"Hey... good morning," Zoe whispered as she leaned down, brushing her lips over Stacy's with a warmth that made time stand still.
Stacy blinked her eyes open slowly. For a moment, she just looked at her. Memorizing. "You're already dressed..."
"Didn't want to wake you. You looked peaceful," Zoe said, smiling. She trailed her fingers through Stacy's hair. "And... I figured you were tired. Last night was..." she gave a teasing grin, "intense."
Stacy chuckled softly but didn't answer right away. She reached up, touching Zoe's face—her thumb brushing across her cheekbone like she was trying to hold the moment still. "Stay for five more minutes?"
Zoe leaned down into her touch. "I wish I could. I'm already cutting it close."
Stacy sat up slowly, dragging her hands through her sleep-mussed hair. "Let me at least make you breakfast."
"It's okay, babe." Zoe kissed her temple. "You've done enough."
Stacy flinched—just slightly at the phrasing—but masked it with a quiet smile.
They moved together through the morning like they always did. Familiar. Domestic. Stacy handed Zoe her work bag. Zoe double-checked her phone. The small, shared rituals of two people who knew each other's rhythms.
By the door, Zoe turned to kiss her goodbye. A quick peck. Habit.
But Stacy stopped her with a hand gently curling around her wrist. "Wait."
Zoe barely had time to react before Stacy kissed her again—slower this time. Deeper. A kiss filled with something quieter than passion, but more powerful than routine.
When they finally pulled apart, Stacy wrapped her arms around Zoe and held her close—longer than usual, breathing her in like she didn't want to let go.
Zoe leaned back just enough to look at her, eyes narrowed with a teasing smile. "Okay... that was new. But I liked it."
"Just... wanted you to feel loved today." Stacy's voice was soft, but steady.
Zoe pulled her into one last hug. "I always do."
"I love you," Zoe said as she opened the door.
"I love you so much more," Stacy replied. Her voice didn't shake, but her eyes lingered as Zoe walked away.
And when the door clicked shut behind her, Stacy stood frozen in the silence, breath caught in her chest—knowing that was the last goodbye Zoe would ever remember as normal.
-
It had been a while since Zoe left for work, the silence in the apartment had grown louder. Now, with her suitcase packed and clutched tightly in her hand, Stacy stood still in the bedroom doorway. Her eyes swept the room, empty yet echoing with memories.
She looked toward the bed—still unmade from the morning. Sunlight spilled across the covers, tracing the soft hollows where two heads had rested. In that quiet light, memories surfaced all at once—fragments of whispered conversations, laughter tangled in the sheets, the quiet comfort of simply being together—filling the room like a gentle tide she couldn't hold back.
"Ugh, I don't wanna move," Zoe groaned, her arm flopping across Stacy's waist, voice thick with sleep.
"You're the one who promised pancakes this morning," Stacy murmured, fingers threading through Zoe's wild, curly hair.
"Pancakes can wait. You can't," Zoe mumbled, leaning in to kiss her—slow, lazy, warm. "Let's just stay here. All day."
Stacy laughed softly. "If we stay here, you're going to fall asleep on me again."
"Exactly," Zoe grinned. "Best nap I'll ever have."
They lay like that for a long time, legs tangled beneath the covers, the world shrinking down to something small and perfect.
A sharp ache bloomed in Stacy's chest. Tears welled and slid silently down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand but didn't move yet. Her feet stayed rooted.
Eventually, she turned and walked down the hall, suitcase wheels clicking softly on the floor. She stopped at the kitchen entrance.
The room was still—the light from the small window above the sink pooling gold over the countertops. Her throat tightened as the next memory surfaced.
Zoe, barefoot and wearing one of Stacy's oversized sweaters, dancing as she stirred something on the stove. The air had been thick with the scent of garlic and roasted tomatoes. "Taste this," Zoe said, holding out a spoon. Stacy leaned in and Zoe snatched it away with a grin, stealing a kiss instead. They'd laughed, chasing each other around the island like two kids in love, flour dusting their clothes and noses. Later, they'd eaten on the floor, plates in laps, music playing low.
Stacy gripped the suitcase handle harder.
Then, finally, she stepped into the living room. The couch still had Zoe's throw blanket slung carelessly over the back, the way she always left it. A half-finished mug of tea rested on the coffee table—Zoe never remembered to put it in the sink.
They used to stretch out on the rug, side by side, heads nestled into mismatched pillows they'd stolen from the couch. Zoe always insisted on putting on Stacy's favorite trashy reality shows—the ones with the over-the-top drama and predictable endings. "It's not about the plot," Zoe would say with a grin, nudging her with an elbow. "It's about watching you watching them." And it was true—Zoe rarely looked at the screen, eyes more often on Stacy's expressions, her gasps, her laughter, her eye-rolls.
They'd pass a bowl of popcorn back and forth, fingers brushing, a bottle of wine half-finished and forgotten on the table. Sometimes they laughed until their stomachs hurt, and sometimes they said nothing at all—just breathed in sync, cocooned in the soft flicker of TV light and the quiet hum of being known. When the credits rolled, neither of them moved. They didn't need to. In that stillness, hands loosely clasped, it felt like the whole world paused just for them.
Stacy swallowed hard.
The apartment had been full of them—full of life, of scent, of sound. Now the air felt heavier, like it knew she was leaving.
Her tears fell silently as she placed the folded letter on the small table in the living room. It held everything she couldn't say aloud—the truth, the goodbye, the love, the ache. She lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper, then turned and walked away.