Chapter 40
Ella
It’s been a week since I sent the email.
A week of silence.
No response. Nothing.
My texts to him are bouncing back undeliverable. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure he takes the stairs now, because I haven’t seen him in the elevator once. The only thread left between us is the weekly coffee run to Reign Management Agency, and even then… it feels like I’m chasing a ghost.
This morning, everything seemed to unravel at once.
First, I couldn’t find the keys to the delivery van, so I spent twenty minutes tearing apart my apartment until I finally spotted them under the couch cushion. I had planned to go early, hoping maybe his office would still be quiet, maybe he’d talk to me if it wasn’t so crowded.
But by the time I got on the road, the city had already swallowed every parking spot near his building. I circled the block once. Twice. Gave up and parked two streets down. By then, my nerves were already buzzing.
Halfway to the office, my phone vibrates in my pocket. A flicker of hope.
I set down the pastry bags and cardboard coffee tray on a bench, fumbling to unlock the screen.
An email.
From Reign Management Agency.
My heart lurches into my throat as I jab the screen harder than necessary.
Hi, Cup & Cake team,
We are just reaching out before our order today to inform you we will be pausing our weekly service for the time being.
Have a great day.
—Claudia
Executive Assistant
Reign Management Agency
The words blur.
And the last thread between Nathan and me is gone… just like that.
I sink onto the bench, staring blankly at the useless coffee cooling beside me. My chest feels hollow, my throat tight. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting tears that sting harder with every blink.
My only instinct is to reach into the bag, break off a flaky pastry, and shove it into my mouth to anchor myself.
But before I can swallow, a city bus screeches to a stop right in front of me.
I glance up at a six-pack glistening under stadium lights, golden hair swept back, perfect smirk plastered across a giant sportswear ad.
Of course.
I stare at her flawless face as my own tears spill down my cheeks, cheeks undoubtedly blotchy and damp in broad daylight. My laugh comes out broken, jagged, more of a choke.
I throw the half-eaten pastry and coffee into the trash, wipe my face, and stumble back toward the van.
And because the universe isn’t done with me yet, there it is. A bright yellow parking ticket fluttering under my windshield wiper.
I climb into the driver’s seat, grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache, and finally let go. My forehead falls against the leather, and the sobs I’ve been swallowing all morning tear their way out. My heart hurts. It hurts bad. It’s never hurt this bad.
When I can finally catch my breath, I pull out my phone and text Ashton.
Ella: I need to go home. Can you close for me today?
Then I drop the phone face down in the passenger seat, start the van, and drive.
Later that night, the couch practically grows around me.
My sweats are stained with chocolate smudges and chip salt, and an empty takeout container balances on the armrest like some sad badge of honor.
I shove another handful of pretzels into my mouth and chew slowly, my stomach already protesting.
Comfort eating, my mom calls it. Except there isn’t much comfort in it, just distraction.
I tell myself I’m down for a lot of reasons. Work stress. Long days at the bakery. The weather. But deep down, I know the truth.
It’s Nathan. Even without him in my life, he’s haunting me.
Every thought circles back to him. To Aurora or… Ivy. To the fact that somewhere inside me, I might be holding the missing piece he needs, but I can’t get close enough to hand it to him.
He’s built walls around himself so high that I can’t climb them if I tried.
So maybe it’s time to back off. Stop hurting myself, hoping for something he’d never let me near.
The knock at my door startles me out of my spiral. I freeze, half-expecting it to be some neighbor asking me to turn down my TV, but when I open it, it’s Ashton.
Except this time, she doesn’t come armed with a snarky comment or some outrageous story to fill the silence. She doesn’t even wait for an invitation. She just walks in, sets her bag on the counter, and wraps her arms around me.
The hug is tight, warm, the kind that makes my chest ache in the best way.
“I miss you,” she whispers against my hair. “I miss the Ella who lights up every room she walks into. Don’t let this—” she squeezes me a little harder “—dim your light, okay?”
My throat closes, emotion catching me off guard.
Then, true to form, Ashton pulls back, eyes my half-empty pretzel bag, and smirks. “Also, if you were going to spiral, you could’ve at least called me. We could’ve spiraled together. With better snacks.”
A laugh bursts out of me, shaky but real. The first in weeks.
And just like that, the weight lifts, if only a little.
By the time we’re three episodes deep into Friends and the ice cream carton is nothing but melted streaks at the bottom, the silence between us grows heavy.
Finally, I break it. My voice sounds smaller than I mean it to.
“I think it’s time to move on. I guess… Nathan and I weren’t meant to be. After everything that’s happened, it’s time to let go,” I say, trying to convince myself that there is any truth to what I just said.
For once, Ashton doesn’t volley back with a sarcastic quip or a sharp-witted joke.
Instead, her expression softens, her eyes shining in the dim light of the TV.
She reaches over, lays her hand gently on mine, and says quietly, “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.
It’s time to walk away from this. Some things just… aren’t meant to be.”
The words sting more than I want to admit.
I lean into her, and she wraps me in a steady hug, grounding. A single tear slips free, trailing down my cheek as I press my face against her shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel the weight of it, of love lost, of moving on, and the ache of finally saying it out loud.