I didn’t deserve her. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me this time.
I sat at my desk, opened a new draft email, and started typing.
Brynn,
I owe you a lot of apologies. I know I hurt you. I ran because I was scared, not because I didn’t care. Thetruth is, I’ve never cared more about anything in my life.
I want to do better. I want to try.
—Dean
I staredat the words until they blurred, my finger hovering over the send button, a single click away from… what? More waiting? Staring at my phone, hoping for a reply that might never come, putting the ball in her court afterIwas the one who walked off the field?
It was the coward’s way out. An apology lobbed from the safety of a thousand miles away.
Words were what I’d used to wound her—sharp, easy, and disposable.
Vacation fling. Just a charade.
How could more words, typed on a screen, ever fix that? They couldn’t. This wasn’t a negotiation to be handled over email. This was a mess I had to stand in the middle of. An email asked for forgiveness.
Showing up earned it.
My jaw set. I highlighted the entire draft, every raw and honest word, and hit delete. I watched the confession vanish. The screen was blank, but my mind was clear. From my living room, the view was perfect—downtown Atlanta on display, every luxury car crawling through intersections, every sidewalk pulsing with ambition. It had once felt like an achievement, a trophy. Now it just looked like a high-rise zoo, the glass a reminder of how easy it is to build a cage and convince yourself it was a throne.
I leaned back and tipped my head toward the ceiling.That image flooded my mind again. The storefront with my name on it. The flower baskets. A street that was the heart of a town. I picked up my phone again and scrolled to the listings I had bookmarked. My favorite was still active. My heart hummed, but not with panic. More like adrenaline. A kind of relief, like stepping out of a packed elevator onto an open rooftop.
A decision made.
I thought of Brynn. Her unfiltered laugh that dared me to stop pretending. Her stubborn optimism. How the taste of her lips was the first thing I’d wanted more of in years. I wanted that life. The messy, loud, embarrassing one, where people knew you well enough to see you screw up and loved you anyway.
If Brynn was going to run toward something, the least I could do was show up at the starting line.
I cracked my knuckles and opened a new email window. The subject line wasResignation. I wrote quickly.
To Whom It May Concern:
Effective two weeks from today, I am stepping down from my role and leaving the company. Thank you for the opportunity, but I’ve realized what I need most can’t be found in a spreadsheet.
All the best,
Dean Mercer
I read it over.No deletes. No regrets. I hovered over theSendbutton, savoring the feeling of risk—of freedom. Then I sent it.
I pulled up a travel site and searched for a flight to Key West. There were two options. I picked one that left in three hours, paid extra for an aisle seat, and sent the boarding pass to my phone. I reserved a car, and then I was ready.
I examined my apartment. I’d packed it with statement pieces but never invited anyone to see them. I’d paid a premium for the view but never actually looked at it. It was time to go.
I pulled a duffel from the hall closet and tossed in a stack of clothes and a battered paperback I’d never finished. I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking like a starter’s pistol. The elevator was empty, the descent smooth and fast.
I walked out into the night, the Atlanta air thick with humidity and promise. I took a cab to the airport, watching the skyline recede in the rearview. Somewhere between Peachtree and the terminal, I realized I was smiling.
