11
1809 Words
NADIA
The next three weeks blur into work. Sketches, fittings, client meetings. Days start early, end late. On weekends, I attend fashion shows, smiling for photos that barely feel like me. Somewhere in between, I find time to write handwritten notes to a few loyal clients — small, personal gestures that remind them I still care.
One of them, Lillian, replies almost immediately. She wants to meet for coffee to discuss something special — a dress for her daughter’s graduation.
“She’s everything I’ve got,” she says, setting her tablet aside as the waiter drops off our drinks. “This milestone means the world to us.”
I smile, genuinely. “She’s lucky to have you, Lillian.” I reach across the table, giving her hand a light squeeze.
She squeezes back, her smile warm. “How’s your husband?”
My smile falters before I can stop it. “Felix?”
She chuckles. “Last I checked, that’s the only one you had.”
“He’s fine,” I say, lowering my gaze so she won’t catch the flicker of hurt in my eyes.
“That’s all I get?” she teases, eyes twinkling.
“Lillian,” I say in mock warning, but my lips curve anyway. “We’re here to talk about your dress, remember?”
“Who says we can’t do both?” She lifts her coffee with a knowing grin. “I’ve always admired what you and Felix have. It’s rare.”
I tilt my head. “I don’t think so. Everyone I know seems happily married.”
“Really? Name three.” She raises three fingers, amused.
Three. Laura isn’t married yet, though she’s been with her college sweetheart for years.
And me.
A soft laugh escapes me as I lift my mug to hide it. “Apparently, I’ve forgotten every happy couple I know.”
Lillian chuckles. “That’s what happens when you’re buried in work. You forget to notice the good stuff.”
“Maybe,” I say quietly.
She pats my hand again, gentle and motherly. “You and Felix are one of the good ones, though. You can tell. The way you talk about him, the way you light up.”
Something tightens in my chest, but I keep my smile steady. “We manage.”
“That’s marriage,” she says knowingly. “Managing, loving, forgiving… and laughing when you can. Don’t ever stop laughing.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say, meaning it more than she knows.
She chuckles softly. “Good. Now, before I turn this into a counseling session—” She slides her tablet back toward me. “—let’s talk about this dress.”
Relieved, I lean forward. “You mentioned elegant but not too loud. Something graceful that won’t steal your daughter’s spotlight.”
“Exactly.” Her face lights up. “It’s her big day, but I’d like to look like the mother who raised her right.”
I laugh. “You will. I’m thinking something soft and refined — maybe a gold undertone or muted champagne. It’ll flatter your complexion.”
“Mm.” She nods approvingly. “I like that. You always know how to read people, Nadia.”
I smile at the compliment, my chest tightening with quiet emotion. “It’s part of the job.”
“It’s more than that,” she says kindly. “You see people. That’s a rare gift.”
I glance at her, then down at the sketch glowing on the tablet screen. “Thank you, Lillian,” I say softly.
For a moment, the air between us feels still — gentle, honest. Then she claps her hands lightly. “Well, that settles it. You’re a genius, and I’m going to look fabulous.”
When we finish, Lillian insists on paying for the coffee. “You can bill me later for the masterpiece,” she says, slipping her card to the waiter.
“Lillian—”
She waves me off. “Don’t argue with a woman who’s seen sixty birthdays. We’ve earned the right to spoil people.”
I laugh softly. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.” She stands, smoothing her coat with practiced grace. “Take care of yourself, Nadia. And that husband of yours. Tell him he’s a lucky man.”
Her tone is kind — no teasing, just genuine warmth.
“I will,” I say, smiling though something trembles underneath.
She gives my hand one last squeeze before heading out, leaving behind a faint trace of perfume.
When she’s gone, the café feels quieter. I stare at the empty chair, the coffee cooling beside me. On the tablet, the sketch of her dress glows softly — elegant, calm, confident. Just like her.
I trace the outline with my finger, then close the file.
For a long moment, I sit there in the stillness, watching people rush by outside — laughing, living, moving.
I can’t help but wonder what Mystery Man has been up to these past three weeks.
