The week moved in awkward fragments.
I'd wake up beside Richard, but our hands rarely brushed now. He'd leave early. Sometimes I'd find his mug still full of untouched coffee on the counter, the way he always did when his mind was too loud for caffeine to help. At night, we'd share space. But not warmth. Not yet.
It wasn't that we were angry.
It was something quieter. Sadder.
Like two people learning how to be in the same room again without stepping on the ghosts they'd left between the furniture.
I visited my old apartment that afternoon.The one I stayed with Mina when I felt tired of this world.
It still smelled faintly of lemon-scented floor cleaner and a forgotten box of chamomile tea. I hadn't returned since moving in with Richard—at first because I didn't need to. Then because it felt like stepping back into a version of myself I wasn't sure I remembered how to be.
But today, I needed the distance.
To breathe.
To think.
My hand trailed across the bookshelf. A photo of me and Mina from college caught my eye—our cheeks squished together, laughing, no filters or edits. Just the kind of joy you only ever have before the world complicates everything.
I sat on the couch and stared at it for a long time.
That version of me would've run from this life. She would've avoided every hard conversation and hidden behind laughter.
But I wasn't her anymore.
My phone buzzed.
Mina:"Need coffee? Or emotional first aid?"
I smiled faintly.
Me: "Both."
Fifteen minutes later, we were curled up on either side of my couch, lattes in hand. Mina handed me a muffin like it was a peace offering.
"So. You, Richard, Evan, the entire internet melting down. Want to unpack that for me?"
I sighed. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"I know. But you also didn't tell Evan to back off."
I winced. "He said he just wanted closure."
Mina raised an eyebrow. "Closure doesn't usually involve lingering stares and showing up uninvited."
I stared into my cup. "I didn't want to hurt Richard. And I didn't want to be cruel to Evan. It feels like no matter what I choose, someone breaks."
"You can't keep protecting everyone," Mina said gently. "You're not obligated to hold Evan's healing in one hand and Richard's insecurities in the other while you bleed out in the middle."
That silence again.
Mina always knew how to find the truth beneath my excuses.
"Do you love him?" she asked quietly. "Richard?"
I nodded, eyes stinging. "Yes. Even when it's hard. Even when I'm scared."
"That's enough. But you've got to start showing him. Not just in quiet promises or guilt. You've got to choose him like it means something."
I nodded again. Slower this time.
Because she was right
It wasn't enough to say it in the dark or whisper it into the quiet. Not anymore.
When I returned to the house, Richard wasn't in his office or the sunroom.
It was nearly evening by the time I found him in the music room. I paused at the door, watching as he moved his fingers over the piano keys—slow, unsure, not playing yet. Just... remembering.
"You play it when you have a lot on your mind," I said softly, stepping inside.
He turned but didn't seem surprised to see me.
"I don't," he replied. "Not really. Just... trying to remember who I was before everything got complicated."
I sat beside him, not touching the keys, just letting the silence hum between us.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Not tonight."
"Okay."
We sat like that for a while.
Then, he reached out, hesitated, and finally let his hand fall gently over mine.
"I was scared, Lara," he said finally. "The studio, Evan, the way you looked when you talked about him... It reminded me of how much I don't know about what you carry."
"I could say the same," I whispered.
He nodded. "I know. I've made mistakes. I've hurt you. But I've never stopped choosing you. Even when I didn't know how to show it."
I turned to face him. "Then let's learn. Together."
A pause.
Then, a smile—small, but real.
And this time, when his lips met mine, it wasn't desperate or broken.
It was healing.
The next morning, I woke up with his arms around me and his breath slow against the back of my neck. It felt different. Not perfect. Not fixed. But honest.
There was still Evan.
There was still the internet wildfire Mina had mentioned.
But for now—there was us.
And the quiet promise that no matter what waited outside our door, we'd face it together.