My Ex Wants Me Back

Still Here

(Dorcas )

I held the plate with both hands, fingers pressing into the ceramic edge, still warm from the oven. The cake was soft, a little uneven on one side, but it smelled like vanilla and almond and hope. I stood in the kitchen doorway, waiting for someone—anyone—to notice.

Mara’s voice rang out first. Bright. Too bright.

“Oh, I just brought a red velvet from Sweet Petal Bakery. Everyone loves that place.”

Heads turned. Smiles bloomed. My mother clapped lightly, like Mara had just solved world hunger.

“Oh, you’re thoughtful, Mara. Always on trend.”

I stood there with my homemade cake, watching them orbit her like moths. I felt the heat of the oven still clinging to my skin, but it didn’t reach my chest. Not anymore.

I placed my cake on the corner table.

No one touched it.

Later that evening, Brian tugged on Jude’s sleeve. “Can Aunt Mara pick me up from school tomorrow?”

Jude barely glanced at me. “Yeah, she might be free.”

My lips parted. The words were thin, caught in my throat. I looked at Brian , then at Jude.

He didn’t look back.

I sat in the living room alone, silence a second skin. From the kitchen, I could hear Mara laughing with Jude—voices low, then high, too easy. The sound scratched at something small and sharp inside me.

That weekend, I tried again.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” I asked Jude. “Just the three of us.”

He blinked, slow, like I’d interrupted a more important thought.

“Already took Brian out,” he said. “Mara came too. It was last minute.”

I nodded, but the nod didn’t reach my neck. My arms folded across my chest without me telling them to.

“You could’ve called,” I said.

He shrugged. “Don’t make a scene, Dorcas . It wasn’t a big deal.”

I wondered if I even had a shape anymore, something visible, tangible. I looked down at my hands and didn’t know why they were shaking.

Sunday came.

I was slicing apples in the kitchen when I heard my mother’s voice drift in from the living room. She always forgot I could hear her when she was talking to Mara.

“Dorcas ’s trying, bless her. But you—you have the touch. Modern. Stylish. Good with people. You should’ve been the one married to Jude.”

I cut the apple too hard. The knife hit the counter. I didn’t bleed, but something inside did.

The rest of the day blurred. I moved through it like glass, clear, but easily cracked.

Night fell. Hours past bedtime, I found myself wide awake. I stood by the hallway window, bare feet cold on the wooden floor.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the fridge hum faded.

I walked outside.

The cold bit through my thin sleepwear. My breath formed clouds in the air. My toes numbed, but I didn’t turn back.

I walked. Past the driveway. Down the street. Through the silent blocks where porch lights buzzed and dogs barked at nothing.

I kept walking.

I found the bridge without meaning to.

It was just there, draped in fog, the metal rails catching moonlight like old bones. The cold bit through the sleeves of my robe, but I didn’t pull them down. My fingers curled around the top bar, and it burned, cold like the inside of a freezer left too long.

Below me, the river moved like something alive and angry. It didn’t whisper, it growled. Every crash against the rocks sounded like teeth grinding, impatient.

I stepped up onto the lower bar, slow, like my body didn’t really belong to me. My slippers slipped a little, but I didn’t flinch. I was tired, deeper than sleep could fix. My robe flapped in the wind like it wanted to leave before I did.

My hand let go for a second. Just one.

And in that second, I thought—Mara will pretend to care, And my mother... My mother will tell people it was postpartum, even though Brian 's five. She'll say she always knew something was wrong.

“Hey!”

A voice cracked through the wind, sharp and too close.

I didn’t turn. My foot shifted. The metal scraped under me.

“Don’t—please don’t,” the voice begged, hoarse and shaking. A woman’s voice.

“Why?” My own voice came out flat. “You need to feel useful tonight?...... don't tell me you're here to preach that I matter and all those nonsense”

“I need you to live.”

The laugh came out before I could catch it. Harsh, empty. “Live. That’s a funny word for it.” I stared at the water. “My son calls me ‘ma’am’. My husband doesn’t look at me unless I’m in his way. My mother thinks Mara’s perfect. And I—”

I choked. Swallowed it down like I always do.

“Ghosts don’t shake,” the woman said. Quiet. Right behind me.

I looked. My hands were trembling, knuckles pale. I didn’t remember when that started.

“Dorcas .”

The name cut through me like a hot knife.

I didn’t answer. My knees locked. My shoulders shook once.

“You whispered your name before I called you. When you turned,” she said.

The river roared again. It sounded closer. Or maybe I was leaning forward.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Her breath hitched. “I know.”

Her hand hovered behind me, not touching. Just there.

“But let’s hurt together. Just tonight. I’ll carry some, if you let me.”

Together.

The word cracked something wide open in me. I didn’t know how empty I was until it echoed inside.

I stepped down.

Not fast. Not like a decision. More like... the opposite.

The moment my feet hit pavement, my legs gave up.

I folded.

She caught me.

Arms around me like scaffolding, holding something broken but still standing.

I cried like I’d been holding it in for ten years, maybe longer. It wasn’t pretty. There was snot, gasping, hiccups, ugly sounds from deep in my ribs.

She didn’t say it would be okay. Didn’t say I was brave. She just held on.

When the sobs ran out, she wiped my face with something soft. Her scarf, maybe. I didn’t care.

“Angela…… My name is Angela,” she said.

Her eyes were dark. Wrinkled at the corners, like someone who’d cried hard and didn’t stop wearing eyeliner after.

We walked back. I didn’t ask her where she came from. She didn’t ask why I’d climbed the rail.

Her arm stayed around me the whole time.

Even when I mumbled, “I’m fine.”

She didn’t let go.

My house looked smaller than usual, like a stage prop. Fake. Like if you pushed too hard, the front wall would fall.

Angela stopped at the steps.

“You’ll drink water. Sit down. Breathe. Just that.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t mean it.

She turned.

“Wait,” I said, hand catching her coat. “Why?”

She looked at me like she’d been waiting for that question.

“My sister jumped,” she said, voice small. “And I still don’t know why she didn’t ask me to stay.”

She left before I could answer.

Inside, the house creaked like it had been holding its breath.

Upstairs, Brian ’s nightlight glowed under his door. I stood there, hand pressed flat against the wood.

Not knocking. Not going in. Just… staying.

Still here, I told the quiet.

Still here.