It’s ridiculous, really—how easily my mind drifts back to him, to the sound of his voice as he’d tell me little things about his day. Nothing deep. Just ordinary details—what he planned to cook, a meeting he was dreading, the random playlist he found on Spotify.
Back then, it never felt like much. I didn’t try to read between the lines or assign meaning where there wasn’t any. I wasn’t with him to connect. I was with him to forget.
Forget Felix.
Forget the constant noise that life has become.
Forget the version of me that clung too tightly to a marriage already gasping for air.
He was my escape hatch—my pause button from the ache, the guilt, the emptiness that came after.
And now, sitting here at this café surrounded by laughter, silverware clinking, and the soft hum of background music, I can’t help but wonder if he’s found his own escape.
If he's missing me.
I reach for my purse, ignoring the quiet hum of conversation around me. The burner phone rests inside, tempting. I need to know if he’s reached out. If he’s thinking about me too.
The screen lights up. Three unread messages, all from him..
Unknown: You okay?
Unknown: Just checking in.
Unknown: Guess you’re done with me, huh?
The last one was sent three days ago.
My fingers hover over the phone, itching to respond, but I don’t. Not today.
Just then, the waiter passes by, asking if I need anything else.
I manage a faint smile and shake my head, grateful for the small tether back to reality.
What I need isn’t on the menu.
There’s an honest-to-God part of me that wants to call him and apologize. Just to hear his voice and maybe fix the mess between us. But I can’t. I need some distance—space away from him—to clear my head and think things through.
Everything happened so fast. One minute I was hung up on Felix, and the next, a man I barely know had me wrapped around his fingers like I was made to fit there. It’s insane how quickly things spun out of control, how easily I let it happen.
I clear my tray and take it to the counter, the clatter of plates louder than it should be. The waiter asks if I need anything else, and I nod, ordering some pastries to take home to Mom—a small thank-you for letting me crash at her place before I finally head home tomorrow to face Felix.
My phone buzzes on the table. A text. Felix.
I stare at it for a long moment before turning the screen face down. I can’t deal with him right now. Not with the weight of everything he said still pressing on my chest.
I’ve had more than enough time to think about that night, to replay every word he threw at me. And still, every time I do, my stomach jolts with the same anger and contempt, sharp and unforgiving—like I’m right back there again.
The evening air is cool as I make my way back to Mom’s. The paper bag in my hand is still warm, the smell of pastries drifting up with each step.
Laughter filters through the open window before I even reach the porch—country music playing low in the background, the clatter of pans, and Mom’s unmistakable laugh, bright and carefree.
I push the door open and step inside. I can’t tell who she’s with, and honestly, I don’t care. I just want to drop the bag on the coffee table, crawl into bed, and sleep. It’s been a long day, and the thought of going back home to Felix tomorrow doesn’t exactly spark joy.
Mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, a trace of flour dusting her cheek.
“There you are, darling! How was your meeting?”
I hand her the paper bag. “It was good. Lillian needs a dress for her daughter’s graduation next month.”
“Lillian? As in the Lillian? The real estate hotshot everyone’s been raving about?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She’s one of my regular clients.”
She beams, eyes soft with pride as she pulls me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re a force to reckon with.”
“Thanks, Mom.” My voice is quiet.
I start to ask who she’s cooking for, why she hasn’t introduced us—then I see him.
Just a glimpse of familiar dark hair over her shoulder, and the air rushes out of my lungs.
Mom’s smile fades for a heartbeat. Her eyes flick toward the kitchen, then back to me, cautious.
My smile falters. My fingers tighten around the strap of my purse.
“Is that… Felix?” I manage, my throat tightening.
Before she can answer, he steps out from behind the doorway. He looks the same—too much the same. Hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, like he’s been rehearsing what to say.
“Nadia—”
But I’m already moving. Past him. Past the tension hanging thick between us.
My room door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing through the house. I sink into bed, bury my face in my hands, and let the sob break free—loud and shaking, the kind that rips straight out of your chest before you can stop it.
And to be honest, I can’t tell if I’m breaking apart because it’s Felix standing out there and not the man I so desperately want to see… or because a part of me is terrified I’ll never truly be free from this marriage
- Writer
