67
The next morning, Amanda slipped into a pair of wide-leg jeans and a tucked-in white tee, topping it off with a lightweight jacket and a pair of dark shades that let her walk through the city without inviting attention.
She grabbed an oat milk latte on the corner and checked the address again on her phone.
The apartment listing had caught her eye last night in a quiet moment between dishes and dreams. It was only a ten-minute walk from the office. Close enough to roll out of bed and beat Ericka in. Close enough that "late nights at work" wouldn't mean dragging herself across town.
But more than that—it looked like hers.
The building was newer. Polished, but not cold. Modern without feeling sterile. As she rode the elevator up to the twenty-fourth floor, she tried not to get her hopes up. Amanda had lived in enough apartments to know how photos could lie.
But the second the door opened, she exhaled softly.
It was... beautiful.
Floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall filled the space with natural light.
The open kitchen had matte black finishes and brass accents.
A small corner nook by the window was just begging for a chair, a candle, and a blanket.
The bedroom had a sliding glass door and the kind of view that made her heart ache a little—in the good way.
City skyline. Sky. Space.
Amanda wandered through the apartment slowly, fingertips grazing the kitchen island, the edge of the windowsill.
She could already see herself here. Coffee in the mornings.
Quiet nights reading. Maybe Ericka curled up on the couch with her, glasses on, both of them pretending to watch a movie neither of them had paid attention to for more than ten minutes.
By the time the leasing agent left her alone to "take it in," Amanda was already drafting a mental checklist of what she'd need to move in.
It didn't feel like she was running away from anything.
It felt like she was claiming something.
Her phone buzzed as she stepped into the hallway.
Ericka:
Where'd you vanish to this morning?
Amanda:
Want to grab dinner tonight?
I have something I want to tell you.
Ericka opened the door a few hours later, barefoot and in one of Amanda's hoodies—the black one with the frayed hem she claimed she "accidentally" left behind weeks ago. Amanda stepped in with two bags from the Thai place down the street and a small, pleased smile at the sight of her.
They ate cross-legged on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, legs tangled together like they always did now. It wasn't even something they talked about. It just was.
Halfway through stealing the last spring roll, Amanda set her plate aside and shifted to face Ericka more fully.
"I went to look at an apartment today."
Ericka blinked, caught mid-sip. "Oh?"
Amanda nodded. "It's closer to the office. It's also..." She hesitated. "Closer to you."
Ericka was quiet, eyes searching her face.
Amanda continued, voice steady but gentle. "I love your space. But I don't want to keep borrowing yours like it's temporary. I want something that feels like mine again. I want to have a place that's mine—but with room for you in it. Whenever you want."
Ericka set her glass down slowly.
"You're moving closer?"
"I'm not asking for keys or declarations," Amanda said quickly. "But yeah. I think I'm ready for something new. Something that fits where I am now. And where we're... going."
Ericka smiled then. Soft. Real. A little stunned.
"Show me," she said.
Amanda pulled out her phone and flipped through the pictures—window shots, kitchen details, the view at sunset. Ericka took the phone, swiped slowly, and nodded like she was already picturing herself standing in the doorway.
"You're going to fill that place with all your chaos and candles, aren't you?"
Amanda smirked. "Obviously."
"And I'll never get work done when I come over."
"That's kind of the point."
Ericka handed the phone back and leaned in, forehead resting against Amanda's. "I think I love this idea."
Amanda kissed her slowly, thumb brushing along Ericka's jaw. "I think I love you."
"You know I love you."
"Then I guess we're right on track."
Amanda stood at the sink rinsing two mugs after dinner. Ericka sat on the edge of the couch with her feet tucked beneath her, a blanket pulled loosely around her shoulders.
Outside, the city hummed like it always did — constant, alive, never pausing.
Inside, though... it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Amanda caught it in the pause between songs on their playlist, in the way Ericka hadn't touched her tea, in the way she kept tugging the hem of her sleeve down over her fingers like she needed something to hold onto.
When Amanda finally sat beside her, she didn't speak right away. She simply rested her hand over Ericka's beneath the blanket and waited.
