Can't leave without saying goodbye. Can't vanish like I'm ashamed, like they were right about me all along.
But I can't stay either.
The walk back to the café feels longer than it should. Every person I pass seems to stare. Seems to know.
Inside, Nora's gone. Maris is alone, scrubbing the espresso machine with vicious focus.
She looks up. Sees my face.
"What happened?"
I hand her my phone. Watch her scroll through the forum post. Watch her expression shift from confusion to anger to something worse. Fear.
"This is fake," she says. Firm. Certain. "It's obviously fake."
"Doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters! Grath, this is slander. We can fight this. Get a lawyer. Prove?—"
"They'll come after you next."
That stops her. Phone still in her hand. Eyes wide.
"Vance called me. Threatened the café. Said he'd make it all go away if I cooperate."
"Cooperate how?"
"Doesn't matter. I'm not doing it."
"So what, you're just leaving?" Her voice cracks. Anger there, yes, but underneath it, something rawer. "You're going to run?"
"To protect you."
"I don't need protecting! I need—" She stops. Swallows hard. Starts again, quieter. "You can't just disappear every time things get hard."
"I'm not disappearing. I'm leaving before they destroy everything you built."
"They're already trying to destroy it! You leaving won't stop that. It'll just prove them right."
She's shaking. Gripping my phone so tight I hear the case creak.
I want to reach for her. Pull her close. Promise it'll be fine.
But I learned a long time ago that promises are just pretty lies people tell before things fall apart.
"I can't let you lose the café because of me," I say.
"And I can't let you believe you're only worth keeping around when it's convenient."
The words land like a punch. Steal my breath.
She sets my phone down. Steps closer. Close enough I can smell espresso and vanilla and that soap she uses.
"You're not property," she says. Quiet. Fierce. "You're not something I keep because it benefits me. You're—" She stops. Looks away. Looks back. "You're Grath. You're my neighbor. My friend. You're the idiot who brings crushed flowers and talks to the kitten in nursery rhymes."
"Maris—"
"No. Listen." She pokes my chest. Small finger against solid muscle. Shouldn't feel like anything. Feels like everything. "It doesn’t matter what some fake documents say. I don't care what the internet thinks. You're not leaving."
