Bella didn’t cry when she got home.
She let herself into Chloe’s apartment quietly, slipping off her shoes and placing her bag on the counter with careful precision. The space smelled faintly of coffee and detergent—ordinary, grounding.
Safe.
She stood there for a long moment, keys still in her hand, heart still beating too fast.
Only then did she exhale.
The morning replayed itself without mercy.
Julian’s calm voice. His careful words. The way distance had returned so easily, like a well-practiced reflex.
It cannot become a pattern.
Bella sat on the edge of the couch, fingers curling into the fabric. She wasn’t angry. That surprised her. Anger would have been simpler, something sharp to hold onto.
Instead, there was confusion. And beneath it, something colder.
Understanding.
Sh
