The next morning, the air felt heavier than usual. I hadn’t slept much after Nicolas left, his words still echoing in my mind. The guilt, the longing, the chaos—it was all too much.
I tried to lose myself in mundane tasks, but nothing worked. My thoughts kept circling back to the same tangled mess, and the more I tried to unravel it, the tighter it seemed to get.
Then, just as I was settling into a false sense of calm, a car engine roared outside my apartment. I glanced through the window and froze.
Chris.
I barely had time to process his arrival before there was a firm knock at the door.
Steeling myself, I opened it to find him standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and determination.
“Chris,” I started, but he raised a hand, cutting me off.
“We need to talk,” he said,
