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Ericka stood by the kitchen island, her phone in one hand, a glass of untouched wine in the other. The city skyline glittered beyond the windows, but tonight the lights looked cold.
She'd seen the video three times now. Four, if she counted the version she replayed in her head.
Amanda—radiant, relaxed, laughing like the world didn't weigh a single ounce on her shoulders. Surrounded by strangers. Living in a world Ericka wasn't a part of. A world that didn't require executive meetings, controlled expressions, or bodyguard-like poise.
A world where she wasn't needed.
Ericka set the wine glass down a little too hard.
She knew Amanda needed space. She'd said so. Kindly. Gently. But something in Ericka twisted anyway, coiling tight in her chest like she'd been left out of something she didn't know how to ask to be included in.
It was childish. She knew that.
And still, her eyes kept darting to the clock.
10:47 PM.
She opened Amanda's text again.
I'm good. Just lost track of time. I'll call you when I head home.
She hadn't called.
The apartment felt too quiet without her. The blanket they always shared was folded neatly on the couch. Her sketchbook, the one Amanda sometimes doodled in mid-conversation, was still on the coffee table. The scent of her lavender lotion lingered in the air.
Ericka sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on her knees, phone in hand.
She didn't want to be angry. She wasn't.
She just... missed her.
And maybe that was worse.
It was close to midnight when Amanda slipped her key into the lock, the door clicking open with a familiar hush.
She stepped inside quietly, her heels in her hand, curls pulled back in a messy bun. The moment the door closed behind her, she paused—like she could already feel the weight of something waiting.
Ericka was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, still dressed from earlier but barefoot, her phone beside her on the cushion. Her eyes found Amanda's immediately.
Amanda froze. "Hey," she said softly.
Ericka's voice was even. "Hey."
Amanda stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a ripple she didn't want to disturb. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. I just... met some people. Artists. They were really—"
"You don't have to explain," Ericka said, standing. "You said you needed space. I wanted to respect that."
Amanda nodded, setting her shoes down. "But I should've called. I didn't mean to make you worry."
Ericka's jaw clenched for just a second before she exhaled. "I saw the video."
Amanda's brows lifted slightly. "Oh."
"You looked happy."
Amanda hesitated. "I was. It felt... good. To be around people who live in that world. Art. Design. Messy ideas. It reminded me why I love what I do."
"I want that for you," Ericka said, her voice low, almost fragile now. "I just— I guess I forgot what it looked like. You, outside of here. Without me."
Amanda crossed the room and stood in front of her. "You didn't lose me, Ericka. I just needed to breathe for a second. That doesn't mean I don't want to come back to you after."
Ericka searched her face. "Do you mean that?"
Amanda nodded. "Every word."
Ericka's shoulders finally relaxed. She reached up, tucking a loose curl behind Amanda's ear. "Next time... just tell me what time you'll be home. So I don't sit here trying not to imagine every worst-case scenario."
Amanda smiled, a little sheepish. "Deal."
Then she leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently to Ericka's. "I missed you too, by the way."
Ericka's hands slid around her waist, holding her like she never wanted to let go. "Come to bed."
"Mm. Only if I can wear your shirt."
"I'll allow it. But only because I'm feeling generous."
Amanda laughed, the tension finally breaking between them.
And as they walked back toward the bedroom, fingers laced and hearts quieted, Ericka realized something:
Loving Amanda meant letting her breathe.
But it also meant she got to be the one Amanda came home to.