Ericka didn't flinch.
But her eyes were tired.
And not just from the long day.
"You're thinking loud," Amanda whispered, echoing something Ericka had said to her once.
Ericka gave a weak smile, but didn't look over.
Amanda shifted slightly, curling toward her. "Talk to me."
For a long moment, Ericka didn't.
The only sound was the clock ticking softly from the kitchen and the far-off hum of traffic a few stories down.
"I feel like I'm supposed to be fine now," Ericka said finally, voice quiet. "Like the surgery is done. The worst part's over. So I should bounce back. Be strong. Take back the company. Handle everything."
Amanda didn't move.
"But I'm not," Ericka admitted. "Not yet. And I don't know how to let myself not be okay without feeling like I'm failing."
Amanda's heart pulled tight in her chest. She didn't try to rush in and fix it. She just listened.
Ericka went on, slowly.
"I look in the mirror, and sometimes I don't even recognize myself. My body's different. My energy's inconsistent. I can't run at full speed, and I don't know when—or if—I'll feel like myself again."
Amanda reached for her hand under the blanket and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're still you."
Ericka looked down. "What if I'm not the same leader I was before? What if this changes everything? What if people lose faith in me—if I lose faith in myself?"
Her voice cracked just a little at the end, and Amanda felt her own throat tighten.
"You're not weak for having limits, Ericka," Amanda said softly. "You're human. And honestly... I think the people who matter will respect you even more for showing them that."
"But I've built my whole life on being untouchable."
"Maybe it's time to build something softer."
That landed.
Amanda reached out and gently tucked a loose curl behind Ericka's ear, her fingers trailing along her cheek.
"You're allowed to rest," she said. "You're allowed to grieve the version of yourself you thought you had to be. And when you're ready... we figure out the new version. Together."
Ericka's eyes welled, but the tears didn't fall.
Instead, she leaned into Amanda's chest, arms winding around her waist as Amanda held her tightly.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know," Amanda murmured, kissing the top of her head. "But you're not alone."
Soft light filtered through the sheer curtains, golden and pale. The city beyond the windows had already begun to stir — horns in the distance, birdsong scattered somewhere between the high-rises, a faint vibration of life starting up again.
But inside the apartment, everything was still.
Ericka blinked slowly awake.
For a moment, she didn't move.
She lay nestled into Amanda's chest, their legs tangled beneath the blanket. Amanda's hand rested against the small of her back, warm and steady, fingers curled lightly in sleep. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm.
And Ericka?
She just stared at her.
For a long, quiet minute.
Because Amanda had stayed.
After everything she'd said the night before — after breaking down in the one place she'd sworn she wouldn't — Amanda hadn't pulled away. Hadn't run. Hadn't treated her like she was fragile or broken.
She'd just held her.
And now, she was still here.
"You stayed," Ericka whispered into the hush.
Amanda stirred gently at the sound of her voice. Her eyes fluttered open, lashes brushing against Ericka's temple. "Of course I did."
Ericka pulled back just slightly to look at her, expression soft, voice still rough from sleep. "You didn't have to."
Amanda smiled — the kind that reached her eyes before it reached her lips. "I wanted to."
Ericka's gaze flickered, something almost shy beneath it. "Even after all that?"
Amanda brushed a thumb across her cheek. "Especially after all that."
There was a silence, warm and full.
Then Ericka curled into her again, hiding her face in Amanda's shoulder, lips grazing the edge of her collarbone. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
Amanda held her tighter. "You let me love you. That's all."
They lay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, letting the morning stretch out slow and unrushed. No alarms. No calendar reminders. No boardrooms waiting on the other side of the day.
Just them.
Eventually, Ericka spoke again — quieter this time.
"I don't want to keep hiding when I'm struggling."
"You don't have to," Amanda said, fingers stroking gently through her hair. "Not with me."
Ericka nodded against her skin.
And Amanda smiled up at the ceiling, holding the woman she loved and whispering a promise she didn't need to say out loud:
I'm not going anywhere.