Chapter 1

The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound within the chamber. Jennifer signed the last document, shaking hands, Divorce Decree. Two impersonal little words signifying the end of a storied history evoking once love and laughter.

She placed her pen down slowly, as if to defer the inevitable. Her lawyer-a rather kind woman in her fifties-gave bare rum nod of the head.

"That's it," she said. "It is official now."

Jennifer returned a tight smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

It was a quiet ride back to her apartment. The driver did not talk much. And Jennifer was thankful for that. Her thoughts were noisy enough.

Her phone buzzed; it was her mother calling. She ignored it. Did not want to hear her usual "You're strong, sweetheart," or "It's for the best." She really didn't feel strong. She's not even sure if this was the best. All she felt was sick and tired.

Walking home, the inside of her apartment felt even heavier than usual. Everything was the same-cream-colored curtains swaying with the breeze, a neat row of books on the shelf and a little potted plant on the kitchen counter-but nothing felt the same.

Without bothering to turn on a single light, she walked straight into her bedroom, unzipped her heels, and let them fall with a soft thud. She peeled off her blazer that had the silk blouse she had so carefully chosen in the morning, still faintly smelling of the perfume Devlin used to compliment. But then paused before stripping it and tossing it into the laundry bin as if shedding a second skin.

The mirror above her dresser caught her eye.

She stared at herself.

Her face was much like it had always been over the last year. But her eyes once sparkled but no longer do. What it holds now is something deeper, sadder, wiser, more guarded than she loved from Devlin.

She walked closer and leaned in. "Who are you now?" It asked itself.

The woman in the mirror wouldn't answer.

She dabbed away some mascara underneath her eye and opened the drawer to take out an old photo; one of the few she hadn't burned or packed away. Devlin was smiling there while wrapping his arms around her from behind all drenched in sunlight at one vineyard in Napa Valley. That was their first anniversary.

For a while, she held it, and then her fingers gripped the edges tighter and tighter until it crumpled at one corner.

"I gave you everything," she whispered. "And you still broke me."

The are betrayals she never suspected. Devlin had always been charming, successful, and on-fifth. Initially, he had called her his "anchor," but only he thought could calm his storms. And over time, Devlin's storms had built up, and she had been caught right in them.

Staying up late at night. Sending secret, suspiciously coded texts. And lying, while he thought she didn't notice. When the truth came out about the affair, the money he'd sucked out from them both, and the woman half his age; it felt as though death by a thousand cuts rather than just a single blow.

Jennifer placed the photo face down on the dresser. She made no sound; there were no tears. It had been months since she had dried her tears. None left, she thought.

Instead, picking up her glass of water from the nightstand, she drank it slowly, opened the lowest drawer, and reached for the journal she hadn't looked at in weeks. Flipped to a blank page and began writing.

The doorbell rang.

A frown flickered across her face.

It must be close to 8 p.m., so she wasn't expecting anybody. Maybe she could still ignore that ringing, but it was back, louder this time, filling up the hallway.

Jennifer stood up, quickly slipping her arms into a robe and tying it firmly at the waist. With light steps, she made her way towards the door. She peered through a peephole.

And her heart stopped.

It was Byron.

Though at this moment, Jennifer felt her senses retreating. Of all the names she could have conjured, Byron was the very last. Byron had always been quiet, polite-a distant figure in her life. Once upon a time-his early years-Byron had been a friend of Devlin's. Since then, somehow, he had stayed loosely in contact with Jennifer far more than with Devlin.

It would seem she hadn't laid eyes on Byron for months.

Somehow she was slowly unlocking the door, swinging it open halfway.

"Byron?" she asked, surprised.

Byron's eyes were calm but searching.

"Hi," came his low soft soothing voice. "I heard... today was the final signing."

"Uh-huh," Jennifer answered, not sure what to say.

"Sorry if I am imposing," he said quickly and held up a small box wrapped in brown paper. "I just... wanted to drop this-off. This is something you left at the art studio last year. I found it while clearing out a cabinet."

Jennifer blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion. "The art studio?"

He smiled a little. "You used to come by sometimes. To paint. You left a sketchbook there."

She opened the door wider. "I forgot all about that."

He handed her the box, then looked down for a moment. "You look... tired."

She gave a weak laugh. "That's a polite way of saying I look like hell."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "You look strong. Just... worn."

