Page 142 of Unspoken Words
“Yeah.”
I picked up the mail stacked on the bench and started flicking through it. Ava was our friend from university who worked at the florist down the street. She knew Byron—and I—liked fresh flowers in the apartment so would drop by with a bunch every now and again.
“How is she?” I asked, placing down the letters. They could wait. From what I could see, there was nothing important.
“Good. I think. She thought you’d like new flowers to come home to.”
There was that word again,home. It slapped me like a cold fish, unpleasant and cold.
Forcing yet another smile, I met his eyes. Unfamiliar eyes. Sad eyes. Eyes that knew what was coming but didn’t want to see it.
“I’m beat. I think I might just have a shower and go to bed. Do you mind?”
“No. But, Elle, I think we should talk.”
“I know.” I stepped closer and touched the side of his face, a tear trailing down mine. “But not tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
He held his hand over mine for a moment then let go, and I knew he knew we were over. “Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I showered then climbed straight into bed, relieved Byron had stayed up to watch TV. My hope was to be asleep—or at least pretend to be—by the time he joined me, because I wasn’t strong enough to say the things I needed to say without sleeping on them first. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I already had, and I certainly didn’t want to fall victim to his business-like persuasive skills. My mind was made up; I was moving back to Melbourne for good.Itwas my home.
Leaning toward the bedside lamp, I was about to switch it off and go to sleep when my phone screen lit up, indicating an incoming message.
Connor: I’m sorry for today.
Another tear fell down my cheek, so I wiped it away and typed a reply.
Ellie: Don’t be. I wanted it just as much as you.
Connor: I doubt that.
Ellie: I don’t.
Connor: Please come back to me.
Touching the screen with my finger, I found myself tracing a heart.
Ellie: I will.
Connor: Then I’ll wait … for all of this life.
They were the lyrics to “Ever After”, and just like I had when I was younger, I believed them. Again.
*
The next morning,I wokeup in an empty bed and it only enforced what I knew I had to do, sooner rather than later. So I got up, switched on the kettle, and grabbed two mugs and some coffee, smiling when I added a teaspoon of sugar to my mug. Byron had slept in the spare room, which was where I found him when I cracked open the door, a mess of white sheets and blond hair atop the bed.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said, my tone deliberately dulcet.
He shot up like a meerkat and wiped his eyes. “Huh? What? Is everything okay?”
To say yes would be a lie, so I sat down on the edge of the bed and handed him his mug instead.
“Thanks.” He took it from me and eyed me over the rim, his eyelids red and thick.
I took a sip of my coffee, rested my mug on my lap, and let out a long breath.
“You’re going back, for good, aren’t you?”
