18. Eric
— ? —
Eric
Valentina doesn’t come to work the next day.
I find out from Marco, who finds out from the schedule, which shows her shift as covered. When I ask why, he shrugs. “Called in sick.”
She’s not sick.
I find Marianna during her break.
“Where is she?”
Marianna looks at me with something between sympathy and judgment. “She called me this morning. Said she might quit.”
“Quit.”
“Quit the restaurant. Quit the arrangement. Quit everything.” She crosses her arms. “She thinks she’s ruining your life.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? You saw the article. You saw the comments. She’s been through this before, you know. The public humiliation. The slap video went viral for weeks. She lost her job over it. And now it’s happening again, except this time she’s dragging you down with her.”
“She’s not dragging me anywhere.”
“I know that. You know that. But she doesn’t know that. She thinks she’s a burden. She thinks you’re going to wake up one day and realize she’s not worth the trouble.”
I leave without another word.
The motel is exactly as depressing in daylight as it was at midnight. Maybe more so. I can see the peeling paint now. The broken light in the parking lot. The kind of place people end up when they have nowhere else to go.
I knock on her door.
No answer.
“Valentina. I know you’re in there.”
Silence.
“You can ignore me all you want. I’ll wait.”
More silence. Then, finally, the sound of the deadbolt turning.
She opens the door. She looks worse than yesterday. Pale. Red-eyed. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing my jacket over a tank top and sweatpants.
My jacket.
Something in my chest cracks.
“Can I come in?”
She steps aside.
The room is small. One bed, one chair, a bathroom the size of a closet. Her entire life fits in this space. A few bags of clothes. Some toiletries on the dresser. Nothing else.
“This is where you’ve been living,” I say again, because I still can’t believe it.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“It’s what I can afford.” She sits on the bed. Pulls her knees to her chest. “Why are you here, Eric? I told you we should stop.”
“And I told you I don’t accept that.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Neither do you. Not alone.” I sit next to her. Not touching. Just present. “You think you’re bad for me. You think the article and the gossip and the scandal is going to destroy everything I’ve built. But you’re wrong.”
“How am I wrong?”
“Because I’ve survived worse. I started with nothing. Less than nothing. I’ve been broke and desperate and humiliated in ways you can’t imagine. And I’m still here.” I turn to face her. “A tabloid article isn’t going to break me. Neither are you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know myself. I know what I want. And I know that walking away from you would be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”
Her eyes fill with tears. She blinks them back, furious.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to let someone in without losing myself. I did it once and it destroyed me. What if it happens again?”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No. But I can promise that I’ll never make you small. I’ll never make you feel like you’re not enough. And I’ll never, ever make you carry something alone when I could carry it with you.”
She’s crying now. Silent tears running down her cheeks. I don’t wipe them away. I don’t hold her. I just sit there, close enough to touch, and wait.
“I don’t know how to trust you,” she says finally.
“Then don’t. Just let me show you.”
She laughs. A broken, wet sound. “You said that yesterday.”
“I’ll say it every day until you believe it.”
She looks at me. Really looks, with those dark eyes that have seen too much and trusted too little.
“Okay,” she whispers.
It’s not a yes. It’s not a promise. But it’s enough.
I leave an hour later. She walks me to the door. We stand there for a moment, neither of us sure what comes next.
“You left your jacket,” she says.
“Keep it.”
“Eric-”
“Keep it. You look better in it than I do.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
I force myself to leave. To close the door between us. To walk to my car without looking back.
But I feel her watching me.
And I know she’s still wearing my jacket.
***
Valentina
After he leaves, I lock the door.
Press my forehead against it.
My legs are weak. My heart is pounding. I feel like I just survived something, though I’m not sure what.
His jacket is still on my shoulders. Heavy. Warm. It smells like him, like expensive cologne and something darker underneath.
I should take it off. It’s not mine. Nothing about him is mine.
But I keep it on.
I curl up on the bed, wrapped in fabric that holds his scent, and I think about what he said.
I’ll never make you small.
Sebastian made me small. Every day, in a thousand tiny ways. Criticizing how I dressed. Questioning my choices. Making me feel like I was never quite enough.
Eric doesn’t do that. He doesn’t agree with everything I say. He pushes back. Argues. Challenges. But he does it like I’m an equal. Like my opinions matter even when they’re different from his.
It’s such a small thing. Such a stupid, obvious thing that shouldn’t feel revolutionary.
But it does.
I fall asleep still wearing his jacket.
When I wake up in the morning, I know what I have to do.
I pick up my phone.
Text Marianna: I’m not quitting.
Then I text Eric: Sunday. Whatever you have planned. I’ll be there.
His response comes immediately: I’ll pick you up at seven.
I stare at the message for a long time.
Then I put down my phone.
And I start getting ready for whatever comes next.