There was an awkward pause. Jennifer looked down at the box in her hands, unsure of what to say. Byron had always been hard to read, but kind; she never imagined he would show at her doorstep.

"Well, thank you," she finally said.

"Of course," he said, turning slightly away from her.

Something made her stop him.

"Byron?"

He turned back.

Chapter 2

She hesitated. "Do you want to come in for a moment? I mean... just for a coffee or something. I'm not exactly in good company right now, but..."

His eyes softened. "Sure. I'd like that."

He stepped inside, and for a moment, the apartment didn't feel so heavy.

Jennifer moved to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. Byron stood near the window, looking around but not talking. He was not the sort who filled silence with useless words, which Jennifer liked very much.

"I didn't expect anyone today," she said over her shoulder.

"I figured," he said.

Once the coffee was ready, they sat together at the kitchen table. She sipped hers slowly, savoring that moment; it felt like the first real comfort she had experienced all day.

"So," she said, "how have you been?"

Byron shrugged faintly. "Busy. Quiet. Same as always."

"You are still at the gallery?"

He nodded. "Helping with a new exhibit. It would be your cup of tea. It's all about rebuilding. Broken things made whole again."

Jennifer's glance shot up to him, startled. "That's... strangely relevant."

Byron held her gaze. "I thought you'd feel that way."

There was another pause, but this was not an awkward one. It was a pause of contemplation.

"You've changed," he finally said.

"Good or bad?"

"Both. You've hardened up. But there's still something soft in there."

Jennifer swallowed. She hadn't thought he was capable of such honesty. "That softness was what got me hurt."

"It was also what made you love well."

Her heart clenched.

"Maybe," she said, barely above a whisper.

Byron set down his cup. "I've been meaning to check on you for some time," he admitted. "I just didn't know whether I should."

Jennifer looked at him over now, really looked. His eyes held fatigue, kindness. He was holding a careful but protective gaze; it was nothing like Devlin, who had always looked at her like she was something to possess.

Byron looked at her like she was something to comprehend.

"Thank you," she told him, and meant it.

He nodded and stood up. "I should let you rest."

She walked him to the door, feeling strange in wishing his company would linger. He turned back in the hallway as he left her.

"I meant what I said," he said, low. "You still have softness. Don't kill it just because someone else couldn't handle it."

And with that, he turned and left.

Jennifer felt frozen for a long moment before something snapped in her; she was feeling tight in her chest.

She turned back into the apartment, her mind awhirl.

Then, curiosity made her take a look at the box he'd brought with him. Inside was her old sketchbook. Flipping through the pages slowly, sketches of flowers, faceless figures, and

Then she stopped.

On the last page, a fairly recent sketch that was not hers depicted her.

A drawing of her sleeping, her face relaxed, with sunlight bathing her cheeks in the early hours of the morning.

And at the bottom of the page was signed Byron.

Jennifer scrutinized it, her heart racing.

Her fingers clenched the page; her breath froze in her throat.

He had drawn her. When? Why?

Before she could fully register it, her phone buzzed.

Looking down,

Devlin : “We need to talk. I'm outside."

Jennifer stared at her phone for almost an hour, to return or not to return? But she didn’t. Not yet. She needed to breathe, to think, to figure out why he had suddenly chosen to reach out the same night that Byron had graced her with his presence.

That confused her more than it should have.

Byron.

His visit had long gone, but it lingered like a light perfume, diffusing about a quiet room like an unspoken word one cannot ignore. She reread that sketch three times before putting the book away and hiding it under her bed.

She didn’t want to think anymore.

His drawing was of her serene, kind, and sleeping. No, she hadn’t looked like that for months, not even to herself. But Byron had seen it and chosen to draw it.

So it mattered.

Still, she wouldn’t be the one to reach out.

She just followed her normal routine-coffee, a quick breakfast, and the onslaught of emails she hardly read. A soft sweater, some jeans, and her hair tied back in a low bun, before she forced herself to pop outdoors for groceries.

Everything, however, just felt wrong.

It was late afternoon when he appeared again.

She was just putting away a bag of oranges when the doorbell rang.

Her stomach flipped, and she hated it for doing so.

Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, Jennifer walked toward the door leisurely. This time she avoided the peephole; she somehow already knew who it was.

She opened the door.

