Undetermined

Wound reopened

The early morning drizzle clung to Emma’s coat as she made her way to the office. The city buzzed with life, but she felt adrift, her thoughts orbiting around Jack’s message. She hadn’t replied, though the words burned a hole in her chest.

Why now?

It had taken years to rebuild herself after his sudden departure. She’d convinced herself that she’d moved on, that Jack was a chapter closed. But her trembling fingers on the subway pole told a different story.

By the time she reached her desk, her resolve had hardened. She couldn’t afford to let his reappearance derail her life. Not now.

Lila popped her head into Emma’s cubicle, holding two mugs of coffee. “Still marinating?”

Emma smirked faintly. “On low heat.”

Lila handed her a mug and perched on the edge of the desk. “Alright, what’s eating you? Don’t say it’s the essay—I know you well enough to spot the look.”

Emma hesitated, her fingers brushing the rim of the mug. “It’s nothing. Just… an old ghost.”

Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “Spill.”

Emma gave a tight laugh. “It’s Jack. He’s back in town. Sent me a message out of the blue.”

Lila’s eyes widened. “Jack as in Jack? The one who disappeared into the ether without so much as a goodbye?”

Emma nodded, and Lila let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s bold. What does he want?”

“To talk,” Emma replied. Her voice was neutral, but her eyes betrayed the storm inside.

“Are you going to let him?” Lila asked, her tone softening.

Emma stared into her coffee, her silence answer enough.

Meanwhile, Jack stood in front of a studio mic, his fingers absently strumming his guitar. The song wasn’t coming together, and he knew why.

“You’re distracted,” Ava said from the control booth. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern.

Jack sighed, setting the guitar down. “I just need some air.”

“You need focus,” Ava countered. “This album isn’t going to finish itself, and you’re running out of time.”

Jack didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out into the crisp autumn air. The streets felt claustrophobic, the weight of his decisions pressing against his chest.

He wandered aimlessly until he found himself in a small park, the kind where the city’s noise faded into the background. Sitting on a bench, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to Emma’s message thread.

Still no reply.

Jack leaned back, his head tilting toward the sky. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—that she’d welcome him back with open arms? That the years of silence could be bridged with a single conversation?

He knew better

That evening, Emma sat at her dining table, staring at her phone. Milo curled up on the chair beside her, purring softly.

“Am I really doing this?” she muttered to herself.

Before she could second-guess, she typed a short response: “Tomorrow. Noon. The café on 5th.”

She hit send and immediately felt her stomach twist. Milo meowed in protest as she stood abruptly, pacing the small apartment.

What was she hoping to gain from this? Closure? Answers? Or was it something more dangerous—something she wasn’t ready to admit even to herself?

Emma ran a hand through her hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She’d spent years burying the ache Jack had left behind, building walls high enough to keep anyone out. And now, with a single message, he threatened to topple them.

Milo hopped onto the table, rubbing his head against her arm as if sensing her turmoil. “You’re right,” she whispered, stroking his soft fur. “It’s just one conversation. I can handle this.”

But as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, sleep didn’t come easily.

Jack’s phone buzzed just as he stepped out of the shower. The screen lit up with Emma’s reply, and for a moment, he just stood there, dripping water onto the bathroom floor.

Tomorrow. Noon. The café on 5th.

He read it twice, relief and apprehension warring inside him. She’d agreed to meet, but he knew this wasn’t the end of the battle—it was just the beginning.

“Careful what you wish for,” he muttered to himself, tossing the phone onto the bed.

Ava’s voice echoed in his mind: Not every scar needs reopening. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was setting himself up for more pain. But Jack had never been one to shy away from a fight, even when it was with his own demons.

He spent the rest of the night writing. Not music, but a list—a scattered collection of thoughts, memories, and truths he needed Emma to hear. When he finally fell asleep, the paper was filled with words that felt more like confessions than explanations.

The next day arrived too quickly. Emma sat at the café, her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee, though she hadn’t taken a sip. The faint hum of conversation surrounded her, but her focus was on the door.

She told herself she wasn’t nervous, but the way her foot tapped against the floor said otherwise. She hadn’t seen Jack in years. Would he look different? Feel different?

