Page 41 of The Ache That Stayed

Two years had changed something, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

Why had he returned?

Was it just the supposed threat of people asking about me?

Or was it something more sinister?

He had been careful the last few days. Not hovering around me or crowding my space. Just… existing.

Fixing things that didn’t need fixing. Checking the perimeter twice. Standing too still when I entered a room, but his eyes always followed me.

He looked at me differently now—with intent, his grey eyes catching on mine whenever they could. I felt like prey manoeuvring around a predator’s gaze.

Space was given. Space was invaded.

Ignoring him, however, wasn’t as easy. He was everywhere yet nowhere. Every time I stepped outside, even when I couldn’t see him, I felt him somewhere nearby, lurking in the shadows. We were orbiting each other without collision.

Which meant we were thinking. And thinking was dangerous.

I told myself I was angry. That was easy.

Anger is clean. Sharp. Justified.

Anger was outward rather than keeping everything bottled up inside like I had done for the past two years.

He had left, promising to be in touch. And one day, he just disappeared. Messages just went read, with no reply. Calls went straight to voicemail. And then they didn’t go through at all.

He had told me Ronnie needed him, but he was barely there a month and then poof… gone as though I had imagined him.

I had my own fucked up order of grief.

At first I was finding excuses for him.

Maybe he was busy. Maybe he’d got caught up in some shit.

Then I was worried—what if he was injured, or caught by people who wanted him hurt or worse… dead.

Then came denial. I avoided his name.

Kyra brought him up frequently at first. Then even she stopped.

I’d learned to accept that, until he showed up at my door a week ago.

I was hurt—hurt that he vanished without caring how I unravelled in his absence. Hurt that every time my daughter brought him up, or his name slipped into the room, my body went rigid.

And then I was mad.

Watching that smirk on his lips. I wanted to slice it off.

Anger was easier than grief. Anger gave me something sharp to hold. I wasn’t a violent person. I couldn’t be bothered if it were someone else, but with him…

I don’t know why he affected me more than I could put a name on it. And he dared to show up like the two years he wasn’t around didn’t matter.

He didn’t even try to apologise.

Not then. Not now. Even when it was just us. Pretending to just exist in my space, like he never left.

I stayed in that day. Painting work had started on site, and my allergies were starting to kick in. It was ironic, really. I’d chosen a profession built around construction sites despite having dust allergies and a nose sensitive enough to detect paint from three rooms away. Callum, as promised, had kept me updated on the ongoing works on site, video calling me several times.