Byron was standing there, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, a paper bag tucked under one arm. He smiled faintly.

"Hi again," he said.

Jennifer blinked. "Hi. Should I be suspicious? Two days in a row."

He chuckled. "Probably."

He lifted the paper bag. "Actually, I'm here to drop this. It's from Cara. She asked me to bring it to you."

Jennifer tilted her head. "Cara? Cara Mullins?"

"Yeah. She was hurrying out the door, something about a family emergency, said this was yours. I didn't ask."

Jennifer reached for the bag. "Thanks."

Byron hesitated. "Mind if I come in for a minute?"

She stared at him for a heartbeat, then nodded and stepped aside. "Sure."

He walked in quietly, soft-footed on the floor, and then didn't move far from that spot, standing near the window like last time. The sky looked pale gray outside, the kind of gray promising either rain or nothing at all.

Jennifer set the bag on the table but didn't open it.

They stood in silence for a moment.

"How've you been since yesterday?" he asked kindly.

Chapter 3

A small shrug. "Still divorced. Still figuring things out." His eyes rested on her face, silent but keen. She folded her arms. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Byron blinked. "Like what?"

"Like I am going to fall apart."

He smiled faintly. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are. That's the second time you did it."

He took a small breath. "Okay. Maybe I am. But not because I think you're weak."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I look at you," he said slowly, "because you're carrying something heavy, and you won't let anyone else hold even a piece of it."

Jennifer swallowed. She hadn't expected that answer. It was too real.

"I don't want anyone else to carry it," she whispered. "It's mine. I let Devlin in, and it almost destroyed me."

Byron nodded. "I get it."

He didn't say more. He just stood there, calm as still water.

Jennifer turned and opened the paper bag Cara had sent. Inside was a thick envelope and a small ceramic pendant-a moon-shaped charm they had both made during a pottery workshop over a year ago, and she smiled sadly at it, her fingers brushing its smooth edges.

"I forgot about this," she murmured.

"It's beautiful," Byron said quietly.

She looked up and found him looking at her again, but this time it wasn't worry that filled his eyes. It was something else-something more, in fact: admiration. Warmth.

She quickly looked away, heat rushing through her cheeks.

"You were always different," she suddenly said.

Byron looked at her, astonished.

"Back when you and Devlin were still close," she continued. "You never treated me like a trophy. Most of his friends did. They'd talk to me like I was lucky just to be standing next to him."

"I never saw it that way," Byron replied.

"I know. That's why I remembered you."

He looked down, and his mouth twitched into a soft smile. "That's nice to hear."

She hesitated. "Did you know about the affair?"

Byron's expression changed. He didn't answer immediately.

"I had a feeling," he finally said. "Devlin always thought he was subtle. But he wasn't."

The chest of Jennifer became tight. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't have proof. And I didn't think you'd believe me. People in love... they want to believe the best."

She gave a bitter laugh. "I was a fool."

"No," he replied firmly. "You were just in love with the wrong man."

There it was again that tone-soft, steady, honest. It disarmed her. Made her want to just drop her defenses for a moment.

But not yet.

Instead, she turned around and started making tea. It occupied her-have something to focus on apart from the ache in her chest and the strange warmth spreading through her every time he spoke.

He said nothing more while she worked. Just sat waiting, watching at the table.

He nodded as she served the tea, sliding the cup in front of him.

"I didn't intend to come here," he said a moment later.

"No?"

He shook his head. "But I kept thinking about that sketchbook. About you."

Jennifer stared at him, her cup halfway to her lips.

"I remembered all the times you used to sit there in that back corner of the studio, sketching in silence. You didn't speak much. But you felt everything."

She lowered her cup, slowly. "Why did you draw me?"

For a long moment, Byron looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "Because I missed that version of you. The one who smiled without fear. The one who still believed she deserved love."

Jennifer blinked rapidly. Her throat became tight.

"I don't believe that anymore," she said softly.

"You should," he said.

Their eyes met. The silence between them was thick, bristling with emotion, with something neither dared to name hovering just underneath.

Then a loud knock broke the moment.

Jennifer jerked.

Byron stood halfway, alert. "Anyone expecting anyone?"

"No," she responded, voice shaking.

The knock came again, louder this time.

Jennifer meandered slowly to the door. Her fingers hovered over the knob. She hesitated, then finally turned it.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Devlin, with neat hair, expensive coat buttoned, expression unreadable.

