Page 77 of Je T'aime, Actually

Finally, Chloé’s voice cracked. “You’re right. I’ve been selfish. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know,” Monroe said again, her tone softening, “but intent and impact aren’t the same thing.”

Chloé blinked quickly, as if that truth cut deeper than she'd expected.

“I have to go,” Monroe added, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Please…just find some balance. That’s all I ask.”

Chloé nodded, her lips parting like she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words in time. Monroe leant in, pressed a final kiss to her cheek, and then turned, walking towards the terminal with the quiet strength of someone who hoped for more.

sixty-three

The cab pulled away, tyres hissing gently on the damp tarmac as Monroe stood alone at the gate. Her suitcase bumped along the uneven paving stones as she walked up the short path towards the cottage.

It stood quietly in the soft afternoon light, unchanged and comforting. She turned the key—familiar, worn—and pushed open the door.

Warmth greeted her immediately. Poppy, she thought. The radiators quietly made that soft tinkle noise, and the hallway wrapped around her like a big hug.

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and exhaled.

The cottage welcomed her like an old friend.

She slipped off her coat and hung it over the end of the banister, before dragging her case behind her as she wandered towards the kitchen. That was when she saw the wicker basket on the table.

Inside was a small loaf of seeded artisan bread, a handful of vegetables, and a handwritten note in Poppy’s looping scrawl.

Welcome home,

Milk and cheese are in the fridge.

See you tomorrow — P x

Monroe smiled, pressing the note briefly to her chest before setting it aside. She opened the fridge—milk, cheese, and tucked in wax paper, an apple tart from her favourite bakery. Typical Poppy.

She leant against the counter, letting her shoulders finally drop. The old pipes creaked and the fridge hummed. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel like she had to be anywhere else.

She was home.

And in need of a coffee.

She settled down on the couch, coffee on the small table, a plate with half the apple tart balanced on the armrest, and her phone in hand.

Chloé had already texted, hoping Monroe had landed safely and wondering if they might talk later. But Monroe hadn’t answered yet. She needed a moment to just breathe.

There was so much to consider. Had she been naïve? The weekends together had been such bliss, but maybe they hadn’t really thought through what living together would be like—what it would reveal about who they were as individuals. And yet, they were so compatible. They had fun and shared the same sense of humour and interests. Making love was spectacular. She’d never had a lover so attentive, aggressive, and passionate as Chloé. Maybe that was clouding their judgement? She considered this, nibbling at the crust of the tart and trying to catch the falling crumbs.

Her phone beeped again. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for any potential conflict.

Kitty:Aunty Roe, are you home yet?

She smiled, set the plate down, and began typing a reply, but before she could finish, her phone lit up with a video call.

She answered.

Kitty’s bright, eager face filled the screen, nose pressed up against the phone. “Roe Roe! Are you home yet?” she asked again, her voice bubbling with excitement.

Monroe’s smile softened. “I am. Just finishing up a snack Mummy left me.”

Kitty grinned, then paused, as if thinking hard. “I miss you. Are you coming for my birthday party?”