Episode Four:What's Left After the Fall
1039 Words
I didn’t mean to say it.
Not yet.
Not like that.
But when Claire asked the question—when she looked at me with eyes that had always seen more than I admitted—I couldn’t hide anymore.
“Are you in love with someone else?”
I paused.
And then I nodded.
She didn’t cry.
Not at first.
She just turned away from me, took a deep breath, and steadied herself against the counter like the room had tilted.
“Is it... recent?”
I nodded again.
“With someone I know?”
“No.”
She nodded. Still quiet.
Then: “Is it a woman?”
I didn’t answer.
And she let out the softest, most heart-wrenching laugh I’ve ever heard.
“God, Ethan. I always wondered.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“If you were unhappy,” she said. “If something was missing. I thought maybe it was me. Or the stress. But there was something about the way you looked at people—like you were trying to see yourself in them.”
She didn’t say it with venom.
She said it like she had already prepared for this ending.
Like part of her had always been waiting for it.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” I whispered.
“I know.”
She picked up her wine glass again. Drank slowly. Carefully.
Then turned back toward me.
“I should hate you right now.”
I nodded.
“But I don’t. Because you didn’t lie to me as much as you lied to yourself.”
My throat tightened.
She stepped closer.
“I loved you. Still do. But I think I always knew you were borrowing my life. Not living your own.”
That was the moment I broke.
The honesty. The clarity. The grace I didn’t deserve.
I packed a bag that night.
Just one.
I didn’t take much.
Some clothes. My toothbrush. My laptop.
Claire helped me find a suitcase. She didn’t speak while I folded shirts. She just moved through the house like someone preparing a guest room for a stranger.
When I zipped the bag closed, she stood by the door and waited.
And when I turned to leave, she stopped me with a hand on my chest.
“Promise me something,” she said.
“Anything.”
“When you figure out who you are, don’t waste it. Don’t pretend you’re less just because it’s easier.”
I nodded, tears burning my eyes.
And then I walked away from the only life I’d ever known.
I didn’t go straight to Jace.
I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Because even though I had finally told the truth, I still didn’t know what kind of man I was without a lie to hide behind.
I checked into a small hotel on the edge of the city. Nothing fancy. Just clean sheets and silence.
I slept for ten hours and woke feeling like someone else.
Jace didn’t text.
He didn’t call.
I didn’t blame him.
I had left him hanging so many times, he had no reason to expect anything from me now.
But that didn’t stop me from thinking about him every second I was awake.
His laugh. His quiet. The way he painted with his whole body. The way he kissed me like I was worth the fall.
Two days passed.
I finally found the nerve to go to his building.
I knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Then the woman from the apartment next door peeked out and said, “He moved out.”
My chest dropped.
“When?”
“Yesterday, I think.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
She shook her head. “Just that he needed space. That he wasn’t waiting anymore.”
I whispered a thank you, but my voice didn’t reach her.
I stood outside the door for another few minutes before finally turning away.
I walked the city.
Through parks and alleyways and streets we once walked together.
Every corner felt haunted by him.
By me.
By what we almost had.
That night, I got a message.
From an unknown number.
"If you’re still looking for him, meet me tomorrow. 10am. West Bridge.”
No name.
But I knew.
I showed up early.
Cold air stung my skin, and the wind made my jacket feel too thin. But I stood there, waiting.
And finally, I saw him.
Jace.
Standing near the railing. Hands in his coat pockets. Hair tied back. Shoulders hunched.
He didn’t look surprised to see me.
He looked tired.
But he didn’t leave.
I walked toward him slowly.
He didn’t move.
When I stopped beside him, the silence stretched.
Then he said, “You told her.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She let me go with more kindness than I deserved.”
He nodded.
“I moved out,” I added. “I’m on my own now.”
Jace didn’t look at me. Just stared at the water below.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“And yet here you are.”
I smiled faintly. “You said that to me once.”
He nodded again. “I remember.”
We stood like that for a while.
Not touching. Not confessing.
Just being.
“I’m scared,” I said eventually.
“So am I,” he replied.
I turned to him. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even know where this leads.”
He finally looked at me.
“I’m not asking you for forever, Ethan. I’m asking you not to lie about what’s happening between us.”
“I’m not.”
“Then come with me.”
I frowned. “Where?”
He pulled a key from his pocket.
“Somewhere we don’t have to hide.”
I took the key.
Held it tight in my palm.
And said, “Show me.”
He smiled for the first time in days.
But when we turned toward the street—
A shadow stepped into our path.
And Jace’s face went pale.
Because standing there, arms crossed and smirking, was someone from his past.
The one he hadn’t told me about.
Yet.
- Writer
