The condo was still, save for the faint whirr of the washing machine and the gentle ticking of the wall clock. Sam was fast asleep in his room, his dinosaurs arranged in a neat circle around him like guards on duty.
Jaimie sat on the living room couch, her laptop closed, untouched paperwork stacked beside her. She hadn't had the will to open anything all day.
Not after the rooftop.
Not after the punch.
Not after the look on Tedd's face—equal parts guilt and heartbreak.
Her phone buzzed.
Just once.
No call. No message.
Just a file.
"If You're Still Listening."
No sender name. But she knew.
Her heart clenched.
She stared at it for a long time, her thumb hovering above the play icon.
You don't owe him anything, a voice in her mind whispered.
But another voice—smaller, warmer—murmured:
You owe yourself the truth.
She plugged in her headphones, held her breath, and pressed Play.
Tedd's voice filled her ears.
Shaky. Gentle. Honest.
She didn't expect to cry.
Not like this. Not the kind of tears that poured silently, the kind that pressed out of her chest as if her ribs had split open just to let them through.
"You once told me that love doesn't walk away without warning. You were right. And I did."
She curled into herself, hugging her knees.
Because she remembered.
She remembered that rainy night when she kissed him and thought—maybe this is it.
And then came the silence.
When the voice note ended, she didn't move for several minutes.
Then, slowly, she stood up and walked to her bedroom.
Inside the jewelry box was the necklace—the tiny moon note Dominic once gave her.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh37qdODkQk
It had stayed in the drawer since the fight.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZW1DzZcIpP
Tonight, she wore it.
Not for Dominic.
But for the girl inside her who used to believe in music... in trust... in trying again.
She didn't tell anyone where she was going.
She just drove.
Instinct led her—not her head, not her GPS—to the quiet garden behind the hospital where Tedd once wheeled her out to feel sunlight again after weeks of tubes and machines.
The place where she first heard him laugh.
Where she first noticed his eyes always found hers in a crowd.
It was empty, of course.
Night had fallen. The lamps were dim. The benches slick with dew.
But in the hush of that place, she felt him.
Not physically.
But in memory.
In hope.
In the kind of silence that heals instead of wounds.
She sat on the same bench, looking up at the same moon she once played a song for.
The wind carried a whisper—no voice, no words.
Just the sound of someone who didn't leave this time.
And for the first time in a long while, Jaimie didn't feel alone.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuZzvl4KmPS
