You could stay.
You could tell Za the truth and deal with the fallout.
You could fight for this.
I close my eyes.
And what?
Watch her break? Watch her look at me differently? Watch yet another person in her life choose him?
I cannot survive that.
The cookies go into the oven.
The flat smells warm now.
I go upstairs and open his drawer, pulling out a soft cotton set of pajamas because I know he hates synthetic fabric against his skin. I fold them neatly and place them at the foot of the bed.
Then I grab a towel and put it in the warmer.
It’s cold out tonight.
He’ll need it after he showers off the airplane smell.
Right.
I should shower. Cold water should calm this fire in me.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
Now I’m just clean and cold and nervous.
I stand there staring at the bed, thinking of everything I’ve done.
This is insanity.
I’m preparing him for comfort before I rip it away.
Am I cruel?
Or am I trying to prove to myself that I can love someone properly even if I can’t keep them?
I sit down slowly on the edge of the mattress.
My throat burns.
I love him.
There. I admit it in the quiet.
I still love him.
I love the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I love the way he brags about me to people.
I love how he gets competitive over fictional characters.
