my prized possession

CHAPTER 18

“What?! Are you serious?” Annabella gasped, her voice high with excitement.

I blinked, confused by her reaction. I was pouring my heart out, telling her about the chaos spinning inside me—and she sounded thrilled. I didn’t get it. What was there to be excited about?

Before I could ask, she said it.

“You have to call him.”

Call him? Was she talking about Noah?

“That’s a terrible idea,” I said flatly, already feeling my chest tighten.

But Annabella was persistent. “Vanessa, listen. Jackson has been completely emotionally unavailable for months. He barely answers your calls, he doesn’t check in… Noah’s reaching out. It’s just a conversation. It’s harmless.”

Harmless. That word echoed in my head like a warning. There was nothing harmless about Noah—not when he still stirred something in me I didn’t understand, something I wasn’t ready to name. I was trying to stay loyal, trying to hold onto a relationship that felt like it was slipping between my fingers.

But it was true—Jackson had been gone. Not physically, but in every other way that mattered. Every time I called, I got that same hollow message: “The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.” I was starting to wonder if that meant more than just poor reception. Was he okay? Was the divorce really wrecking him this much? Or was he… letting go?

I didn’t want to believe the worst, but my heart was growing heavier with every unanswered message.

Naomi had noticed too. She wasn’t the type to pry, but she could read me better than I liked to admit. One evening, after I broke down in our tiny kitchen over a missed call and an unread message, she pulled me aside and said, “Maybe you should go see him, Vee. Go to New Jersey. Talk to him face to face.”

It sounded so simple when she said it. But I couldn’t just leave—I had work, responsibilities, and my manager? She was a tyrant who wouldn’t excuse me even if I were bleeding.

Still, Naomi being the sweetheart she was, offered to cover my shift. “You’ve been there for everyone, Vanessa. Let someone be there for you now,” she said.

And in that moment, I felt it—gratitude. For Annabella. For Naomi. For the people who showed up when things felt like they were falling apart.

The weekend finally arrived, and with a nervous heart, I packed a small bag and caught a flightto New Jersey. It was only a three-hour trip, but every minute felt like a lifetime. As the plane touched down, I stared out the window, taking in the skyline. The city was vibrant, buzzing with life—a strange yet familiar energy. Maybe it was the proximity to New York, or maybe it was the fact that I was about to face something I’d been avoiding for far too long.

New Jersey was supposed to be a turning point for me. There was even a time I thought I’d lose my virginity here—start a new chapter with Jackson. But even after two years, that had never happened. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to—it was just… every time I tried to talk about it, he brushed it off with, “I’m waiting for the right time.”

But what exactly was the right time? Because it sure hadn’t come yet, and I was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

Jackson’s apartment was in a tall, elegant building, the kind that made you feel small just standing in its lobby. I smiled politely at the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor. My fingers trembled slightly, but I tried to push the anxiety down.

When I reached his floor, I walked down the hallway, heart racing, and rang his doorbell.

No answer.

I rang it again.

This time, the door creaked open—but not by Jackson. A guy I didn’t recognize stared back at me, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed. He looked high, and the way he smirked sent chills crawling up my spine.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice slow and slurred.

“I’m here to see my boyfriend,” I said, forcing confidence I didn’t feel.

He laughed, dry and mocking. “Which one?”

That stopped me cold.

“What?” I breathed.

Still chuckling, he opened the door wider, revealing a messy living room crowded with unfamiliar faces. More guys—some playing video games, others lounging with bottles in their hands. None of them even glanced my way. The air smelled like weed and stale pizza. I barely recognized the space that was supposed to be Jackson’s.

I turned back to the door, my pulse quickening. “I’m looking for Jackson,” I said again, firmer this time.

The guy smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re welcome to go in. Bedroom’s at the back. He should be there.”

I stepped into the apartment, and the smell hit me immediately—thick, suffocating smoke, alcohol, and something sour underneath it all. The place was a mess. Drug packets littered the floor and table, empty bottles were everywhere, and the air felt heavy, toxic. My stomach turned.

This couldn’t be Jackson’s life.

I walked further in, my shoes crunching something on the floor, and pushed open his bedroom door.

There he was—lying on the bed, head tilted back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Ashes sat in an overflowing tray beside him, alcohol bottles crowding the nightstand. More pills. More destruction.

I froze in the doorway.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, but full of pain.

His head snapped toward me, shock registering on his face. He sat up quickly, clearly disoriented.

“Vanessa? What the hell are you doing here?”

I stepped in, anger bubbling over the heartbreak I was choking on. “Answer the question, Jackson. Is this why you’ve been gone? Why you never pick up my calls?”

He said nothing.

“When did you start this?” I demanded, my voice rising as I gestured at the chaos around the room. “When did you become this person?”

Still, silence.

My voice cracked. “Say something!”

He finally looked at me, but not with the warmth or regret I desperately hoped for. Instead, his eyes were cold.

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” he snapped. “You weren’t supposed to be here. You chose to come, so take what you’re seeing.”

The words hit harder than a slap. I stared at him, stunned.

No remorse. No apology. Nothing.

I didn’t say another word. I grabbed my bag and ran—out of his room, out of the apartment, out of the building. The tears came before I hit the sidewalk. I didn’t care who saw me. I just needed to get away. I kept running, letting the tears blur everything.

I didn’t even know where I was going until I found myself at a bridge, clutching the railing, gasping for breath. My chest ached—not from the run, but from the breaking.

He didn’t chase after me.

Of course, he didn’t.

What was I expecting? Concern? Redemption? A goodbye?

I never thought I’d look at the person I loved and see a stranger—a drug addict, lost in a world I couldn’t reach.

Wiping my tears with shaking hands, I hailed a taxi. I just needed to leave. To go home. I was lucky enough to catch a flight heading back to Florida, and I boarded without hesitation.

I didn’t look back.