Page 55 of It's Only Ever Been You

His voice, his presence, the way his eyes searched mine like he was trying to find something he’d lost—it’s all I can think about. The laptop in front of me is pointless; I can’t focus. Not on work, not on anything.

Get it together, Emma.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glance at the clock—barely 8 a.m. Who could that be? I shuffle to the door, peeking through the peephole.Sarah.

Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she’s holding two steaming cups of coffee. I crack open the door.

“Morning,” she chirps, handing me a cup as she steps inside. “Thought you might need a caffeine boost.”

“You’re a saint,” I mumble, taking a sip. The coffee is hot and strong, exactly what I need.

Sarah flops onto the armchair near the window, crossing her legs as she studies me. “You look like you barely slept,” Sarah says, dropping into the armchair near the window.

“Always a charmer,” I mumble, taking a sip of coffee.

“Did you see him?” she presses, a grin tugging at her lips.

The heat rises to my cheeks, and Sarah’s smirk widens. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Oh my God, you did, didn’t you? Spill.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, cradling my coffee like it’s a lifeline. “I ran into him in the lobby last night.”

“And?” Her voice is pitched with curiosity, but there’s a hint of something else—concern, maybe.

“And… it was awkward. Emotional. I don’t know, Sarah. He apologized, said he regretted how things ended, but it’s been years. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Sarah’s expression softens. She sets her coffee on the side table and leans back in the chair. “What do you want to do with it?”

The question feels heavier than it should. I shrug, staring down at the rim of my cup. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to let it go, move on like I’ve been trying to for years. But the other part…” I trail off, biting my lip.

“The other part still loves him,” Sarah finishes for me, her voice gentle.

I don’t answer, but the silence says enough. Sarah sighs, running a hand through her ponytail. “Em, I get it. You’ve been holding onto this for so long, trying to figure out what went wrong. But maybe this is your chance to get some closure. Or… maybe it’s a chance to see if there’s something to fight for.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and I set the coffee down, wrapping my arms around my knees. “What if I open that door, and it just leads to more heartbreak?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Sarah says simply. “But if you don’t, you’ll wonder for the rest of your life. And I don’t think you want to live like that.”

I let her words settle, the truth in them impossible to ignore. I’ve spent years running from the what-ifs, and now, standing still feels evenscarier.

……………………………………………………………

The rest of the morning drags by in a haze. Sarah heads out to grab coffee or wander the town, mumbling something about needing a break from all the “wedding chaos,” leaving me alone with my thoughts. I try to distract myself—shower, get dressed, scroll through my phone—but nothing works. My mind keeps drifting back to Ethan, to the way his voice trembled when he said he’d regretted letting me go.

By the time noon rolls around, I can’t take it anymore. I grab my bag and head downstairs, the elevator ride feeling like an eternity. The lobby is quieter than last night, the soft hum of conversation from the bar barely audible. I spot a group of groomsmen gathered near the entrance, laughing about something. My stomach twists.

I scan the room for Ethan, half-hoping he’s here, half-hoping he’s not. But he’s nowhere in sight. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and head for the door.

The fresh air hits me as I step outside, the sunlight warm on my skin. I head to the park, the open air a stark contrast to the suffocating stillness of my room. But even as the leaves rustle and the birds sing, my chest feels tight.

I find an empty bench under a tree and sit down, pulling my phone from my bag. My thumb hoversover Ethan’s contact, the memory of his text from last night flashing in my mind.

Can we talk tomorrow?

I already replied, agreeing to meet, but now, staring at his name again, I wonder if I made the right choice. Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my phone, rereading his message like it holds the answers I’m looking for.

Me: When would you like to talk?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, the whoosh of the message sending making my stomach flip.

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