Jennifer felt her breath being deprived.

"Hi, Jen," he said.

Byron was frozen in the kitchen doorway.

Devlin's eyes flicked past her to lock on Byron.

"Oh," said Devlin with icy cool. "Company. How charming." Jennifer felt her body trembling. The chill between the two men enveloped the entire room.

Byron kept quiet.

Devlin smiled coldly. "I just came to talk to you."

Jennifer swallowed hard. "I think we need to put that in the past," she said.

Devlin's smile had left his face. "No, we're not until I say what I've come here to say." Jennifer turned slightly, torn between two worlds. One man from her past, rent with pain. The other uncertain, kind, and unknown.

She looked back at Devlin, and then he said something that turned her blood cold.

"I know what you are hiding from me." Her breath caught. "What are you talking about?"

He moved closer, eyes glinting. "The letter. From your doctor." Jennifer's heart had stopped.

Byron's voice rumbled low and protective. "What letter?" Jennifer felt her legs go weak.

Because now she knew-for certain that Devlin knew about the pregnancy.

Byron had stayed quite a while more, without demanding to know things, simply checking in from time to time to make sure she was okay or not. That was appreciated far more than he realized. Still, she hadn't confided in him at all. Not yet. Not about the letter. Not about the test results. Not even about the baby.

Still too raw. Too new.

Not even sure of what she wanted to do. All that she knew was that Devlin knowing only increased everything else.

She turned the corner, her mind wandering, and bumped into an unknown person coming out of a café.

“Sorry…” she started, then froze when her gaze traveled back up.

It was him.

Devlin.

Chapter 4

He wasn't in a suit like usual. No tie, no polished shoes. Just a simple jacket over a sweater, dark jeans, and tired eyes. His hair was tousled and he had bags under his eyes that hadn't been there before.

He looked... human.

They were looking at each other for a moment.

Jennifer feel the air hang weirdly heavy between them with unuttered things.

“Jennifer,” he said softly, sounding surprised. “Hey.”

She didn't reply because her heart was too loud for her to think straight.

He brought his gaze down to the coffee cup in his hand and then back to her. “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

She stepped back, her voice flat. “I didn't expect to see you either."

Devlin offered a tiny, almost shy smile. "You look great," he said.

She did not reciprocate. "What do you want?"

"I'm not here for a fight."

"Then why talk?"

She started to go around him, but he stopped her with his voice.

"Can we just talk? For a second."

Jennifer turned slowly, jaw tightening. "Why all of a sudden, Devlin? Out of nowhere after all this time you want to talk?"

He faltered. "Because I made mistakes. And now, I see it."

She gave a short laugh. "You see it now? After all the affairs, all the lies and even after ruining our marriage, you suddenly realize you've made a mistake?"

Devlin had his eyes on the coffee cup. "I deserve it."

No, you deserve much more than that."

"I know."

There was a long silence. Cars passed behind them, the city moving on, unaware her world had shifted.

Jennifer took a breath. "So what are you really doing here?"

Devlin looked at her. His eyes were sad. "I miss you."

Her chest ached, but she wouldn't let it show.

"You miss what you had," she said. "Not me."

"No," he said quickly. "I miss you. The way you used to look at me. The way you used to believe in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."

"You killed that," she snapped. "You don't get to remember the good parts without owning the bad."

His eyes softened. "I do own it. Every single day."

She shook her head and started walking away.

"Jennifer, wait."

But she never turned back.

She continued to walk.

Her legs moved on auto-pilot; her heart thrashed like a tambourine.

She didn't know how she made it to the bookstore, but when she stepped inside, the warm scent of old paper and pine candles blanketed her. She pressed her palm against her chest, desperate to breathe.

It really hit her by surprise that the memories would unearth so hard.

Flashback – Quite some time ago

They were happy over breakfast. Devlin had made pancakes in the shape of hearts, and Jennifer had joked about how he burnt them a little.

"Well, you tried," she announced and bit into the pancake.

"I more than tried," he smirked. "That's love."

She leaned across the table and kissed him on the nose. “Then I’m full of love.”

He had wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her gently. “Don’t ever leave me, Jen.”

“Never,” she whispered.

There was real conviction behind those words.

