It was a Saturday morning.
Soft light filtered through Teresa's curtains, casting streaks across her pillow. For the first time in a while, she had the day off. No apron. No napkins to fold. No pretending she was okay.
She lay in bed, tangled in her sheets, scrolling half-heartedly through her phone, trying to distract her thoughts from replaying the restroom kiss, the moment Liam saw her. The disappointment in his eyes still haunted her.
A notification buzzed on her screen.
Unknown Number:
"Good morning, beautiful."
Her heart paused.
She sat up, squinting at the screen.
Teresa:
Who is this?
Another reply came in seconds later.
Unknown Number:
The only person whose kiss drove you crazy and made your heart race.
Her throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard. She didn't want to entertain it.
But she did.
Teresa:
Hold on right there, you do not make my heart race and how did you get my number?
Unknown Number:
How'd I get your number? I have my ways...you sure I don't make your heart race? Should I come over to confirm it for you?
Teresa:
Creepy.
She blushed.
Unknown Number:
Anything to get you.
She bit her lip.
Of course he would do something like that — dig for her number without asking. Andrea never played fair.
Teresa:
What do you want?
Andrea:
Want is a dangerous word. You sure you want me to answer that?
Her chest fluttered. She hated how easily he still got to her.
Teresa:
This isn't funny.
Andrea:
I'm not laughing, sweetheart. I'm imagining your lips right now.
They always taste like heartbreak and honey.
Teresa:
That's a dumb line.
Andrea:
Yet your heart's racing. I win again.
She tossed her phone onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. God, he was annoying. And clever. And hot. And confusing.
Moments later, another text buzzed.
Andrea:
Meet me. I miss you
Teresa:
No.
Andrea:
Say yes.
Teresa:
Why? So you can leave me more confused than I already am?
Andrea:
No. So I can remind you why you're the only girl who ever got under my skin.
One hour. Bring your attitude. And that pretty lips of yours.
She stared at the screen, unsure whether she wanted to scream or blush.
Another ping.
Andrea:
Location sent.
A pin dropped into her iMessage. A private park. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that looked like him, exclusive, hidden, expensive.
She didn't reply. But she didn't delete the message either.
⸻
Meanwhile, at the restaurant, Becca walked in early, wearing her shortest skirt and the boldest lipstick she could find.
Tracy raised an eyebrow and recognized that she was the girl from Tessa's story.
Priya whispered under her breath, "Why is she dressed like it's karaoke night and she's the main act?"
Jane smirked. "Maybe she thinks the tighter the skirt, the faster Andrea comes back."
Becca ignored them, walking to the manager's office. She peeked inside. Empty. She pulled out her phone and texted Andrea again.
You okay? Where are you? I miss you.
No reply. Again.
She clenched her phone and stormed out of the restaurant.
Becca had a secret too. And it was growing.
She touched her stomach.
Three weeks late.
And if her guess was right this baby wasn't just going to ruin her body.
It was going to ruin everything.
⸻
Back in Teresa's room, she paced the floor in a hoodie and shorts, phone still open, Andrea's text staring back at her like a dare.
Was she really about to meet him?
What if he was playing her again?
What if he just wanted sex?
But what if… he didn't?
A knock pulled her out of her spiral.
Not at the door.
Her window.
She turned sharply.
Andrea stood on the fire escape. Hands in his pockets. Hair messy. A black hoodie and gray joggers. He looked like a sin wrapped in apology.
She yanked open the window. "Are you insane?"
"Possibly," he said with a smirk. "But you didn't text back, and I don't do silence well."
"Why are you here?"
"You didn't show up. So I came to you."
"Not how this works, Andrea."
"It is today."
She opened her mouth to argue, but his eyes were soft. Not cocky. Not calculating.
Just tired.
And honest.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I suck at feelings. I ruin things before they start. But with you…"
"What?"
"You make me want to try."
That scared her more than anything.
She stepped back, giving him room to climb in.
He didn't hesitate.
And when they stood face to face in her small bedroom, surrounded by books, half-done laundry, and scented candles. He smiled like it was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen.
She folded her arms. "Don't kiss me again unless I ask for it"
His eyes searched hers.
"I won't kiss you again unless you want it."
"Do you?" He asked
Her knees wobbled.
