And the truth?
A man only gives himself that freely to a woman once.
Take care of yourself, Nia. You're going to need that strength now more than ever.
— Jade with the LastLaugh
The kitchen stayed quiet long after I finished reading. I stood there with the paper still open in my hands. There was a time when something like this would have shattered me. I would have felt it immediately. That sharp, ripping feeling in the chest that makes breathing feel like work. I would have cried until my face hurt. I would have demanded answers. Thrown things. Said words that didn't come from a calm place. But standing there in that kitchen, I didn't feel any of that. Not the way Jade probably imagined I would. Instead, something else settled in my chest. Something quieter. A kind of understanding. The first crack had started months ago. The truth was I already knew. Maybe not the details. But the absence.
Jade thought she was delivering some kind of devastating revelation. But all she really did was confirm what my heart had already prepared for. I folded the letter up and put it back in the box. My hands were steady. If I said I was surprised, I would be lying. Yeah, it hurt, but honestly, not like it used to. If anything, it solidified my decision.
He'd clearly been taking time for him, so now I was about to take some time for me. I carried the box upstairs first. Not to hide it. Just to put the pictures back neatly so the kids would never accidentally see them if they came home early. The hallway felt longer than usual as I walked down it. Family photos hung on the walls. Birthday parties. School events. Vacations.Smiling faces frozen in moments where everything looked whole.
I stopped in our bedroom doorway. The room looked exactly the same as it always did. Our bed made. Jules' side of the dresser was cluttered with watches and loose change. My side cleaner, simpler. I opened the closet and pulled down a small travel bag. It felt strange packing without feeling rushed. No anger pushing my movements or tears blurring my eyes. Just quiet decisions.
I packed enough clothes for about a week. A couple of comfortable outfits. My journal. My toothbrush. The small bottle of lavender oil my therapist once told me helped calm the nervous system. Halfway through packing, I sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment. My hands rested in my lap.
I thought about the girl I used to be. The one who fell in love with Jules before either of us really knew what life was going to demand from us. Back then, love had felt simple. Like something strong enough to hold everything together. But time had a way of stretching people into different shapes. And somewhere along the way, I had learned how to survive inside the life we built instead of asking myself whether I was still happy living in it.
I zipped the bag. I made sure to leave the box open on the bed before leaving the house. I pulled out my phone and typed a text to Jules. "Pick up the kids today. There's something for you on the bed."
I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door. The air outside felt warm against my face. I stepped off the porch and got into my car. For a moment, I sat there with my hands resting on the steering wheel.
I started the engine. I pulled away from the house, and I wasn't concerned about looking back for the next week.
I ended up booking a room for a week at some fancy ass hotel near the airport that I used to hear Amina talk about all the time. I remembered her mentioning it a few times after long flights, talking about the quiet rooms and the deep soaking tubs like they were some kind of small luxury that made being tired feel worth it. At the time, I hadn't paid much attention. Back then, I didn't think about places you went to be alone. I had never really allowed myself that kind of space. Now I needed it.
I'd sent Chiana a text letting her know where I was and how to reach me before turning my phone off. The message had been simple. No long explanation. Just the name of the hotel and the room number, with a line that said I was safe and needed a few days to myself. She replied almost immediately with a heart and a short message telling me she loved me. I stared at the screen for a moment before turning the phone completely off. I didn't want to be bothered. I didn't need anyone expressing their concern because they thought I was falling apart. I wasn't falling apart. At least not in the way people usually imagined.
The hotel room smelled like clean linen and something faintly floral. Everything in it looked untouched and symmetrical in that way hotel rooms did before you'd been in. The bed was big. White comforter pulled tight across the mattress. Pillows stacked neatly like someone expected you to disturb them. The windows overlooked a stretch of highway and the airport runways in the distance. Planes lifted slowly into the sky every few minutes, disappearing into low clouds.
For a long moment, I just stood there with my bag sitting on the luggage rack, looking around the room like I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. Being alone felt strange. My life had always revolved around someone else. The quiet in that room felt thick at first. I ordered a few bottles of wine and ran myself a bubble bath. The water filled the tub slowly, steam rising in soft waves that fogged up the mirror across from the sink. I poured more bubble bath than I probably needed, watching the foam spread across the surface like clouds drifting over water.