Flashback – Eight Months Prior

Jennifer sat shivering in the living room couch. Dev stood in front of her, arms crossed, face cold.

"You checked my phone?" he barked.

"Because I knew something's wrong!" she screamed.

"And what did you discover? What did you want?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears. "Why her, Devlin? Why anyone?"

He didn't respond. He merely looked away.

And that silence was louder than any confession.

Present Day

Jennifer blinked, pushing back the memories. Her hand trembled as she reached out for a copy of Women Who Run with the Wolves from the shelf.

It figures, she thought bitterly to herself. A moment later, she turned it over in her palm and someone stepped beside her.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

Her heart leapt on Byron.

His voice came delightful and soft, a total contrast to the storm raging within her.

She looked up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I come here sometimes," he said. "It's quiet. Good for thinking."

Jennifer nodded. "I needed that too."

Byron studied her. "You okay?"

"No." He didn't pressure her.

She walked over to a nearby bench and sat. After some time, Byron followed.

"I saw Devlin," she said finally.

Byron's jaw tensed. "Where?"

"On the street. We happened to pass each other."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said he missed me." Byron let out a soft sigh. "Of course he did."

Jennifer's gaze fell upon her hands. "Why do they always come back when it's too late?"

"Because they think they still have power over you," Byron replied, "They are mistaking regret for love."

Jennifer looked at him then, really looked at him. "You always say the right things."

He smiled gently. "Not always. Only at the moments that count."

For a moment, she had been thinking of leaning into him. Of telling him everything. About the pregnancy. About fear. About the truth.

But just then, the silence shattered with the buzzing of her phone.

She lifted it.

Blocked Number: "You shouldn't have kept this from me."

Her hands trembled.

"Jennifer?" Byron asked, watching the color drain from her face.

She read the text again.

Another ping.

Blocked Number: "If it's mine, I have a right to be involved." Her lips parted. Byron reached for her phone. "What's wrong?"

But she couldn't find her voice.

Because it was in that moment that she understood something far more frightening than the thought of Devlin knowing about her pregnancy.

He would try to take the baby.

Jennifer sat on the edge of her bed the day after the weird text messages, still seated with the phone in her hand. She did not sleep. Her mind kept having racing thoughts about the words spoken over and over.

"You shouldn't have kept this from me."

"If it is mine, I have a right to know."

But she hadn't replied. She didn't even know if it was Devlin for sure but it sounded like the timing, the words, and the nerve. Just thinking about it made her stomach churn.

And yet, she hadn't told anyone.

Chapter 5

Not Byron. Not even her best friend Lana. She wasn't ready.

She didn't even know if she'd ever be.

Now the bell rang.

She froze.

The soft thumping in her chest was drowned by the ring of the doorbell. Her fingers nervously curled around the edge of her sweater as she stood. Quietly, carefully, she walked toward the door and peeked through the peephole.

It was Byron.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

“Hello.” She managed a small smile as she opened the door.

“Morning,” was his standard calm look.

He got in when she stepped sideways, "What brings you here?"

He raised the white paper bag in his hand. "Lana said you didn't show up at the bookstore today, so I figured you could use some coffee and a distraction."

She raised an eyebrow. "You talked to Lana?"

He smirked a little. "She called me. Said she was worried about you. She's persistent."

"That she is," Jennifer replied faintly.

"Bring the typical cinnamon rolls from that place you like. And two coffees, one with oat milk and too much sugar, just the way you like it."

When she raised an eyebrow at him, "You remembered?" she asked.

"I remember a lot of things about you," he said simply.

Her stomach fluttered.

They were sitting at her small kitchen table. Byron took off his jacket and leaned back in the chair like he owned the place. Pregnant silence occupied the space between him and Jennifer sitting across from him, holding the warm cup in her hands, silently thanking for the normalcy he brought with him.

For a short period, there was silence. They just ate and drank coffee. Somehow, it felt okay.

"So," he said finally. "Are you doing okay?"

She paused. "I don't know. Everything feels...too much."

"You want to talk about it?"

"I do. Just don't know how."

Byron nodded. "We don't really have to talk now. We could just sit."

Jennifer looked at him. The dark eyes were gentle, the expression on the face unreadable, but somehow inviting. There was an absence of pressure with Byron. Just space. Just ... peace.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked in almost a whisper.

He stared at her with calm eyes. "Because I care."

