Then leaving now—closing up this apartment and going home—felt wrong.
Like erasing something she’d chosen to keep.
Like abandoning a line of defense she’d built for a reason.
My gaze drifted across the now familiar details of the room. Her books. Her scarf draped over the chair. The lamp she’d probably bought at some flea market and bragged about getting for a steal.
This was the space she’d kept for herself.
The space where she was just Rose. Not daughter. Not wife. Not mother.
Just her.
And suddenly, leaving felt impossible.
I didn’t want to pack this life into boxes and hand the keys back to a landlord who never knew her.
I didn’t want to return to New York pretending Paris had been a sad detour.
Everything important seemed to be here now.
Sabine.
Answers.
The truth about Rose.
And, whether I liked how quickly it had happened or not?—
Kane.
The realization settled slowly but firmly.
I wasn’t ready to go home.
I wanted to stay.
Stay in this apartment. Walk the same streets Rose walked. Understand who she’d been here. Be part of Sabine’s life in whatever way Étienne would allow.
Finish what Rose hadn’t gotten the chance to.
And maybe, selfishly, figure out what this thing between Kane and me actually was before real life pulled us apart.
I exhaled slowly, decision clicking quietly into place.
“I’m staying,” I murmured, mostly to myself.
Behind me, Kane shifted slightly. “Staying where?”
I glanced back at him.
“Paris,” I said softly. “Here. In this apartment.”
His brow creased slightly as he focused on me.
“For how long?”
I hesitated.
