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Before she can pull away completely, I reach out, covering her hand with mine. “Don’t do anything rash, Amara. Not yet. Take the time to think it through,” I continue. “You don’t have to decide right now. When you’ve made your choice, I’ll accept it. Whatever it is.”
I mean it. Every word. I need her to know that I’m not trying to back her into a corner, not trying to force her into something she doesn’t want.
But… God, I need her.
Her gaze lingers on where our hands still meet. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, neither of us dares to speak.
Then, without a word, she pulls her hand away, her fingers slipping from beneath mine, the check clutched tightly in her hand. She clears her throat, a small, quiet sound, and nods. “I’ll think about it.”
I don’t breathe until the door clicks shut behind her and I’m finally alone.
No matter what happens next, I’ll respect her choice.
Even if it shatters everything I’ve built.
Chapter seven
Amara
“Come on,” I grunt, when the key jams in the lock as I try to open the door to my apartment.
I grunt, twisting it harder, but it doesn’t budge. I curse in frustration that this has become my new routine every time I come home. Shifting my weight, I lean my shoulder into the door, turning the key again with a forceful click. A little shove, and the door finally gives, swinging open with a creak. I stumble into the apartment, breathing a sigh of relief as I kick the door shut behind me.
Pumpkin is already by my feet when I enter my apartment, weaving between my legs with a soft meow.
“Missed you too,” I murmur, managing a tired smile as I drop my bag on the floor and take a long, deep breath. I used to love coming home. It used to be my quiet refuge. Undressing, slipping into pajamas, and sinking into the couch while watching a movie. But now? Now, I dread it. This place feels suffocating, the ceiling too low, the space too cramped. My stuff is crammedinto every corner of this tiny studio, making it look more like a storage unit than a home.
The thought of Liam coming home after a long day of work, stepping through the door of our apartment, makes my fists clench. I toss my keys into a chipped bowl by the door and let out a frustrated sigh.
Screw him.
Screw him for moving on without a second thought when all I ever did was love him. Screw him for leaving me with nothing but this cramped apartment and a heart that feels like it’s been run through a blender. The worst part is how unaffected he seemed when he broke my heart. Calm. Unbothered. Like none of this—likeInever mattered to him.
I shake the memory off and kick off my shoes, crossing the cramped space to the kitchen. The fridge groans when I open it, and I half expect the light not to come on, but it flickers to life, revealing a single egg and a nearly empty carton of milk.
“Great,” I mutter to myself. “Guess it’s breakfast for dinner, again.”
I crack the egg into a bowl, watching the yolk break and pool, and a tightness forms in my chest. Cooking for one is depressing. The kitchen feels empty, quiet, just me and the hum of the fridge.
Pumpkin circles my feet again, meowing insistently, her tail brushing against my ankle. I glance down at her, a tired smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe I should get you a friend,” I say, whisking the egg in the bowl. “A couple more cats, and I’d be a full-blown, crazy cat lady.”
She purrs as if in agreement, and I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. At least cats don’t break your heart. They don’t pull the rug out from under you just because something better came along.
My phone buzzes from the makeshift coffee table—an old wooden crate I found on the curb—and I glance over, reluctantly stepping away from the sizzling pan, and pick it up.
A pang of guilt hits me when I see Grandma’s name flashing on the screen. I close my eyes, squeezing the phone in my hand. I haven’t spoken to her in days, and I can already picture the concern in her voice. But I can’t bring myself to tell her about Liam. She always warned me he’d break my heart one day, and now here I am, her words echoing in my head, too late to matter.
I pick up the phone, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Hey, Nanna.”
“Oh, darling,” she sighs. “I was starting to worry. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, but the word feels weird in my mouth. I glance around the apartment—peeling wallpaper, clothes in heaps—and feel a sinking pit in my stomach. “Just been… busy.”
“You haven’t answered your sister either,” she continues, the guilt twisting tighter in my stomach. “She was ready to jump on a bus and come up here to find you.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, don’t let her do that.” I wince at the thought of Annie seeing me like this. “You need her there with you, Nanna. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Darling, I’m fine.” The words come out too easy, too practiced. I know she’s not fine, she hasn’t been for a long time.