"I'm busy. I've got to fold some laundry" she replied
"Let me help you" he smiled
******
The atmosphere was light. Teresa couldn't stop laughing. Andrea had just folded one of her tops into a neat little triangle and placed it on his head like a crown.
"Bow before your king," he said in a fake British accent, kneeling dramatically.
She burst into another round of laughter, flopping onto the bed beside the half-folded clothes.
"You're so unserious," she chuckled, catching her breath.
"You love it," he smirked, lying down beside her. Their shoulders touched. Neither moved away.
The silence between them was comfortable. Rare. Teresa turned her head, watching him. "It's weird."
"What is?"
"You," she whispered. "You being here… like this. Helping me fold laundry. Laughing. It doesn't feel real."
He glanced at her, his face softer than usual. "I'm trying, Tess. For you."
Her breath caught for a second, but she didn't reply. She just looked at him… and smiled.
He sat up, reaching for the next pile of clothes. "Okay, now teach me how to fold a bedsheet without cursing."
"You don't," she said, laughing. "You scream into it and then roll it like a burrito."
He laughed with her, a deep, genuine laugh. Their voices filled the room freely — her parents weren't home, and for once, she didn't feel like she had to whisper herself small.
Then his phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Teresa glanced at the screen on the bed. Her smile faded the moment she saw the name flash across it: Becca.
Andrea reached quickly for the phone, but not fast enough.
Teresa saw it.
A preview of the last message lit the screen:
"I'm pregnant."
The words hit like a slap.
Her entire body went cold. Her smile disappeared. The shirt she'd been folding slipped from her hand.
Andrea looked at her, instantly panicked. "Tessa—"
She stood up.
He followed her, holding the phone. "Let me explain—"
"Explain what exactly?" Her voice cracked as she backed away from him. "That after everything—after all of this—she's pregnant?"
"I didn't know," he said quickly, desperate. "I swear I didn't know. I haven't spoken to her since—"
"Since you slept with her?" she snapped.
He winced.
"You didn't think it was important to tell me that something like this could happen?"
"I didn't think it would!"
"Oh," she whispered bitterly, "because Andrea only ever thinks when it's too late."
He stepped closer. "Tessa, listen to me—"
"No." Her hands were shaking. "I should've known. I knew better. God, I knew you would break me."
Andrea reached for her, his voice low and desperate. "Don't say that. Please. You know I care about you."
"Do you even love me?" she asked, suddenly.
Silence.
His lips parted, but nothing came out.
Her eyes welled up. "There it is."
"Tessa—"
"You can't say it. Because you don't. You never did. You just liked the chase, the attention, the thrill of someone new."
"That's not true," he said, reaching out again.
She stepped back. "You don't love me. You were just bored. And I was easy, wasn't I? Naïve little Teresa."
"That's not what this is."
"Then what is it, Andrea? What the hell have I been to you?"
"I'm trying to figure it out," he said honestly, the weight of the truth sinking in. "I don't know how to do this. I'm not good at… real."
"That's not an excuse," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He moved closer again, gently placing his hands on her arms. "But I want to try. I want—"
"Let go of me," she said, dead-eyed.
He didn't move, staring into her.
She snapped. "Let go of me!" Her voice shook the room.
He froze.
The look in her eyes wasn't sadness. It was done.
"I never want to speak to you again," she whispered coldly.
He released her arms slowly.
Andrea stood there in the middle of the room surrounded by her folded laundry and the suffocating weight of the moment holding a phone that suddenly felt like a grenade in his hand.
His eyes searched hers, but there was no softness left in them only glassy, wounded fire. Her chest rose and fell quickly, like she was holding back something even more violent than her words.
She turned and marched toward the bedroom door. "You need to leave."
"Tessa—"
"Don't," she snapped, turning to him again. "Don't say my name like it still means something."
He stared at her, stunned.
"Get out."
She didn't shout this time. It came out quiet. Flat. Final.
Andrea hesitated. For a second, he thought about pushing through about apologizing harder, about dropping to his knees if he had to. But something about her eyes told him it wouldn't matter. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He followed her out into the narrow hallway of the apartment, silent footsteps echoing on the worn-out wood floor. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest as she led him, back stiff, jaw clenched. There was no kindness left in her gait only fury masked in restraint.
When they reached the front door, she opened it and stood to the side.
He didn't move.
