The days following my conversation with Jeff were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His confession had reopened wounds I thought had healed, leaving me questioning everything. I needed clarity, and there was only one person I trusted to provide an unfiltered perspective: Chelsea.We met at our favorite café, a cozy nook nestled between towering office buildings. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of baked pastries, creating a comforting atmosphere. Chelsea was already seated at our usual corner table, her eyes scanning the menu."Hey," I greeted, sliding into the seat across from her.She looked up, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey yourself. You look like you haven't slept in days."I sighed, stirring the sugar into my coffee. "That's because I haven't. It's Jeff."Chelsea's expression shifted to one of concern. "What did he do now?"I recounted our conversation in the park, detailing his admission of regret and his desire to rekindle what we onc
Days passed, and Jeff stayed true to his word. He didn’t push. He didn’t call incessantly or ambush me with declarations of love. He was... patient.Too patient.He sent coffee to the office every now and then—always the right kind, always with a sticky note bearing some quiet inside joke or half-forgotten memory scrawled on it. A small, warm reminder of the life we once shared. A life that, despite everything, still lingered in the corners of my mind like the faint smell of cologne on a scarf I hadn’t worn in years.I wanted to believe him.God, a part of me did.But there was still a wall between us—thin, invisible, but tall as hell. And I didn’t know how to tear it down without hurting myself in the process.One evening, I stayed late at the office, going over files that didn’t really need my attention. I just… needed the noise. The distraction.Chelsea wandered in around 7 p.m., her coat draped over one arm and a curious look on her face.“So,” she said, dragging a chair up to my
I didn’t know what unsettled me more—the fact that Jeff had admitted he still had feelings for me… or that part of me wanted to believe him.The day after our confrontation, I found myself spiraling. My brain, usually so sharp and logical, was tangled in loops of questions. Why now? Why say it like that? Why come back just when my life was starting to regain some balance?Was he being sincere… or was this just another one of his fleeting whims?Chelsea had a way of reading my face like an open book. The moment I stepped into the office, she glanced up from her laptop and gave me that knowing look—the one that made me feel like I was twelve and hiding secrets from my older sister."So," she said casually, spinning her pen between her fingers, "did you finally talk to your ex-husband, or are you still pretending you don't feel things when he's around?"I let out a slow breath and slid into my chair. “We talked.”She raised an eyebrow. “And?”“And he said he wants me back.”Her jaw dropp
I stood outside Jeff's apartment, heart pounding against my ribs. The weight of our history pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. After all the pain, the betrayal, and the years spent apart, here I was, about to step back into the lion's den.I knocked.The door opened almost immediately, as if he'd been standing just on the other side, waiting. Jeff looked... different. Older, perhaps. Or maybe just wearier. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke."Come in," he said softly, stepping aside.I hesitated, then crossed the threshold. The apartment was familiar yet foreign. Some of our old furniture remained, but new pieces had taken their places. The walls, once adorned with photos of our shared adventures, were now bare."Can I get you something? Water? Wine?" Jeff offered, his voice tentative."Water's fine," I replied, my throat dry.He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. My eyes wandered, landing on a framed photo on the
I didn’t dress to impress him.That was the mantra I repeated over and over while I slipped into a soft navy blouse and ankle-length slacks that hugged my hips just right. I told myself I wasn’t doing this for Jeff. It was just dinner. Questions. Closure.And maybe a few dumplings.But as I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair loose and curled, lips tinted with just enough color—I realized I was lying to myself.There was still a part of me that cared. A part that still wanted to know: Was it really too late for us?Jeff was waiting by the curb when I stepped outside. He was leaning against his car, holding a single white tulip and dressed in that maddeningly soft gray sweater I always loved.His eyes lit up when he saw me.“Hey,” he said, handing me the flower.“What’s this?” I asked, raising a brow.“A peace offering.” He smiled. “One flower for every time I wish I had done things differently.”I looked at the tulip. “You’re gonna need a whole damn garden.”He chuckled, but his s
That evening, as I prepared dinner, my phone buzzed with a message from Jeff:Jeff: "I know I've hurt you, and I can't erase that. But I want to be someone you can trust again. Can we talk?"I stared at the screen, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen, as memories of our past intertwined with the present. Taking a deep breath, I typed back:Me: "Come over. Let's talk."As I set an extra plate on the table, I realized that while the path ahead was uncertain, I was willing to take the first step towards understanding, closure, or perhaps, a new beginning.***I didn’t dress up. I didn’t light candles. I didn’t even bother to reapply lip gloss.This wasn’t a date.This was a conversation. One that had been crawling beneath my skin for weeks, maybe months. A conversation that needed to be peeled open like a wound. Because whatever Jeff thought he was doing—showing up with flowers, warm coffee, lingering glances—I needed clarity. Not games. Not nostalgia wrapped in ribbon and
