Chapter 37 #2
“Now I think I didn’t have the full picture.”
The admission feels … different.
Colton nods slightly. “Yeah.”
Melissa’s expression softens. “Good.”
Silence settles again, but this time … it doesn’t feel heavy.
It feels clear, like something finally clicked into place.
I look back up at them. “Where is she?”
Melissa’s lips curve slightly. “That’s more like it.”
* * *
The apartment feels different the moment I walk in. I stand just inside the door for a second, keys still in my hand, staring into the living room, like I’m expecting something to move, but nothing does.
Of course it doesn’t.
I shut the door behind me, and the sound echoes more than it should. I toss my keys onto the counter, and they land with a hollow clatter that seems louder than usual. It’s familiar but foreign. I’ve heard that hollow noise many times before, but not since Kayla had moved in.
Now it’s back.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale slowly, trying to shake the feeling off, but it doesn’t work.
Now that I’m here … I can see it everywhere.
Kayla.
Her laptop is gone. That’s the first thing I notice. The kitchen island looks wrong without it. It’s too clean and empty, like something’s missing that should be there.
My eyes move to the couch, where the blanket she used to wrap around herself is folded neatly over the back now. Not draped or half falling onto the floor the way it always was. Now it’s neat.
My body feels rigid as I step farther into the room, slower now.
The mug she always used sits in the sink. I stare at it for a second longer than I should. I can picture it too clearly.
Her standing at the counter, half awake, with her hair a mess.
Arguing with me about whether coffee actually “worked” or if it was just a placebo.
A breath leaves my chest. I turn away from the sink to move toward the living room since standing here isn’t helping. Nothing about this is helping.
I drop onto the couch, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
The silence presses in again, heavier this time. There’s nothing to distract from it.
No typing or random commentary. No voice filling the space. Just … nothing.
I lean back slowly and let my head fall against the cushion, closing my eyes for a second.
Bad idea.
The memories hit harder. Her laughing, arguing, and falling asleep mid-sentence flood my brain. The way she’d shift closer without thinking when she got tired. How she’d mumble something about being “too comfortable” before passing out.
I open my eyes again immediately and stare up at the ceiling.
I sit up slowly, dragging a hand down my face. Now I can’t stop thinking about what Dean said.
“… she stayed.”
Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
My jaw tightens.
I push to my feet again, pacing once across the room. If I sit here too long, I’m going to keep replaying it. Keep seeing things differently.
I stop near the hallway as my gaze catches on something I didn’t notice before.
Her door is open. I hesitate for half a second before I walk toward it.
Her room feels smaller without her in it. Not physically, but less alive.
The bed is made perfectly. No tangled sheets or pile of clothes on the chair. No open notebook on the nightstand.
Everything is in place, like she was trying to make it easier. It’s as if she didn’t want to leave anything behind that would make this harder.
I step inside slowly, my gaze moving over the room, taking in details I never paid attention to before. I spot a book on the nightstand with a pen left near the edge. There’s also a small stack of papers tucked neatly beside it. I reach for them before I think about it.
I begin to flip through the notes. There are random lines written in the margins, which appear to be scenes.
My heart beats rapidly.
I recognize some of it. Not word for word, but fragments and ideas that are pieces of something bigger.
I set the pages back down carefully. A quiet breath leaves my chest as I turn slightly, my eyes landing on something else.
A hoodie. It’s mine, and it’s folded at the end of the bed.
I pick it up without thinking. The fabric feels soft in my hands.
I stare at it for a second, then bring it closer. Because part of me expects something. Maybe her scent or her presence. Anything.
It’s faint, but it’s there. And that’s the problem because, suddenly, this doesn’t feel like space anymore.
It feels like absence.
I drop the hoodie back onto the bed and step away, running a hand through my hair again.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath.
I turn and walk back into the hallway, faster this time as I try to outrun the feelings taking over inside of me.
But it doesn’t work. Everything I pass reminds me of her.
The kitchen, couch, even the stupid refrigerator she treated like it was a puzzle.
A quiet huff of air leaves my chest.
I stop in the middle of the apartment when I realize I can’t ignore it anymore.
The shift—or realization—that’s been building since I left my office. When Melissa told me she had walked away from everything and I read what she’d actually written.
I was wrong about her intentions.
The thought lands fully this time. Clear and completely unavoidable.
I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose.
I hurt her—bad. Maybe even worse than she hurt me because hers wasn’t intentional. Mine was.
My jaw tightens as I look around the apartment again at everything she filled. Everything she made feel different, and now emptiness sits in its place.
I drag a hand down my face while I exhale slowly. “I need to fix this.” The words come out quiet but steady.
For the first time since she walked out that door, I know exactly what I need to do next.