I don’t leave immediately.
That’s the part no one talks about. The space between deciding and actually moving your body. I stand in the bedroom doorway with my heels still on, one strap twisted, my feet aching, the house too quiet for what just happened to us out there. The gala lights are still buzzing behind my eyes. Flashes. Smiles that hurt my cheeks. The way Ethan’s hand had tightened around mine like pressure could glue us together.
I kick the heels off. One lands on its side. The other hits the wall and makes a small, stupid sound. It feels loud.
Ethan is in the living room. I can hear him moving. Not pacing. Just… existing loudly. Drawers opening. A glass clinking. He doesn’t come in. He’s giving me space. Or bracing himself. Sometimes those look the same.
My phone is in my clu