The day started off normal enough—well, as normal as it could when your best friend was plotting a relationship stress test and your ex-husband had confessed he wanted you back.Chelsea hadn’t given me details yet. She said it had to “feel natural” to work. That if Jeff caught even a whiff of setup, it would ruin everything.So instead, I did what I always did when things got too real.I buried myself in work.Meetings. Emails. Approvals. Damage control from one of our junior designers who accidentally sent the wrong pitch deck to a client. It was the kind of chaos that usually kept my head clear. But today?Jeff’s face kept slipping into my mind.The soft way he looked at me lately. The way he listened—like every word I said mattered. The way he smiled when he saw me, like it was the only part of his day he was looking forward to.And worse?The way my chest fluttered when he did those things."Damn it," I muttered to myself, slamming my laptop shut as Chelsea walked back into the ro
The morning after Jeff’s confession felt like walking through fog—thick, disorienting, and impossible to escape. I kept replaying his words, the sincerity in his eyes, the way he said he’d wait for me. No pressure, no expectations. Just hope.Chelsea, ever the orchestrator, had taken it upon herself to “test” Jeff’s intentions. And while I initially resisted, part of me was grateful. I needed to see if his actions matched his words.At the office, Chelsea was unusually quiet, her eyes darting between me and the door. I raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”She feigned innocence. “Me? Nothing. Just… maybe scheduled a meeting.”Before I could press further, the door opened, and in walked Jeff, carrying a box of pastries from my favorite bakery. He looked nervous, which was rare for him.“Morning,” he said, placing the box on my desk. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”I glanced at Chelsea, who was suddenly very interested in her computer screen. Turning back to Jeff, I nodded. “Than
I wasn’t expecting to find the photo.It was wedged between the pages of a book on Jeff’s shelf—one I had given him for his birthday three years ago. I hadn’t been snooping. I was just looking for something to read while he took a call in the other room. My fingers slipped, the spine cracked open, and there it was.A picture of Jeff and Stella.Not just any picture.They were in Paris.Smiling. Kissing. Happy.The background was the Eiffel Tower, but it wasn’t a tourist snapshot. It looked… intimate. Like someone had captured them mid-moment, mid-laughter, mid-love.I froze, the book dangling in my hands.When Jeff walked back into the room, phone still pressed to his ear, his smile faltered the second he saw my face.“What’s wrong?”I held up the photo without a word.He stopped in his tracks. “Where did you…?”“In your book. My book.”He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. Demi, I didn’t even know that was there.”“It was in a book I gave you,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Was t
When Demi fell asleep on the couch, her hand still wrapped in mine, I sat there for a long time just watching her breathe. The tension that had weighed on my chest for days—hell, maybe weeks—finally cracked. Not disappeared, but cracked. Enough for me to feel like maybe, just maybe, we were moving in the right direction again. But I knew better than to believe the battle was over. Because peace, especially with Demi, wasn’t something you stumbled into. It was something you built—brick by brick, truth by truth. The next morning, I cooked her breakfast. Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, avocado toast, and the coffee she liked. She looked surprised when she came into the kitchen wearing my shirt, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You made coffee?” she mumbled, hair a soft mess of curls. “You deserve more than just coffee,” I said with a smile. “But yeah. It’s a start.” She blinked at me like she didn’t expect gentleness. And that? That broke something in me. “You okay?” I asked
The next few days passed in a blur.Not the chaotic kind that leaves you dizzy, but the kind that feels like you're holding your breath underwater—waiting for the surface to come back into view, but not sure how long your lungs will last.I kept busy. Overly busy. Back-to-back meetings, inbox zero by noon, editing pitch decks like my life depended on it. Chelsea noticed, of course.“You’re doing that thing again,” she said one afternoon, arms crossed as she leaned against my office door.“What thing?”She gave me a look. “The ‘I’m fine because I’m drowning in productivity’ thing.”I sighed and rubbed my temples. “What else am I supposed to do, Chels? Sit at home and overanalyze every word Jeff’s ever said?”“Maybe not every word. Just the recent ones.” She paused, then added softly, “Did he try to explain more?”I nodded. “He texted. Called once. I didn’t answer.”“Demi…”“I know.” I cut her off before the lecture could begin. “I’m just... trying to figure out if this is something I w
