We made small talk like two people who had not torn each other open.Like there was not a crater between us filled with things we were not saying.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Then something in me finally gave way.
Not in a dramatic, throw-the-furniture kind of way.More like a quiet, exhausted crack.The sound of something that had been holding too much for too long deciding it was done pretending.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
She froze, mug halfway to her mouth.“Do what?”
“Pretend I’m fine,” I replied.“Pretend you leaving didn’t tear something out of me that never grew back.”
Her eyes shifted, softer now.Careful.
“I feel like part of myself is missing,” I went on, because once the truth starts leaking, it does not stop politely.“And it’s ridiculous because you’re right here.Alive.Breathing.Looking at me like I didn’t completely lose my mind over you.But it still feels like I lost you.”
The room fell quiet in that way that feels heavier than noise.
She studied me for a long second, then set her mug down like she was afraid of spilling something more fragile than coffee.
“Well,” she said gently, “why didn’t you say something, silly?”
I blinked.“That’s… it?”
She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her soap.“You do not get to suffer in silence and then act shocked when you’re miserable.If you miss me, you are allowed to say it.”
“I didn’t think I was,” I said.
“Allowed?”
“Forgiven.”
Her hand lifted and rested against my chest, right where it still ached like an old injury that never healed properly.
“I left because I was scared,” she said quietly.“Not because I didn’t love you.”
That word worked its way into my chest and lodged there, deep and permanent.
“Turns out it didn’t matter what your end game was, Gianni,” she went on.“Because my heart never got the memo.But I never stopped wanting you.”
My breath came out rough, uneven.“I just… did not know how to protect you without building walls.”
She smiled, small and sad and fond.“You are terrible at half-measures, Gianni.But you are trying now.”
I nodded once.That was all I trusted myself with.
“I am.”
Her fingers slid into mine, warm and steady, like she had always known exactly where to fit.
“Then maybe,” she said, “we try again.Without the cages.”
44
Mikayla