Not So Typical Saturday Night

The rest of the week flew by in a blur—work, spending time with Jess, and the constant flood of calls and messages from Atlas. I didn’t pick up a single one. His texts, all variations of the same theme, piled up on my phone, each one a hollow echo of regret. If Atlas had proven anything over the past few days, it was that he was sorry. But that word, sorry, had lost all meaning to me.

I used to be the girl who’d drop everything for him, who’d bend to his will with a single word. But not anymore. I was too hurt, too broken, to let his apologies soften me. Even if he meant them—truly meant them—I didn’t want them. They couldn’t fix what he’d shattered.

Saturday arrived faster than I was ready for, leaving me standing in front of my cupboard, staring at the meager selection of clothes. I blew my cheeks out in frustration before turning to Jess, who was casually perched on my bed, lost in her book. “I really need to get the rest of my stuff back from Atlas,” I muttered.

Jess looked up, he