I didn’t realize how much tension I’d been holding in my body until Jeff wrapped his arms around me that evening.It was late. The office had long emptied, and the moon had risen, casting silver shadows over my apartment. I’d just stepped out of the shower when he texted:“Can I come over? Just to talk.”I almost said no.But something inside me—a quieter part, the part that still remembered how his voice sounded when he whispered goodnight—nudged me toward yes.So I said okay.And now, here he was. Standing barefoot in my living room, hands tucked into his pockets, looking like the same man who used to hum while making pancakes on Sunday mornings… and yet entirely different. Changed. Softer, maybe. Or just more real.“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said, breaking the quiet. “About everything, really.”I stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed—not out of anger, but instinct. A shield.“I know,” I replied. “And I shouldn’t have brought up Stella the way I did. That was unfair.”He
The following week unfolded like a delicate dance, each step measured, each movement tentative. Jeff and I continued our cautious re-engagement, sharing brief lunches, exchanging playlists, and occasionally walking together after work. It was comfortable, familiar, yet tinged with the uncertainty of uncharted territory.One evening, as we strolled through the park near our office, Jeff turned to me with a thoughtful expression.“Demi,” he began, “there's something I've been meaning to tell you.”I glanced at him, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”He hesitated, then continued, “Stella reached out to me last week. She wanted to talk about some unresolved matters.”A chill ran down my spine. The name alone was enough to stir a whirlwind of emotions.“What did she want?” I asked, striving for composure.“She apologized for everything,” Jeff said. “She admitted to her mistakes and wanted closure.”I nodded slowly, processing his words. “And how did you feel about that?”Jeff sighed. “It was
The days that followed felt like the start of something uncertain—but not in the terrifying way I’d once dreaded. It was a quiet sort of uncertainty. The kind that came with the possibility of growth, of redemption, of second chances not yet taken, but not entirely out of reach either.Jeff kept his word—he showed up.He didn’t push or pry. He didn’t smother me with grand gestures. Instead, he kept doing the small things. Things that felt intentional, thoughtful, familiar. A note slipped onto my desk with a reminder to eat lunch. A playlist link sent in the middle of the day with a message that simply read: Thought you’d like this one. A text every morning, every night—sometimes funny, sometimes tender, sometimes just one word: Here.And I felt it.The shift.Like we were inching back toward something we’d lost, only this time with more care. More clarity.Chelsea, ever the spy she was, didn’t let a moment pass without commentary. “You’re glowing again,” she said one morning as we sto
It had been a week since that conversation in the café, and every day since felt like a slow unraveling of everything I’d tried so hard to tuck away.Jeff didn’t push after that day. No late-night calls. No over-the-top gestures. Just quiet, consistent presence. He texted good morning. He sent me silly memes. He asked about my day. And strangely, it wasn’t suffocating.It was comforting.And that scared me.Because I remembered too well what came after comfort the last time. I remembered how it felt to have the rug pulled out from under my life just when I’d thought we were finally solid. Jeff didn’t just break my heart—he shattered my sense of certainty. So even if he was different now, even if he was trying… how could I believe it wouldn’t happen again?“Earth to Demi,” Chelsea snapped her fingers in front of my face.I blinked. We were at a small rooftop wine bar downtown, watching the sun dip behind the buildings, painting the sky in shades of lavender and gold.“What?” I asked, s
The weekend crept in slowly, with a silence that settled deeper than usual. I spent most of Saturday in my apartment, curled up on the couch with a book I wasn’t really reading and a cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago. My thoughts kept drifting—uninvited and relentless—back to Jeff.He had laid it all bare. No pretenses. No excuses.He wanted me back.It was still hard to wrap my head around. This was the same man who, just a year ago, looked me in the eyes and said he didn’t love me the same way anymore. The same man who signed the divorce papers without hesitation, who packed his bags and left me with only silence and echoes of everything we used to be.He chose Stella.He didn’t just leave—he left for her.And now? Now he says she couldn’t fill the space I left behind?I had questions. So many questions. And no matter how many pretty bracelets or thoughtful texts he sent, they didn’t erase the one truth I kept choking on:He left.And no matter how much he regrets it now, I st
The morning after Jeff’s confession felt like walking through fog—thick, disorienting, and impossible to escape. I kept replaying his words, the sincerity in his eyes, the way he said he’d wait for me. No pressure, no expectations. Just hope.Chelsea, ever the orchestrator, had taken it upon herself to “test” Jeff’s intentions. And while I initially resisted, part of me was grateful. I needed to see if his actions matched his words.At the office, Chelsea was unusually quiet, her eyes darting between me and the door. I raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”She feigned innocence. “Me? Nothing. Just… maybe scheduled a meeting.”Before I could press further, the door opened, and in walked Jeff, carrying a box of pastries from my favorite bakery. He looked nervous, which was rare for him.“Morning,” he said, placing the box on my desk. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”I glanced at Chelsea, who was suddenly very interested in her computer screen. Turning back to Jeff, I nodded. “Than