Page 42 of Beautiful Ruins
A beat passed.
“Why?”she asked.
Because you don’t have anyone.Because I don’t trust the world with you.Because I’m not sure I can stop caring now that it’s started.
I didn’t say any of that.
“Because I can help.”
Her lips parted like she had something to say, but then she decided against it and typed my number in.
Saved it.
When she slipped the phone into her bag, she stood there for a moment, not moving.
The reluctance was faint but unmistakable.Like part of her wanted to stay—not because she felt safe, but because leaving meant stepping back into the life where Nathan existed.Where consequences lived.Where she didn’t know what was waiting in her apartment.
I watched her struggle with it.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
“Let’s go,” I said finally.
She nodded and followed.
We drove in silence.She sat in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes on the road, jaw tight.She didn’t look at me until we pulled up outside her building.
The streetlights made everything look washed out.Ordinary.
She didn’t move to get out right away.
“You’ll tell Tone I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for her to get back to say goodbye?”she prompted, voice low.
I glanced at her.“I’ll tell her.I’m sure she’ll swing past to see you tomorrow.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she opened the door and stepped out.
I watched her climb the stairs and disappear inside, bag slung over her shoulder, head held high even though I knew she was shaking on the inside.
When the door shut behind her, something in my chest tightened.The silence that followed wasn’t relief.It was absence.And it hit me—sharp and unwanted—that letting her go might have been the right decision… but it was going to cost me anyway.
14
Izzy
The door clicked shut behind me.
For a moment, I just stood there.Then I let the bag fall from my shoulder.It hit the floor with a dull thud that echoed louder than it should have in the small studio.I released a slow breath into the silence—long, shaky, exhausted in a way that felt bone-deep.
Home.
It looked exactly as I’d left it.The same crooked stack of mail on the counter.The same half-finished canvas propped against the wall.The same faint smell of cheap detergent and coffee.
Untouched.But not clean.
