Page 94 of Shattered Promise

On my way to the kitchen, I pass the open shelving that holds exactly three mismatched mugs and a small bottle of lavender honey. There’s a fourth mug tucked into the back of an open cabinet next to the sink.

I don’t remember buying it, but maybe I did. Or maybe it was here when I moved in, like the previous tenant left it.

The mug is white, chipped at the rim, with a faded blue pattern around the lip—tiny birds flitting across a sky. I turn it over in my palm, feeling the slight warp in the ceramic. It doesn’t belong to me. Not in the way the other things do. I set it back on the shelf, right where I found it. A tiny, private legacy for whoever comes next.

There’s a strange satisfaction in leaving something behind. Proof of existence. A marker that I was here, just for a little while.

I drag the last suitcase to the door, double-check the windows, and stand in the center of the almost-empty apartment. Only the nightstand and the little bookshelf by the window are left.

A candle sits in the center of one of the shelves that I don’t recognize. My brows draw together as I crouch down, fingertips brushing the cool ceramic jar. I don’t remember buying it, but it’s half-burned. Maybe it came in one of thosetreat yourselfbundles I ordered when I was pulling seventeen-hour days and surviving on caffeine and ambition. I’d barely been home enough to light one.

I shake the thought loose.

Maybe I lit it once and forgot. My brain was mush back then. Over-scheduled and overstretched.

I tuck the candle into a padded nook in the last box, then walk the apartment one more time. The air hums with quiet—the kind that feels like a house waiting for someone else to come home.

But no one will, and I’m not staying.

I pause at the window, catching my reflection against the dark skyline. My eyes look clearer than they used to, my shoulders a little less sharp.

I feel it again—that strange, unspooling kind of lightness. Like I’ve loosened something that was choking me withoutrealizing it. Like maybe I’m finally making room for the life I want, not the one I inherited.

36

ABBY

A soft pingvibrates from my phone. I glance down and see a photo of Theo curled up on Mason’s bare chest, cheeks flushed, one fist tucked beneath his chin.

Mason: It took me forty minutes to get him to sleep tonight. I think he misses you

.

I glance at the clock. It’s a little after ten o’clock, which means he’s been out for a while. So why did Mason wait to send it?

I bite my bottom lip and try not to overthink it.

Me: What about you? Do you miss me?

The typing bubble pops up, then disappears. Comes back and vanishes again.

Mason: I’ve been missing you for years.

It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I thought he’d come back with something witty or sarcastic even. But the quiet weight of his admission knocks something loose in my chest.

I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Me: That's a long time.

Mason: Yeah, baby, it is.

The air feels thinner somehow. I press the phone to my chest for a second like that might help slow my heart.

Me: Have you been hacked? Forced to watch Jane Austen movies against your will? Blink twice if you’re in trouble.

The video call comes through immediately. I swipe to answer and Mason’s face appears, soft-lit from the lamp behind him. His hair’s tousled, and he’s shirtless. There’s a long moment where neither of us says anything.

Then his jaw flexes. “I wasn’t hacked.”

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