable just for me.
I hate that wanting him doesn’t make me weak.
It makes me human.
On the tenth night after the lawyer, I can’t sleep at all.
My mother had a good day. A real one. She ate two bites of soup and said my name clearly and held Emily’s hand long enough that Emily didn’t have to pretend she was fine.
I should feel relief. Instead, I feel like my body is finally letting the fear speak because it’s been too busy surviving to fully process what I’ve been carrying.
I walk down the hallway without thinking.
Barefoot.
Quiet.
I stop outside our bedroom.
Our.
The word still catches.
I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pushing the door open.
Julian is in bed.
On his side.
His hand brushes over the empty space beside him like he’s searching for something he’s not allowed to touch.