That simple statement tightened her heart.

"I don't think I'm ready for anything," she finally said. "My life is such a mess."

"I'm not asking for anything," he said. "I just want to be here."

Jennifer stared at him.

It had been a long time since anyone had offered her that, without wanting something in return.

"You always were nice to me," she said quietly. "Even when I was with Devlin. I noticed."

Byron looked away, a small, almost sad smile working its way out of his lips. "Yeah. I tried not to let it show too much."

She leaned forward, interest piqued. "So you liked me then?"

He shrugged a bit. "I respected your marriage. But yeah, I noticed you."

Jennifer sat back, surprised by how warm that made her. "I had no idea."

He held her gaze. "I never expected you to. You looked happy."

"I thought I was."

Their eyes held for a long moment.

Between them, the space was silent, yet full.

She felt a pull towards him. Something soft and slow bloomed inside her chest. It wasn't that fire she'd known with Devlin, that feeling so reckless, so hot, so all-consuming. This was an anchor. A soft place.

Byron broke the spell. "Want to take a walk? It's not too cold."

She nodded.

They strolled down the sidewalk together, brushing past trees with branches that swayed lightly in the soft fingers of the breeze. Jennifer inhaled some of the cool air deeply, thinking it might help clear her mind.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she said rather suddenly.

Byron chuckled. "Like what?"

"I don't know, a secret."

He thought about it for some time. "Then...I used to play the piano. I still do every now and again. Mostly when no one is listening."

She blinked. "You? Silent and mysterious Byron? A pianist?"

He smiled. "I am full of surprises."

She laughed a real laugh, and for the first time in days, the feeling of drowning receded.

They sat down on a park bench, watching a puppy chase a few leaves across the grass.

"I like this," she said softly.

"So do I." Turning to him, she said, "I really don't know what to call this between us."

"You don't have to know right now," he gently pointed out.

"But you can feel it too, right?" He nodded once. "Yeah, I do."

Jennifer was gazing at him; her heart gave a leap. She feared going ahead, fearful in trusting again. But here, sitting with him, she could not help but want more.

Still...something was holding her back. "Can I ask you a favor?" Byron had asked.

"Anything." He hesitated. "What went on with Devlin last night? After I left?"

Jennifer swallowed. "He...brought some things...from the past. Tried to make me feel guilty."

"For what?" Jennifer paused. "For moving on."

Byron was studying her closely. "So, are you?"

"I want to. I think I do." He did not press her, only nodded, accepting what she said.

The phone buzzed again, and Jennifer stiffened. Byron noticed, asking, "Is everything okay?"

She just glanced at the screen.

Blocked Number: "If you don’t talk to me, I’ll come to your house. I mean it.”

Blood froze in her veins.

Byron leaned in closer. "Jennifer?" Her palm trembled a little. "It's fine. Just spam."

But the expression on his face betrayed his thoughts. She stood up quickly. "Come on, we should go. It's getting late."

Walking silently back to her place.

At the door, Byron turned to her. "Know that I'm here anytime you need to talk...or anything, really."

"I know," she murmured. "Thank you."

Their eyes met again, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her. Her heart fluttered at the thought. But he didn't. Instead, he stepped back.

"Goodnight, Jennifer."

"Goodnight." She watched him walk down the steps, and then turn the corner.

Chapter 6

Once the door was closed, she leaned her head against it.

She had a heavy heart with confusion, a tired body, and a buzz from her phone.

She looked down at the screen.

Blocked Number: "This won't end the way you think. We are not done, Jennifer." Her hands trembled.

And this time, she couldn't just assume it was spam.

It was close to midnight when Jennifer's phone started screaming for attention.

She lay curled up on her couch beneath a thin blanket, staring at the TV with no interest in whatever it was showing. The volume was down, playing some re-run she couldn't care less about. Her mind was not on the screen; it was still processing the threatening messages, Devlin, and Byron's concerned eyes earlier.

It nearly made her jump. Her first thought was Devlin again. Her heart pounded.

But looking at the screen, she calmed down slightly.

Byron calling...

She hesitated with her thumb hovering over the vibrant green icon.

She had not expected another call this soon. Part of her had hoped she might.

She picked up.

"Hey," she said softly, almost unsure.

"Hi." Byron's voice was low, deep, and calm. Like always. "Sorry if I woke you."