The bell above the door jingled, and there he was.

Jack paused in the doorway, scanning the room until his eyes landed on her. For a moment, time seemed to slow. He looked the same, yet not. His hair was shorter, his jawline sharper, but there was a weight in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

Emma forced herself to stay seated as he approached, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice carrying a familiar warmth that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hi,” she replied, her tone cool and controlled.

Jack hesitated before sitting across from her. “Thanks for meeting me.”

Emma shrugged. “You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice.”

He flinched slightly at her words but nodded. “Fair enough.”

The silence between them was heavy, the kind only two people with unfinished business could share.

“Why now, Jack?” Emma asked, cutting straight to the point. “What’s so important that you had to come back after all this time?”

Jack exhaled, his hands clasped together on the table. “Because I couldn’t keep running. And because you deserve to know the truth.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “The truth about what?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer but stopped, his gaze dropping to the table. “About why I left. And why I didn’t come back.”

Emma leaned back, crossing her arms. “You think an explanation is going to fix everything?”

“No,” Jack said firmly, meeting her eyes. “But it’s all I have to offer.”

She stared at him, searching for cracks in his resolve, but all she saw was raw honesty. It unnerved her more than anger or indifference ever could.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. “Start talking.”

Jack opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. His throat felt tight, as if the weight of everything he’d buried for so long was sitting right there, pressing against his chest. Emma’s gaze was unwavering, a silent challenge in her eyes.

She wasn’t giving him a pass.

“Why do you look like you’ve already made up your mind about me?” Jack finally asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because I have. You disappeared without a word, Jack. I had no closure. No explanation. Just… nothing.”

He flinched, the words cutting deeper than he anticipated. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

She scoffed, her lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Hating yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t change what you did.”

Jack let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t expect it to. But I’m trying. And I thought if I told you why—maybe it could make some of the hurt go away.”

Emma looked away, staring into her coffee. Was she really considering this? After all the years? After the anger, the tears, the nights spent wondering if she’d ever get an answer?

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” she said softly.

He leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, Emma. I’m not even asking for that.” He swallowed, looking down at the table as he gathered his thoughts. “I just need you to know the truth. About everything.”

There was silence. The kind of silence that only grew louder the longer it stretched. The noise of the café seemed to fade into the background as Emma watched him, trying to read the man she had once loved.

Jack’s voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “When I left, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I loved you too much to stay.”

Emma blinked, the words settling in her chest like a sudden punch to the gut.

He continued, the words coming faster now, as if once he started, he couldn’t stop. “I got into something—something dark—and I couldn’t pull myself out. I thought if I stayed in your life, I’d drag you into it, too. I thought it was safer for you if I just… vanished.”

Emma shook her head slowly, the bitterness of the past lacing her words. “You didn’t think to talk to me? You didn’t think that maybe I could handle it? Or that you could trust me?”

“I didn’t trust myself,” Jack said, the admission raw, his eyes finally meeting hers again. “I was in a mess, Emma. A dangerous one. And I thought I could fix it on my own. But I was wrong.”

Emma’s heart raced in her chest, her breath shallow. She couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth, or if this was just another story, another excuse.

“So you left. Without a word,” she said bitterly. “And what? You thought I’d just… move on? That I wouldn’t wonder for years why you vanished, what happened to you?”

“I didn’t want you to wait for someone who was already lost,” his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want you to waste your life on a man who wasn’t worthy of it.”

Emma felt a knot tighten in her throat. His words hit too close to something she had tried to bury the part of her that still wanted to believe in the person he had been before everything fell apart.

steadying breath, trying to suppress the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “And now you expect me to just forgive you? To let you back in, after everything?”

Jack’s gaze softened, the flicker of regret never leaving his eyes. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, Emma. I’m just asking for a chance to explain. To show you that I’m not the same person I was.”

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I don’t know if I can trust you again, Jack.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “But I’m not asking for trust right now. I’m just asking for the chance to prove that I’m not the man who left.”

Jack remained seated, watching her with quiet patience, knowing he had no right to rush her decision