Chapter 18: Absence
1072 Words
The week came quietly.
No announcement, no buildup—just Monday.
Athena arrived at the office earlier than usual. Not intentionally. Just… earlier.
The elevator ride felt longer than it should have. Too quiet. Too still. When the doors opened to their floor, she stepped out already scanning, already aware of what she was doing, and choosing not to stop.
The Sales floor looked the same—busy, familiar, unchanged.
But something was missing.
She walked to her desk, set her things down, turned slightly—
Nothing.
No glance from across the floor. No subtle acknowledgment. No presence.
She told herself it didn’t matter.
And for a moment, it almost didn’t.
“Morning, Athena.”
“Morning,” she replied easily, slipping into routine as if it could anchor her.
Work came quickly—calls, reports, numbers. She moved through them with the same efficiency, the same focus. Her voice steady, her decisions precise, her attention where it needed to be.
But in between, her eyes drifted.
Once.
Then again.
Toward Legal.
It wasn’t deliberate. Not something she chose. But it happened anyway, quietly threading itself through her concentration until ignoring it required more effort than acknowledging it.
By mid-morning, she gave in—not abruptly, not noticeably, just enough to quiet the distraction.
“Is Atty. Carrero in?” she asked casually as she passed one of the staff.
A shrug. “He’s not around.”
“Meeting?”
“I think he left.”
“Left?”
“Out of town, I heard.”
That stopped her. Not in a way anyone would notice. Not enough to draw attention. But enough.
“When?”
“Over the weekend, I think.”
She nodded once. “Alright.”
And walked away before anything else could be said.
Back to her desk. Back to her work.
But something had shifted.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… hollow.
He hadn’t said anything.
Not a word. No message. No warning.
Nothing.
And that settled deeper than she expected.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even disappointment in the way she understood it.
It was the quiet realization that she had expected something.
And she hadn’t noticed when that expectation began.
Later that day, her phone lit up.
His name.
For a second, everything else fell away.
She opened it.
Carrero: Busy day?
That was it.
She stared at the message, read it again, and felt something tighten—not because of what he said, but because of what he didn’t.
Athena: I heard you left.
There was a pause.
Then—
Carrero: I did.
No explanation. No context.
Her grip on the phone tightened slightly.
Athena: You didn’t say anything.
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back.
Carrero: It was sudden.
She exhaled, but it didn’t settle anything.
Athena: I see.
Another pause.
Carrero: Everything okay there?
She almost smiled. Almost.
Athena: Yes.
She didn’t say more. Didn’t ask more.
And neither did he.
The conversation ended there, but the silence that followed felt different now.
He was somewhere else.
And for the first time since this began, she felt the distance—not physical, but something quieter. Something that reached further.
That evening, her boyfriend arrived.
The familiarity was immediate. Easy conversation, shared history, a rhythm she knew without thinking.
“How’s work?” he asked.
“Busy,” she replied.
“You sound like you like it.”
“I do.”
He smiled. “So, the city’s treating you well.”
She nodded. “It is.”
And it was true.
Everything about it should have felt right.
The days that followed were filled with movement—dinners, walks, conversations that resumed as if no time had passed. It was easy. Comfortable. Familiar.
And that was what unsettled her.
Because nothing was wrong.
And yet something was missing.
Not in him. Not in what they had.
But in her.
She found herself quieter than usual, more aware of her own pauses, of the spaces between conversations. Of the moments when her thoughts drifted without permission.
He noticed.
“You, okay?” he asked one night.
She smiled, soft but not entirely convincing. “I’m just tired.”
He accepted it. Se didn’t.
Because she knew it wasn’t fatigue.
It was comparison.
Unwanted. Uninvited.
But there.
She had planned to talk to him. Properly. Honestly. To say something that made sense, something fair.
But every time the moment came, it slipped.
Or she let it.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
And she wasn’t ready for that.
Until—
“I have to leave earlier than expected,” he said one morning.
She looked up. “Why?”
“Something came up back home. I can’t stay the whole week.”
He paused. “Just a few more days.”
It should have made things easier. Given her time. Given her distance.
But instead, it felt like something closing before she had the chance to understand it.
Later that evening, she said it.
“I think I need some space.”
The words were careful. Measured.
But they carried more truth than she intended to reveal.
“Space?” he repeated.
She nodded. “I just… need time to think.”
“About what?”
A pause.
“Everything.”
He studied her, confusion and concern settling in his expression.
“Did I do something?”
“No.” Too quick. “It’s not you.”
And even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t enough.
Because it wasn’t the full truth.
The truth was—there was something else.
Someone else.
Not fully claimed. Not fully defined.
But present.
And she didn’t know how to explain something that had no clear beginning, but already carried weight.
“I just need time,” she said again, softer now.
This time, he didn’t argue.
But something shifted.
Not a break. But a space.
And spaces had a way of growing.
The week didn’t unfold the way she expected.
Nothing did.
Carrero was gone without warning.
Her boyfriend was there—then leaving.
And in between, she was left with something she could no longer dismiss.
Not the comfort. Not the history.
But the absence.
And the quiet, undeniable realization that it was not his absence that unsettled her the most—
but what remained even after he was gone.
And how easily she could no longer pretend it didn’t matter.
- Writer