"No, I wasn't sleeping. Just... ranging."

A beat of silence passed.

"Me too," he said. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I thought, what the hell? I'll call you."

Jennifer smiled faintly. "I'm glad you did."

Another pause. Comfortable this time.

"You okay?" he asked.

She inhaled deeply. "Not really- but I'm trying."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She chewed her lower lip. "Please, everything frightens me. Devlin frightens me. These feelings I don't understand frighten me. Letting go feels like I'm betraying myself if I move on from this. But it's also like slowly drowning if I don't."

Byron was quiet for a moment. "You're not betraying anybody," he finally said. "You are surviving. That's okay."

She closed her eyes. The blanket covered Jennifer in the warmth of his words.

And then they were on the phone for hours: starting from silence, soft breaths, occasional laughter, moving on to stories. Remembrances. She told him about her childhood dog that chewed up all her shoes. He recounted that fateful day in middle school when he tried to impress a girl and ended up breaking his arm instead.

She laughed so hard that she needed to wipe her eyes dry from tears.

It was the first time in months that she felt that way: light. Free.

"You have a beautiful laugh," Byron said.

Jennifer flushed at the fact that he could not see her.

"I forgot I could still laugh like that," she whispered.

"You should do it more often," he said kindly.

It made her heart thump furiously, but she could not tell it why.

At 2 a.m. they were still on the phone talking.

"Instead of talking on the phone," Byron said suddenly, "I'd possibly be back sitting next to your door again."

Jennifer smiled. "Why?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you, and I know it's probably not fair to say that. But it's really true."

She fell silent. A lump formed in her throat with emotions.

"Is it strange that I want to hear that? Even though I am not ready?"

"No," he said. "It merely means that you are actually honest."

"Byron... I'm scared," Jennifer sighed.

"I understand," he said. "But all I want is just a chance to make you feel safe." There was a pain in her heart.

She asked, "Accompany me to the bookstore tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

As Jennifer said goodnight and hung up the receiver, she stared at a blank ceiling.

It was a true smile. She was smiling.

For long, she had not felt like that, and just about to slip into sleep, her phone buzzed again.

Her stomach was in knots, Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

Blocked Number: "You think you're safe? He can't protect you from me."

Scared the hell out of Jennifer and wiped her smile clean away.

She sat up, gasping with this one, and saved the message.

She was through with acting like it wasn't happening.

Jennifer was staring at the message now, fingers clenching tightly around the phone. The light of the screen washed over her pale face in the dark, and for a moment, she thought she could hardly breathe. The words felt like icy drops of water sliding down her spine.

She had received other messages like this before vague threats, disturbing taunts but all had been deleted. She told herself it might have been someone just needing to have a bit of fun. Perhaps even Devlin with his cruel streak. But now after the entire series of events, after feeling something again with Byron this message felt unlike the others.

More real.

Hands shaking, she opened the gallery and took a screenshot. Then another screenshot. Saving the number even though it was blocked, she prayed the police would figure it out later. This time, she would not ignore it.

Jennifer stood up from the couch to go and lock all the windows and doors in the apartment. She checked them all twice. And then a third time. Her heart beat so loudly with the sound echoing in her ears.

The image of Devlin’s face earlier filled the void in her thoughts: the sunken black eyes, the tortured look, one that had yet to give her an apology. Could it be him? Had he really fallen that low?

In the kitchen, she started pouring herself a glass of water, her fingers struggling with the weight of the cup. All she could think about was Byron. His voice still stayed in her ears. The way he said her name. The way he made her feel acknowledged, even through all her mess.

Should she inform him about it?

No. Not for the time being. Not until she got more answers.

But tomorrow, she will go to the bookstore, as she had promised. For protection, perhaps. Then again, maybe a part of her needed to feel safe again.

Chapter 7

Into the bedroom she went, then crept under the covers, yet sleep was distant. Every creak of the floorboard, every slight breeze beyond the window made her jump.

But there was still one thing she held on to, one ember of warmth: Byron's words: "I'm not asking for anything except the chance to make you feel safe."

She held onto that because the threat was real.

But maybe, just maybe...hope was, too.

What she didn't know yet was that the next message would turn everything upside down.