The bathroom lights were dim and warm. Everything about the space felt slower than the life I had left behind earlier that afternoon.
I undressed slowly before sliding down into the bath, letting the hot water wrap around me until my shoulders sank beneath the bubbles. The warmth moved through my muscles slowly. For a few minutes, I just closed my eyes and breathed. I found myself sitting in the bath, relaxing, before opening my journal, which sat on the side of the tub.
That journal had followed me through a lot over the past couple of months. Therapy had been the one thing I hadn't expected to help me as much as it did. At first, writing felt awkward. Like I was trying to explain things to someone who couldn't answer me back. But over time, the pages started holding things I didn't know how to say out loud. Now it felt natural to reach for it.
I picked up my pen and started writing. The page stayed blank for a long moment. Because I had too much. Eventually, the words started coming slowly. Most of the words I found myself putting on the paper were for Juliana. Her name alone made something shift in my chest. Grief didn't leave you the waypeople thought it did. It didn't pack its bags and disappear after enough time passed. It settled inside you and never truly left.
I wanted her to know that I loved her, and I was sorry. I told her things I used to whisper into her hair when she was little and half asleep in my arms. That she had changed my life. That she had taught me things about patience and love that I didn't even know I was capable of learning. I was thankful for the time I got to spend with her and everything I learned from being her mother. Especially the hard parts. Because loving someone that deeply meant accepting that life didn't always give you as much time as you deserved.
I wrote slowly. The pen moving across the paper steady. The bathroom quiet except for the soft sound of water shifting when I moved in the tub. I was letting go of this grief now. Not forgetting it, Never that. But letting it stop controlling the shape of my life.
Later that night I found myself downstairs at the hotel bar working on my third margarita eating fried pickles and cheese sticks. The bartender had long stopped asking me if I wanted another drink and had simply started replacing them once the glass got low enough. The lime and salt sat heavy on my tongue, the burn of tequila warm in my chest in a way that softened the sharp edges of the day.
The atmosphere down here was lively. People were laughing in small groups around tables. A couple sat at the end of the bar leaning into each other like the rest of the world had disappeared around them. Business travelers in suits loosened their ties and ordered drinks like they were trying to shake off the day. The low hum of music filled the space. Something smooth and slow. The kind of music that didn't demand attention but wrapped itself around the room quietly. I wasable to enjoy my own company. It felt strange admitting that to myself.
I smelt the scent of a cologne I hadn't smelt before float beside me as the seat shifted and somebody sat in it. It was subtle at first. Clean. Expensive. The kind of scent that didn't try too hard to be noticed but lingered anyway. I looked him over, taking him in. He was dressed down in a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt, the kind of casual that still managed to look deliberate. His skin was dark like chocolate, smooth under the warm bar lighting, and an expensive watch sat heavy on his wrist like it belonged there.
He smiled at me, showcasing his white teeth. There was an ease about him. The kind of confidence that didn't need to be loud. "Do you mind if I sit next to you?" He questioned, making himself comfortable.
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "I mean you already sitting there," I said, motioning to him sitting in the chair, making him let out a deep chuckle. The sound of it was low and warm, and I noticed right away the slight accent in the way he spoke. He wasn't from Louisiana. That much was obvious.
"I'm Enzi, what's your name?" He questioned. I stayed blank for a second, connecting the dots. The name landed in my mind before I even meant for it to. I'd heard the name plenty of times when Jules talked business. An African they'd been working with for a while. Jules had mentioned him more than once in conversations with Juste and Pierre when they thought nobody else was paying attention. But I had never met him, not face to face.
I cracked a side smile before sticking my hand out. "Nia," I said to him. His hand was warm when it wrapped aroundmine. He held it a second longer than necessary before letting go. He sat there for a minute, like maybe he recognized me, like something about my face had triggered a thought he couldn't quite grab. But he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he turned slightly and motioned to the bartender. He ordered a double shot of 1942 before relaxing in his chair.