my prized possession

CHAPTER 19

Ever since that night, I hadn’t been myself. I barely left the apartment. Most days, I stayed in bed, curled up with thoughts that wouldn’t let me breathe. I wasn’t just grieving Jackson—I was mourning who he used to be, and the version of me that believed we’d last.

Naomi tried her best. She knocked gently on my door every morning, cooked meals I didn’t touch, even left silly notes around the apartment hoping to make me smile. But I shut everyone out. I didn’t want anyone near the wreckage of my life. I was ashamed—not just of what had happened, but that I had no idea who my boyfriend had become.

And the worst part? I didn’t even know how to talk to Annabella about it. How do you explain that the person you loved has vanished into a version of himself you don’t recognize?

I needed a way out of this mental quicksand. I hated admitting it, but I craved a distraction—something to anchor me, or at least pull me away from the pain for a while. I needed… someone. Someone who reminded me I still existed.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. His number. Noah.

Selfish? Maybe. But in this moment, I didn’t care. I needed that feeling again—that strange, dangerous flutter he stirred in me.

My fingers trembled as I dialed.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice.

It was warmer than I remembered, smoother than I imagined. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

“…Vanessa?” he said softly, almost like he could feel the weight in my silence. “Is everything okay?”

How could he sense it?

I swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” I whispered. A lie, but it was all I could manage.

He paused, then said, “Are you free right now? We could meet. There’s this café—quiet, not too far. We could talk?”

I hesitated, but something in his tone made it easy to say yes.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he replied gently.

As I ended the call, I stared at the screen for a moment longer. I didn’t know what I was stepping into—but I knew I needed it. Just for a while, I wanted to remember what it felt like to breathe again.

I dressed up—really dressed up. I wanted to look like I had it all together. A bit of makeup, a nice outfit, and a smile I practiced in the mirror until it looked halfway convincing. I wasn’t going to let Noah see the mess I’d become. When I finally felt I’d masked my pain enough, I headed out.

The café was quiet, cozy, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. And there he was—Noah. Sitting near the window, absorbed in his phone, his presence somehow calming even before he saw me.

The moment he looked up, he smiled and stood, walking toward me with ease. Then, before I could say a word, he leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. I blinked, surprised. Why would he do that? It was so casual, so familiar. Don’t overthink it, Vanessa, I told myself. He’s just being nice.

We sat. He signaled the waiter and asked what I’d like. I ordered a slice of black chocolate cake and a coffee. He smiled and ordered the exact same thing.

I tilted my head. “Why the copy?”

He chuckled. “It’s a weird combo. I want to see what it tastes like.”

That made me laugh, really laugh, for the first time in what felt like forever.

The conversation flowed easily, like two old friends catching up after years apart. It didn’t feel heavy or forced. With Noah, I could breathe again, even if just for a little while. He didn’t poke too hard, didn’t ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. It was... nice.

After we finished our drinks and cake, we walked out into the cool evening air. I turned to him, genuinely grateful.

“Thank you… for today,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out.”

“I did,” he replied, softly. “And I’m glad you called me.”

I looked at him, puzzled. “How did you know I needed it?”

He let out a breath, running his fingers through his hair. “I know you went to New Jersey… to see Jackson.”

My eyes widened. “How do you—?”

“A friend of yours told me,” he interrupted gently. “And I figured you didn’t go there for fun.”

Something in his voice told me he knew more than he was letting on.

“I’m sorry about… everything,” he continued. “Jackson’s been a mess for a while.”

My heart sank. “How do you know that?”

Noah looked away for a moment, as if debating how much to say. Then he faced me. “The fight at the funeral… it wasn’t just about my dad. Jackson was part of it. I caught him smoking—something stronger than just cigarettes. Right there at the funeral home.”

I gasped. “What?”

“Yeah. I confronted him. I got mad. Told him I’d tell his mom. He freaked out. That was the start of our falling out.”

He paused before adding, “I thought maybe the scare was enough. That he’d stop. But… after the divorce stuff started, he spiraled. He’s not the same person anymore.”

I stared at him, speechless. All this time, I thought I was the only one Jackson had shut out. But

After everything Noah said, I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt hollow—betrayed, angry, ashamed. My entire relationship had been built on lies I hadn’t even seen forming. I told him I needed to leave.

“I can drop you off,” he offered gently.

I shook my head, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Before he could say more, I turned and walked away—fast. I didn’t want him to see me break.

By the time I got home, the tears had already started falling. Naomi was on the couch, and the moment she saw me, she stood and rushed to me. I collapsed into her arms without a word.

I cried—loud, raw, and messy. The kind of crying that scrapes your chest as it comes out. Naomi didn’t speak. She didn’t ask questions. She just held me, stroking my hair gently, whispering, “It’s okay… I’m here.”

Why had Jackson done this to me? Why had he let himself spiral while pretending I was still a part of his life?

After what felt like forever, I finally pulled away, exhausted. My body felt heavy with grief. I muttered a thank you and went straight to my room.

I peeled off my clothes and took a long, hot shower. I just stood under the water, hoping it could wash away the ache in my chest. When I finally stepped out, I felt no better—just quieter.

I picked up my phone and texted Christina.

Me: “Do you have any new paintings? Something… anything?”

She responded almost immediately.

Christina: “You okay?”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.

A moment later, she sent me a photo. It was a painting of a golden sun rising over a dark, crumbling city. There was a warmth in the sun, a stubbornness to its light. I stared at it for a long time.

I got her message.

Even in ruin, light could rise. Even in darkness, there was still something waiting to shine. I wanted that. I needed that. A sun strong enough to pierce through everything I was feeling.

I lay in bed holding the image in my hand, whispering quietly to myself:

“I want the sun.”

The following week, Annabella came to Florida. I had already told her everything that happened, but she knew I needed her presence—her warmth, her grounding energy. She flew in like the whirlwind of comfort she always was.

Jackson still hadn’t called. Not a text. Not even a vague apology. Nothing. That said enough. All that talk of love, all the promises—it had all been a performance. High school felt like a stage, and he had played his role perfectly. I just hadn’t seen it until now.

Noah had been calling, stopping by the diner regularly. I tried my best to avoid him. I wasn’t ready to be near someone so tangled in my past, especially when he was a part of the same bloodline I was trying to forget.

Annabella’s visit changed something in me. She radiated peace. Her relationship with Jacob was thriving, and she glowed with self-assurance. It made me realize how far I’d drifted from myself. I had lost the girl who once believed in love, in herself.

I needed a fresh start.

I needed to love myself first.

One evening, I picked up my phone and called Noah. His voice lit up on the other end of the line. “Vanessa?” he said, clearly surprised but happy. “It’s so good to hear from you.”

“I just wanted to talk,” I said, quietly. “I’m not mad at you—not about what you told me. I just…”

He was silent, listening.

“I won’t be talking to you for now,” I said. “I need to figure myself out, reshape my life. The way I’m living… it’s not right. I’ve been looking for happiness in other people, and I’ve ignored the fact that I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

Noah sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. I really am. I didn’t mean to drop all that on you the way I did.”

“I know,” I said gently. “But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I want to be happy—with myself. I want to be whole, on my own.”

He didn’t protest. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “I’ll be here. Just… take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We said goodbye, and I hung up.

For the first time in a long while, I smiled—not because someone made me smile, but because I had chosen to. Because I was finally doing something for me.

And it felt right.