He just looked at her, eyes dim with regret. "I didn't want this."
She shook her head, laughing bitterly under her breath. "But you caused it."
His throat worked hard as he tried to swallow emotion. "I swear I didn't know Becca would say that. I haven't even read all the messages—"
"But you got them," she cut in. "You got them because you gave her something I will never be able to unsee."
"Tessa…"
"Stop calling me that!" she exploded suddenly. "You don't get to say my name like you still have the right to it. You don't get to stand here and make me doubt what I saw with my own eyes."
Her hands were trembling again, this time from the force of holding it together.
Andrea stepped one foot out the door, but he turned to face her again. "I still care about you."
She looked at him like the words physically hurt.
He added quietly, "And I didn't come here just for fun. I wanted to make things right. I still do."
Her eyes welled with fresh tears. "You came here and folded my clothes like you hadn't folded my trust first. Do you know how cruel that is?"
He exhaled shakily.
She gave him one long, final look. A goodbye soaked in disappointment.
And then, without another word, she put a hand on his chest and shoved not hard, but firm enough to push him out.
The door closed in his face before he could say anything else.
Click.
Inside, Teresa leaned her forehead against the door, her breath trembling in and out. The silence wrapped around her like a noose. Her hands covered her mouth, but the sob broke through anyway guttural, quiet, aching.
Outside, Andrea stared at the door.
Motionless.
Defeated.
The hallway light flickered above him, but he didn't notice. The only thing ringing in his head was her voice, broken and sharp:
"You don't get to say my name like you still have the right to it."
He turned away eventually. But the echo of her pain followed him down the stairs, out into the night, and into a silence he wasn't sure he'd know how to come back from.
She slid down to the floor, her back still against the door, wrapping her arms around her knees. The room was quiet, save for the small, broken sobs that escaped her lips.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Time felt like static in her chest — heavy, loud, and constant.
She eventually got up, her eyes swollen, her throat raw. She wiped her face with her palm and stumbled toward her bed, collapsing onto it like her bones could no longer carry her pain.
She reached for her phone to talk to her friends.
Then, she opened her phone and clicked into her group chat:
"My Girls 🫶💅🏽✨"
The chat was quiet. Jane had sent a meme about their manager earlier in the afternoon, and Priya had responded with laughing emojis. Tracy had been ghost since they all clocked out for the day.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. For a moment, she considered not saying anything.
But she needed them. And they'd told her a thousand times that she didn't need to go through this stuff alone.
She typed slowly.
Tessa:
He came over.
Andrea came to my house.
And we folded laundry together.
And I laughed. God, I laughed like everything was okay.
Then I saw Becca's message.
She texted him. She said she's pregnant.
Jane is typing…
Tracy is typing…
Priya is typing…
Tracy:
WHAT THE ACTUAL F—???
Wait. Becca???
She texted him THAT??
Priya:
Please tell me it's a lie. Please tell me she's just trying to mess with you again.
Jane:
No. That girl is manipulative as hell. We've seen this before. That's classic Becca.
Tessa:
I asked him if he loved me again.
He kept quiet.
So I told him to get out.
I told him I never wanted to speak to him again.
And I meant it. I really did.
But it still hurts.
The typing bubbles popped up again immediately.
Tracy:
Tessa. I'm so sorry.
You didn't deserve any of this. I don't care if he's sorry or not. Silence is still an answer.
You did the right thing.
Jane:
You did more than the right thing. You protected your heart. That takes strength, babe.
Priya:
And we're proud of you.
But also… do we need to pull up on Andrea? Like fr. Because I will.
A small smile crept onto Teresa's face — faint, but real.
Tessa:
No. No pull-ups.
Just stay on the phone with me till I fall asleep?
Tracy:
Okay.
Voice call or video?
Tessa:
Voice. I look like heartbreak.
Jane:
Girl, heartbreak still suits you. But okay 😭
Teresa clicked the call icon and lay back on her pillow as her girls' voices filled her room.
Laughter. Soft reassurances. Quiet anger on her behalf.
It wasn't healing. Not yet.
But it was warmth.
And for tonight, that was enough
————
The room had fallen into silence again.
Tracy, Jane, and Priya had hung up an hour ago, reluctantly, after Teresa swore she'd try to sleep. But she hadn't moved. She lay on her bed, eyes open in the dark, the ceiling above her a blank slate she couldn't stop projecting his face onto.
