Page 56 of The Breakup Broker

Two cups of coffee later, we were navigating morning traffic, her hand resting on my knee. Her steady presence beside me kept the darker thoughts at bay. As I pulled up to my building, preparing to enter the underground garage, she looked up at the gleaming tower with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“What?” I asked, killing the engine.

“It’s...” She paused, choosing her words. “This isn’t you, Henry. This whole place—it’s like a stage set where some version of you has been performing. But it’s not real. Not really.”

The elevator ride was silent, each floor taking us higher into a life I’d been pretending to want. When I opened my apartment door, its sterile perfection hit me through her eyes—the untouched leather furniture, the abstract art chosen by a decorator, and the kitchen that had never cooked an actual meal.

“I hate it,” I said suddenly, the words escaping before I could stop them. “I hate every inch of this place.”

“Then why stay?”

“Because it was easier than admitting I made a mistake.” I moved to the window, looking out at the city sprawled below. “Easier than facing what I walked away from.”

She joined me, her reflection a ghost in the glass. “And now?”

“Now?” I turned to face her. “Now I’m done with easy. Done pretending.” I caught her hand and intertwined our fingers. “I’ll call the realtor today. List it.”

“Henry—”

“You were right. This place, everything in it—it’s a shell I’ve been hiding in. The best parts of me only exist when I’m with you.”

She squeezed my hand, and for a moment we stood there, surrounded by the evidence of my false life, finding something real in each other.

“I know a place,” she said. “For breakfast. Around the corner.”

“Murphy’s?” I asked. “With those greasy eggs you love?”

“The same.” Her eyes met mine in a challenge. “Unless you’re still too good for diner coffee.”

“I’m not good for much of anything right now.” The admission came out raw but necessary. “But I’d love some terrible eggs with you.”

Murphy’s hadn’t changed—same cracked vinyl booths, same coffee strong enough to strip paint. We slid into an old booth by the window, and for a moment, it was as if no time had passed.

“Still drowning your eggs in hot sauce?” I asked as she doctored her plate.

“Still pretending dry toast is a proper breakfast?” she countered.

The familiarity of it all—her stealing sips of my coffee, the way she knew exactly how many sugar packets I wanted—brought back a piece of myself I thought I’d lost.

After breakfast, we headed toward Madison Center. Each mile weighed heavier, reality pressing down again. But Savvy’s hand found mine across the console, keeping me here, keeping me with her.

“I should check in at the desk,” I said as we entered the care center. The morning shift nurse—Sarah, who’d been kind to James—looked up with sympathy.

“Mr. Kingston. I heard. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I swallowed hard, grateful for Savvy’s hand slipping into mine. “We need to...” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Of course.” Sarah nodded in understanding. “Take all the time you need.”

The elevator ride and the walk down the hallway stretched on endlessly. When we reached 517, I hesitated at the door.

“Together?” Savvy whispered.

I nodded, and we stepped inside.

His scent hit me first—Earl Grey and old books. But something was off. The room seemed emptier somehow, though nothing had been moved yet.

Savvy’s hand tightened around mine as we walked farther in. The morning sun poured through the windows, casting long shadows across his empty chair.

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