chapter 11
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. Can we talk, please? I’ll come over to Sophie’s right now.”
I thought about it. For six years, I’d been waiting for him to say those words—to apologize, to acknowledge that he’d hurt me. But now that he had, it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t fix the late nights alone, the fights, the way I’d lost myself trying to fit into his life.
“Not today,” I said. “I need time.”
“Time for what?” he asked.
“Time to figure out if there’s even anything left to talk about.”
He was quiet for a long time. “Okay,” he said finally. “But can I see you soon? I need to show you something.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll call you.”
I hung up and looked at Sophie, who had finished her call and was watching me with concern.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just need to take things one day at a time.”
Over the next week, I went back to Kobe’s apartment while he was at work and filled boxes with my clothes, my books, my art supplies. I avoided his bedroom, the closet where our clothes had hung side by side for years, the photos on the wall—us at Sophie’s birthday, at his startup launch, at the beach where he’d once said, Someday we’ll get married here.
I found a box in the back of the closet labeled “Memories.” Inside were ticket stubs from our first date, a pressed flower from the day he asked me to be his girlfriend, a handwritten note he’d left me before a business trip.
I sat on the floor and read the note, my eyes stinging with tears. I miss you already. Can’t wait to come home to you.