She hated how her heart still thudded at the thought of him.
She hated that she was still hoping he'd knock on the door.
Even worse… she hated that she knew he wouldn't.
But then…
A faint thump echoed from the window.
Her heart stalled.
No.
It couldn't be.
She sat up slowly. Her throat tightened. She didn't move, hoping it was just a tree branch or the wind or…
The window creaked.
And there he was.
Andrea.
Again.
His hoodie was half-off his shoulder, his hair a mess, his face lit dimly by the moonlight, his eyes filled with something between shame and desperation.
"Tessa," he whispered, climbing through like he had no right.
Teresa stood frozen by the edge of her bed, her arms limp at her sides. "Are you serious right now?" Her voice was low. Cold. Broken.
Andrea didn't answer right away. He stood there, chest rising and falling like he'd run miles just to get there. "I needed to see you."
"Gosh!!! It's 10pm. You were just here. You needed to see me again after I asked you to leave? After I told you I didn't want to speak to you?"
He moved forward. "I know, I know. But I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about your face when you saw the message. Tessa, I didn't even reply her—"
"I don't care if you replied or not." Her voice cracked. "You slept with her."
He froze.
She took a breath, trembling. "Tell me the truth, Andrea. How many times?"
"Tessa—"
"How many times did you have sex with her?"
Silence.
He looked down.
She blinked, and her tears fell freely now. "You don't get to be silent again. Not this time."
Andrea sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "Multiple times."
Teresa staggered backward like he'd struck her.
The air in the room tightened. "Multiple time? Wow!"
"It started the night you caught us kissing," he said hoarsely. "That night…. I—I wasn't thinking. I was angry. I was drunk. I didn't want her, I swear I didn't. But I gave in, and I hated myself for it."
Tessa shook her head, trying to breathe. Her chest burned. "And then you came back to me. After that. You smiled at me. You touched me. You laughed with me. "How could you?"
"I was trying to fix it," he said, standing again. "I thought if I could just show you how much I cared, if I could just make you smile again, maybe it would make the mistake go away."
She let out a pained laugh. "You thought folding my laundry would erase you screwing someone else?"
His eyes met hers, raw, red, and filled with guilt. "I didn't know how to be near you and not love you. Even after what I did. I still… I still want you."
"Then why didn't you say it?" she cried. "Why didn't you say you loved me when I asked you? Why?"
"Because I didn't think I deserved to say it."
Silence.
Only the sound of her breathing, shaky, fragile.
He took a step closer.
She didn't move.
"I'm not good for you," he whispered. "But I can't stay away."
"Then leave," she whispered back. "Because I can't be the only one fighting this."
"Tessa—"
"No!" she stepped back. "You don't get to keep doing this. You don't get to crawl through my window, break my heart, and leave me to put the pieces together."
He stared at her, helpless.
"You slept with her," she repeated, more to herself than to him. "Multiple times."
"I'm sorry," he breathed, eyes glistening.
She didn't answer.
She turned her back to him and sat on the bed. Her voice was a soft ache. "You should go, Andrea."
But he didn't move.
Not this time.
Silence stretched between them like a thin wire pulled taut.
"I said leave," she said again, barely above a whisper.
"I can't," he replied, his voice rough and shaking. "Tessa… I don't think I can let you go."
When she turned around, his knees were already hitting the floor.
Her breath caught.
He kneeled.
Not the playful, cocky kind of Andrea who'd tease his way into her heart.
This was different.
This was broken. Trembling.
"Tessa, please," he whispered, head bowed like a sinner in confession. "Please…"
His voice cracked.
Tears, real ones, gathered his eyes, but they didn't drop. Andrea wasn't good with showing emotions but with Tessa everything is different.
"I swear to you," he choked out, "I'd take it back if I could. I'd do anything to undo what I did. I didn't mean to fall for you, but I did. And now I'm losing you, I'm loosing my mind and I swear to God it's killing me."
She stared at him, frozen, every inch of her torn between love and betrayal.
"You should've thought about that," she said softly. "When you were inside her."
He winced like the words slapped him.
"I thought you were different," she whispered, tears flooding her cheeks. "But you're just like the rest of them."
