October 15, 2026
We’d been living in the loft for six weeks.
It felt like home.
Mornings: coffee on the balcony, Damien in a suit, me in pajamas, stealing kisses before he left for work.
Evenings: cooking together, music playing, city lights through the windows.
Weekends: lazy brunches, Mia coming over sometimes, laughing on the couch like old times.
Work was good.
My job at Apex was everything I’d hoped—creative, challenging, people who got me.
Damien’s company thriving.
On the surface, perfect.
Underneath, the crack with my parents widened.
They hadn’t visited the apartment.
Hadn’t asked to.
I went home every other Sunday.
Alone.
Dinner was polite.
Conversation surface.
Mom asked about work.
Dad about the weather.
No mention of Damien.
No “how’s living together?”
No
