What Love Survived

Right OnTime

The next morning, I woke up feeling exhilarated—fully awake before my alarm even had a chance to pull me back under.

There was a lightness in my chest I couldn’t explain, like something new had quietly taken root overnight and was already growing. The thought of seeing John again—of knowing we were now on a first-name basis, of hearing his voice without hesitation—felt like a secret kind of joy I could barely contain.

I rushed out the door the moment I heard the train approaching, my steps quick, breath visible in the cold air. The platform was crowded, the usual rush of bodies shifting impatiently, but I barely noticed.

As soon as the doors slid open, I pushed my way in and—

found myself sandwiched between two large men.

Just my luck.

Why did it have to be these oversized gorillas?

I let out a small breath through my nose, trying not to let the frustration show on my face. I wiggled, twisting slightly, finally slipping free with just enough space to breathe again. I managed to reposition myself by the door connecting the carts.

Not ideal.

But better than being trapped.

Still, even there, I felt restless.

The train felt slower than usual that morning, every stop dragging longer than it should have. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the one moving too fast inside my own mind.

Because I kept thinking about him.

About seeing him.

About John.

By the time the train stopped at East 180th Street, I was already halfway out before the doors fully opened.

I hurried up the stairs two at a time, the cold morning air hitting my face as I emerged onto the street. My routine kicked in automatically—I grabbed my morning bagel with cream cheese, holding it carefully as I walked briskly toward work.

But even that couldn’t slow the feeling in my chest.

Because I knew exactly where I was going.

And I knew exactly who might be there.

When I reached Second Avenue, the building stood right in front of me.

But I didn’t move right away.

I just… stood there.

Staring.

My heart began to flip-flop in my chest, uneven and unsteady, like it couldn’t decide whether to settle or break free entirely.

I was so focused on the entrance—the door, the sidewalk, the space where he usually stood—that I didn’t even realize the walk sign had already started blinking.

People moved around me.

Life moved around me.

But I stayed still for just a second too long.

Then I hurried across, quick steps, almost breathless by the time I reached the other side.

And he wasn’t there.

My pace slowed instantly.

Something in my chest sank, quiet and heavy.

Disappointment settled in without permission.

This was the first time in five months.

The first time we had missed each other.

I lowered my head slightly as I walked, suddenly aware of the emptiness in my steps, the way the moment I had been carrying all morning wasn’t unfolding the way I had imagined.

Then—

I felt it.

A hand on my shoulder.

I turned.

And there he was.

John.

Standing right in front of me like nothing had been missing at all.

My face broke into a smile so wide it felt like it might not fit.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

The words landed warm, effortless.

“I woke up thinking about you.”

I blinked, caught off guard in the best way, my smile softening as I looked at him.

Then he added, almost gently, “I hope your day is as bright as your smile.”

My heart tightened in my chest.

“I have to get back,” he said, already stepping back slightly, “I will text you later.”

“Okay… later,” I replied, still smiling like I couldn’t stop.

As he walked away, I felt it again—that floating feeling, like the ground beneath me wasn’t quite solid.

The butterflies in my stomach were having the time of their lives.

And me?

I was gone.

Completely gone in the feeling of him.

By the time I walked into work, I still had that same ridiculous smile on my face, like it had decided to stay there permanently.

I arrived at work, got Sara ready, and met Susan downstairs to take the kiddos to the park.

The day moved around us like usual—strollers, laughter, small conversations—but inside me, everything felt slightly different.

Then I asked Susan, “Are you seeing anyone?”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said honestly. “It’s been hard. Working as a nanny… going home to an empty house every day.”

Something in her voice softened at the end.

“I know the feeling, Susan,” I replied quietly.

She sighed. “I didn’t realize life would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Work and home. Work and home. Five days a week. I thought there would be more… excitement. Friends. Shopping. Exploring. Dancing.”

I smiled slightly.

“We can do all those things.”

She looked at me skeptically. “You have a boyfriend now.”

I shook my head quickly.

“No, I do not.”

A pause.

“We are just getting to know each other.”

Then I leaned in slightly, a spark of idea forming.

“Let’s ask the girls if they want to go dancing this Friday. What do you say?”

Her expression changed immediately. “Really?”

“Yes. If we go dancing in the Bronx, you can stay at my apartment. If we go to Brooklyn, I’ll stay at yours.”

She thought for a second.

Then smiled.

“Sounds like a plan.”

About thirty minutes later, the girls arrived.

The park filled with familiar energy again—voices overlapping, strollers lined up, children laughing in bursts.

We brought up the idea of going out.

Ava immediately said, “There’s a really nice club called The Tropicana in the Bronx. We should all go.”

We all agreed almost instantly.

Then Mia, laughing, said, “We should change our group chat name to The Sippy Cup squad.”

We burst out laughing.

And we did it anyway.

Steven was there.

Watching.

Always watching.

I tried not to look at him, but it was impossible not to feel it—his presence lingering at the edge of everything, like a shadow I couldn’t fully step away from.

It was awkward.

Uncomfortable.

Heavy.

Ava leaned in and said casually, “Katie, I can kick his ass anytime you’re ready.”

We all laughed, but there was something protective in it too.

Something real.

We left the park together and headed back toward our buildings.

Later, I prepared dinner for Sara, gave her a bath, dressed her in her pajamas. The routine helped steady me again, grounding me in something familiar.

Then I got a text from Susan.

Stop by the apartment before you leave, Mrs. Goldberg has something for you.

“Okay,” I replied.

I kissed Sara goodbye.

“I will see you in the morning,” I told her.

She began to cry immediately, clinging to my neck tightly, refusing to let go.

My chest tightened.

Her father finally stepped in gently.

“Sara, Katie has to go home. But she will be back tomorrow to play with you.”

He walked us to the elevator.

I tried not to let my own emotions show too much, but it was hard.

I stopped on the third floor to see Mrs. Goldberg.

She greeted me warmly.

“It is so nice to see you,” she said. “Katie, you always have a pleasant smile on your face.”

“Thank you,” I replied softly.

Then she handed me a Gap bag.

“This is for you. I hope you like it.”

I blinked, surprised.

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

After a while, I said my goodbyes and thanked her again before leaving.

It was already 5:45 p.m. when I stepped outside.

I waved to Tony, our doorman.

“You’re leaving late today,” he said kindly.

“I had to stop by Mrs. Goldberg’s,” I explained.

“Get home safe,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

I waved and walked out.

By the time I reached Second Avenue, it was already 6:00 p.m.

Oh my… I had never left this late before.

The street felt different in the evening—darker, heavier.

And then I saw him.

John.

Still working.

He smiled and winked.

I smiled and waved back.

A small moment.

But enough to stay with me.

By the time I got home, it was dark.

I hated walking in the dark.

Everything felt quieter, more uncertain.

I ate fruit for dinner, took a shower, and started preparing for the next day.

At 9:00 p.m., John called.

“You were late today?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I had to stay after work.”

“I had to stay late too,” he said. “The evening guy was running late.”

“Sounds like one of those days,” I replied.

“How was work?”

“It was good,” I said softly. “Sara cried when I left. It broke my heart. Sometimes I wish I could take her home with me… just for a night.”

There was a pause on the line.

A quiet understanding.

After the call, I opened the Gap bag.

And froze.

Wow.

She had gotten me beautiful outfits.

Perfect sizes.

How did she even know?

I held each piece up carefully, almost in disbelief.

Then I tried them on.

The black fitted dress hugged me just right.

The red skater dress flowed perfectly when I moved.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

And for a moment…

I saw the future version of myself.

Dancing.

Laughing.

Waiting for a date.

I smiled.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.