Chapter 6
JULES
It’s been a week since Calvin’s seminar. Since laughter, notes, and the dangerous feeling that maybe I wasn’t as broken as I thought.
Then Monday hit.
Five days of meetings stacked on meetings. Slack pings turned to static. A last-minute presentation that almost swallowed me whole.
By Friday night, all I’d earned was a pair of ruined heels and a dozen “good job” emojis that felt nothing like connection.
I drop my purse on the couch. Sleek leather, meant to scream success. All it really says is tired.
I scroll through my phone, restless. A photo of Cara in her wedding sneakers. Then a clip of Calvin, his voice calm and certain: It’s not about winning; it’s about showing up for the version of you that matters.
That line hits home. Maybe because I’ve spent years performing versions of myself that never quite fit.
This week was supposed to feel like proof that all the late nights and endless slides had finally paid off. I got the promotion, after all.
But then my boss caught me after a meeting, voice dipped in charm.
“You always make it look effortless, Jules. Let’s grab a bite, just you and me. Celebrate your promotion.”
His gaze dragged down, then up again, reducing years of effort to fabric and flattery.
For a split second, I saw the old Jules. The one who mistook attention for belonging. But not this time.
Absolutely not, I told him. I worked for this promotion. I won’t let you cheapen it.
His smile twitched, paper-thin, but I didn’t stay to watch it fall.
Now, sitting alone in my apartment, the scene lands heavier. Proof that not everything that glitters is worth keeping.
I pour cheap wine into a coffee mug, sink into the couch, and stare at the skyline.
“Where I live. Who I love. What I deserve.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
A year. Who decided healing comes with a timeline?
The room goes still.
I thought twelve months would fix me. But now it sounds more like a sentence I handed myself.
What I really needed wasn’t time. It was air. Space.
Evan once felt like home. Rich soil I could grow in. But somewhere along the way, the roots outgrew the pot. Comfort turned to confinement.
When it finally cracked, I didn’t wither. I exhaled. Expanded.
What I’m craving isn’t independence. It’s growth that breathes. A life ready enough to hold me, yet brave enough to change with me.
I tip the mug back, the wine grounding me. The quiet feels less like punishment now, more like a pause.
Calvin and I haven’t spoken since the seminar.
He sent one message: Hope you had a blast. I never answered.
I told him I needed space. He gave it.
Maybe too well.
Maybe I’m just emotional tonight.
Maybe I just need someone to talk to.
No one to call except Cara, whose memes still light up my phone from a hundred miles away.
Without another thought, I lift the phone and let it ring.
“Jules Avery!”
Her voice bursts through the speaker, bright and unapologetic.
The sound cracks something open in me, like air rushing into a room I didn’t realize had gone stale.
My laugh comes out shaky. “Hi, Cara.”
Crunching fills the line, a bag rustling, and somewhere behind her, a British baking show.
“I don’t think I’m ready yet for another dating seminar,” she says, mouth half-full, joking. “Sorry. Excuse the popcorn.”
A laugh slips out, shaky but real. “Oh, darn. I was just about to ask.”
A beat. “Anyway… apparently, my boss thought my promotion came with dinner on the side.”
“Ohhh.” Cara’s tone sharpens. “Please tell me you ‘accidentally’ dumped a drink on his $200 tie.”
“Nah. I just bolted.”
“Good girl. Proud of you.” She pauses, the kind where she’s listening between the words. “Okay, Jules. What’s really going on?”
I sink lower into the couch, wine warm in my hand. “Ugh, it’s hard to explain. I thought I needed twelve months alone. But the truth is… I’ve never felt more ready to be me.”
I laugh under my breath, glancing at the window. The city lights suddenly feel too bright. “It’s like the world got huge overnight, and I don’t know how to be big enough for it.”
Cara rings. “That’s not a meltdown, babe. That’s a breakthrough.”
Silence stretches. She lets me sit in it, long enough to feel it settle.
Then, softly but sure: “If you don’t call Cal this minute, I swear I’m driving up there to shake you until sense leaks out your ears.”
I snort-laugh, tears threatening. “It’s not about Calvin. Not entirely. Part of me just misses… me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Cara munches, unimpressed. “You’re not fooling anyone. That kiss was not just a kiss. And if you miss yourself so much, then bring her back. You’re not built for the sidelines, Jules. You want a plot twist? Write it.”
Her tone softens, warmth slipping through the sass. “You loved your year-alone theory, but here’s the thing. Independence isn’t walking away from what ignites you. Or who ignites you.”
I wipe my eyes, voice small. “I’m scared to enter that world again.”
“Yeah, I know.” Her voice is steel. “But you get one choice tonight. Call Calvin, or I will. And trust me, I’m not nearly as poetic.”
A wet laugh escapes me. “God, I needed you.”
“Obviously. I’m that girl.” A smug crunch of popcorn. “Now say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re going to call him.”
I press a hand to my forehead, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. But the truth’s already there, alive in my chest.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’m going to call him.”
Cara exhales like she just wrote my happily ever after. “There she is. Jules Avery, choosing her own damn story. Finally.”
I bite my lip, smiling through the sting in my chest. “Okay, but… can I text him first?”
She groans. “Fine. Baby steps. But make it good.”
I hang up with Cara and stare at my phone long enough to feel it burn through my palm. Every instinct says wait. But my week, my gut, and a glass of liquid courage tell me to stop giving fear the final say.
Maybe this is what courage feels like. Small. Human. Long overdue.