Jennifer arrived at the bookstore just after ten the next morning, casual in a soft gray sweater and faded jeans. Her hair was pulled low into a ponytail, and while calm was the demeanor of her face, her stomach was a raging mess with knots. Sleep had eluded her. The hard message from the night before weighed constantly in her mind. Yet she had made a promise to Byron, and it was one she intended to keep.

Inside, the bookstore welcomed her with the tangy warmth of aged paper mingled with coffee. Byron stood behind the counter arranging a display of the new poetry books. His whole face brightened when he saw her.

“You came,” he said, a slight curve to his lips.

“I said I would.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

Jennifer stepped closer, “I wasn’t sure either. But... I wanted to.”

Byron did not ask what was troubling her, not yet. Instead, he offered her a cup of tea and walked her to a quiet reading nook in the back. The cushions were warm, and the morning light came pouring in through the large window beside them. For a few precious moments, Jennifer let herself breathe.

But peace, she was learning, never last.

Customers trickled in. Byron rose to attend to them, and Jennifer began to mindlessly scroll through her phone. An article popped up on her screen, one shared by a former college friend. One hundred twenty-seven thousand process on Rehab: Devlin Rourke bereft of the hinge on the back with the moonlight basement room wonders aloud

Her throat filled with the sudden rush of air.

Her finger hovered long over the screen before it tapped on the headline. A hazy picture of Devlin walking out of a hospital building opened the article, looking pale with red-rimmed eyes, wearing clothes that hung loosely from his once-muscled frame.

He was not at all like the man she had married or the one who had torn her heart to shreds.The article went on to say that anonymous sources have confirmed for months that Devlin had been suffering from severe depression and substance abuse. They say his company has quietly put him on leave and is using a temporary CEO instead. He had been admitted to the hospital two times in the last six weeks.

Jennifer was staring at the words, unable to comprehend them. There was a storm of anger, guilt, sorrow, and disbelief in her emotions.

She had hated him for too long, hated his actions, the way he made her feel worthless, how he turned her marriage into a battlefield. But to see him there now, broken and publicly humiliated, hurt in a way she really hadn't anticipated.

She wasn't even aware that Byron had reappeared until he knelt beside her.

"You alright?" he asked softly, eyeing the phone held in her hand.

"Not really," she said, shaking her head.

Byron sat down next to her; he gave her room but had kept a nearness that made her feel less alone.

"It's Devlin," she finally said. "There's an article. Apparently he's in rehab."

With that, Byron remained silent for a moment, considering her feelings and letting her speak when she needed to.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," she murmured. "Part of me wants to scream at him. For everything he did. For every time I cried myself to sleep because he made me feel like I wasn't enough."

She swallowed, her voice cracking. "But another part...a small part...just feels sorry for him. Because I remember the man he used to be. The one I fell in love with."

"I know. You're allowed to feel both." Byron extended his hand with care to hold hers.

Tears were making it hard for Jennifer to see. "I thought I was done hurting over him. I thought I was finally moving on."

"You are," Byron said, "but healing does not mean forgetting. Well, it does not mean being numb either. Healing means feeling all this and still choosing yourself in the end."

Jennifer peered at their clasped hands. His fingers felt warm and steady, soothing. She held on. "I-I got a threatening message last night," she said suddenly.

Byron changed, sitting up straighter. "What kind of message?"

She swiped her phone open and showed him the message screenshot,

Blocked Number: You think you’re safe. He can’t protect you from me.

Byron's jaw clenched. "You need to report it."

"I will," she said. "I didn't before, but this time... I'm done pretending it's nothing."

"I'll go with you," he offered, his voice ironclad.

Jennifer nodded. She did not want to be alone. Not now.

While the rest of the day dragged quietly by, Byron did not intrude but allowed her space with her thoughts, helped her to pick a mystery novel to take home, and strolled with her to her car when it was time for her to leave.

"You have my number," he said before she left. "Call me. Even if it is 3 a.m."

She showed him a faint smile. "I might take you up on that."

That night Jennifer sat on her balcony shrouded in a shawl, sipping from a cup of chamomile tea, watching the winds play havoc with the trees. Earlier in the evening she had reported the threatening message to the local police, who said they would look into it but gave her no reassurance.

There was a smell of rain in the air, heavy and expectant.

Again, she thought with disquiet about Devlin and how empty his eyes looked in that photo. And Byron's voice, steadiness in assuring her of his support. They were two men who stood in stark contrast to one another, two forms of love.