April 12–18, 2026.
The week after the coffee meeting was a different kind of silence.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Just… waiting.
Mia texted once.
Mia (April 13): Thanks for being honest. Still thinking.
That was it.
No calls.
No visits.
Damien and I lived in limbo.
We went through motions—work, meals, sleep.
But everything felt paused.
I moved back home officially.
Couldn’t stay in her house without her there.
It felt wrong.
Damien understood.
But the nights apart hurt.
We met when we could—lunch in his car, late drives, quick hours at his place when Mia was at work.
Always watching the clock.
Always wondering.
One night, he picked me up after my parents were asleep.
Drove to the overlook where we’d gone New Year’s Eve.
Sat in the dark.
Held hands.
“I keep thinking she’ll
