Weeks passed.
Not a word from Ethan.
No texts.
No flowers.
No sudden arrivals in the middle of the night.
The silence wasn't punishment.
It was surrender.
I went back to work. Not in his building. Not under his name. I found a small firm, no view, no corner office—but every inch of it was mine.
I slept. Ate. Breathed.
And slowly, I became someone again.
Not the girl he'd met. Not the woman he tried to mold.
Someone in-between. Someone I chose.
Then, one afternoon, I walked out of the office and found him standing by a bench across the street.
Not in a suit.
Not in a shadow.
Just… Ethan.
He didn't speak right away. Just held my gaze like it hurt to see me, but he couldn't look away.
"I thought you wouldn't come," I said quietly.
"I thought I shouldn't," he replied.
I crossed the street.
He pulled something from his coat.
Not the ring.
A worn copy of a book I once said I loved, the pages annotated—his handwriting scattered like he'd been trying to understand me through fiction.
"I've been in therapy," he said. "Three times a week. I haven't tried to call you because… this time, it had to be your choice."
I looked at the book.
Then at him.
"Why now?" I asked. "Why after everything?"
"Because I finally want to love you the way you want to be loved. Not the way I need to love."
I didn't cry.
I smiled. Small. Honest.
"I don't need you to be perfect," I said. "I need you to see me. And to let me be seen."
He nodded. "Then let's start over. This time, from the ground. No chains."
I didn't say yes.
But I sat beside him.
And for the first time, we were silent without control.
Just two people.
Wrecked.
Changed.
Still healing.
But free.
Together.