"I'm not," he whispered, looking up. "I swear to you, I'm not. I ruined everything, I know. But I need you. I can't sleep. I can't go a day without wanting to see your face."
He clutched his chest suddenly.
"Tessa…"
She saw the shift, the paleness that hit his face like a wave, the sudden shortness of breath.
"Wait—Andrea?"
He wobbled slightly on his knees, breathing harsh and shallow, eyes wide like he couldn't get air.
"Are you—hey, hey—what's wrong?"
He clutched the front of his hoodie, trembling. "I… can't… breathe…"
"Shit—Andrea!" she dropped to her knees beside him, her hands flying to his face. "Hey, look at me. Look at me, breathe with me, okay? Just breathe. You're okay."
"I can't lose you Tessa," he gasped, tears spilling again, hands shaking uncontrollably. "It hurts—it hurts so bad,"
Her chest felt like it was splitting open.
He had a panic attack.
She held his face in both hands, trying to ground him. "You're okay. You're okay. Just breathe, Andrea. Look at me."
His eyes locked on hers like they were his only lifeline.
"I'm here," she whispered, brushing back his damp hair. "You're okay."
"I don't know how to be without you," he said in a broken whisper.
Tears filled her eyes again, but she blinked them back. "You should've thought of that before breaking me."
He lowered his head, sobbing silently into her lap, still on his knees, shoulders trembling violently.
And Teresa just sat there, stroking his hair gently, feeling her heart shatter over and over again.
"I'm not ready to forgive you," she whispered.
"I know," he rasped.
"But I'm not ready to stop loving you either."
That truth… hurt even more.
And in that quiet, tangled mess of pain, tears, and desperate touch, the room held two people who still wanted each other but didn't know if they'd survive what came next.
He lifted his head slowly, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. His voice barely made it past his throat.
"Do you hate me?"
Teresa swallowed hard, her mouth trembling. "No."
He looked surprised.
"I don't hate you," she repeated, "I just… hate what you did to me. To us."
Andrea sat back a little, still on the floor, head tilted up to face her. "Then… is there a chance?"
She looked away. "No."
The word came out gently. Not angry. Not cold. Just… sad.
Andrea looked like he'd been slapped again. His lips parted slightly, but no words came.
"I can't go back there with you, Andrea," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Because I'll always wonder if she's texting you. If you're lying to me. If I'm enough."
"You are enough," he said quickly, desperate. "You've always been."
"But I'm not safe with you."
The silence after that felt final.
She sighed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "But I don't want to keep hating you. It's too heavy. And I don't want to keep crying over something I can't fix."
He blinked at her. "Then what…?"
She hesitated, then looked him in the eyes. "Maybe we can just be friends."
Andrea's face twisted in disbelief. "Friends?"
She nodded slowly. "It's the only way I can stand being around you without breaking myself apart."
He shook his head, laughing bitterly, voice hoarse. "Tessa, I've touched you. I've kissed you. You've cried in my arms. You've called out my name like it was the only word you knew, how the hell do you expect me to just be your friend?"
She blinked back fresh tears. "I don't expect it to be easy. I just expect it to hurt less than being yours."
Andrea stood slowly, wiping at his face. His breathing had steadied, but his chest still rose and fell like a wave he was riding against his will.
"So that's it," he murmured. "You're just… cutting me off."
"No. I'm trying to save what's left."
A pause.
Then she added, softer this time:
"I'm giving you the only version of me I can give right now."
He stared at her like she was slipping through his fingers again.
"I don't want your friendship," he said. "I want you."
She stood too, now facing him.
"And I wanted someone who wouldn't break me the moment things got hard," she whispered. "But we don't always get what we want."
He turned toward the window, running a shaky hand through his hair, fighting to keep it together. The moonlight spilling in cast a soft glow across his features, features that once felt like home.
"Tessa," he said again, voice breaking as he looked back at her. "I love you and I can't stand to see you with someone else"
She didn't respond right away.
Instead, she whispered, "Then prove it by letting me heal. And if your love is real… it'll still be there when I'm ready."
He looked like he wanted to scream, or punch the wall, or throw himself out the window. But instead, he just nodded, barely and climbed through the window again, just like the first time he came.
He left empty.
And Teresa… stood in the center of her room, alone, hugging herself tightly as the tears fell again not because he left, but because she didn't chase after him.
For the first time, she chose herself.