21. Tessa
Tessa
The shop is quiet again.
But this time…
It isn’t heavy.
It isn’t suffocating.
It’s still.
Like the storm passed just long enough to breathe.
I stand behind the counter, staring at the folder the lawyer left.
I haven’t touched it.
Don’t want to.
Because I already know what it is.
An easy way out.
And for the first time in seven years—
I don’t want easy.
My jaw tightens.
“Good.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Good?”
Ace nods toward the folder.
“You didn’t touch it.”
A small breath leaves me.
“No. I didn’t.”
His approval is quiet.
Steady.
And something inside me settles.
A few minutes later, I lock the shop door.
Flip the sign.
Closed.
For real this time.
I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment.
Then look back at him.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say.
It’s softer now.
Not pushing.
Just offering.
He doesn’t even pause.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
My lips twitch.
“Right.”
Upstairs, my apartment feels the same.
Small. Simple. Lived-in.
Plants everywhere.
Safe.
Or at least—it used to be.
I set my keys on the counter.
Neither of us speaks at first.
We don’t need to.
The quiet isn’t awkward.
It’s real.
“You hungry?” I ask finally.
The normalcy surprises me.
“Yeah,” he says. “A little.”
“I’ve got sandwiches. Or soup.”
“Sandwich is fine.”
Simple.
Easy.
And somehow… that feels bigger than everything else today.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch.
Plates in hand.
TV on low.
Neither of us really watching.
Just… here.
Together.
I take a bite, then glance at him.
“You really think I can win this?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
“Even with him?”
“Especially with him.”
I study him.
“You don’t sound worried.”
“I am,” he admits. “Just not about the outcome.”
That catches me.
“What are you worried about?”
His eyes hold mine.
“You.”
My breath catches.
“Me?”
“He’s not done,” Ace says. “And guys like him don’t play fair when they start losing control.”
My chest tightens.
“I figured.”
“But you’re not the same person you were seven years ago,” he adds.
I look down at my hands.
“I don’t feel any different.”
“That’s because you’ve been surviving,” he says. “Not fighting.”
The words hit deep.
True.
“And now?” I ask.
His expression shifts.
Stronger.
“You fight.”
Silence settles.
But it’s not uncomfortable.
It’s building.
I set my plate aside.
“I don’t know how,” I admit.
“You don’t have to know everything,” he says. “You just have to decide you’re done letting him win.”
That—
That I understand.
I look at him.
“You’re not walking away from this.”
“No.”
Something inside me steadies.
“Even if it gets worse?”
“It will,” he says honestly.
“And you’re still staying.”
“Yeah.”
For the first time—
That doesn’t scare me.
The room is dim, lit by a soft lamp.
I shift slightly on the couch.
Closer.
Not much.
But enough.
He doesn’t react.
Doesn’t make it a thing.
Just stays.
Steady.
“I used to think surviving was enough,” I say.
“But it’s not.”
“No,” he says. “It’s not.”
I nod slowly.
Because something inside me has changed.
Not all at once.
But enough.
“I’m not signing anything,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’m not staying quiet.”
“Good.”
My jaw sets.
“And I’m not letting him take anything else from me.”
He watches me.
That same look.
Not surprise.
Not doubt.
Belief.
“That’s what I was waiting for,” he says.
A small smile pulls at my lips.
Because this time—
I’m not reacting.
I’m choosing.
I lean back, my shoulder brushing his.
Light.
Intentional.
And I don’t pull away.
Neither does he.
Outside, everything is shifting.
Truth spreading.
Pressure building.
Danger coming.
But inside this small apartment—
I make a decision.
I’m not the girl who took the blame anymore.
I’m the woman who’s about to take it all back.