The morning sunlight had already stretched across the apartment floor when Leah stirred in bed.
She groaned softly and turned over, her limbs aching more than usual. The housework from the day before had left her unusually sore—Daniel does this every day?—and for the first time in months, she had slept past her alarm.
The bed was empty beside her.
A faint clatter from the kitchen told her Daniel was already awake.
She scrambled up, hastily brushing her hair back, and rushed out.
Daniel sat at the table, laptop open, coffee mug beside him, working on his latest illustration project. He didn't look up as she entered.
On the counter sat a plate of breakfast. Toast. Eggs. A small bowl of cut fruit.
She blinked.
"You made breakfast?" she asked, surprised.
"I always do," Daniel said, not coldly—but not warmly either.
Leah glanced at the clock and winced. "Crap… I'm so late."
She ate hurriedly, barely tasting it, her mind running through meetings and reports. Daniel didn't say much. His fingers tapped steadily on the keyboard, focused.
As she grabbed her bag, she called out over her shoulder, "I love you."
Daniel paused.
"Yeah," he said, without looking up.
Just that.
Leah stopped mid-step, heart dropping just a little. She stared at him, hoping for eye contact. A flicker. A sign of forgiveness. But he didn't look back.
She turned and left, her chest tight.
---
Chris was waiting in the office lounge as usual.
"Look who's fashionably late," he grinned, leaning casually against the counter.
Leah gave a weak smile. "Woke up late."
Chris stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You know… you look better when you've had rest."
She didn't respond. Just turned to pour herself coffee.
He leaned in again. "Don't ignore me. I missed that spark you had."
Leah didn't answer—but she didn't tell him to stop either.
The day moved on in a blur of deadlines and briefings. Leah buried herself in work, ignoring Chris's glances, trying to pretend that everything was normal. That she was normal.
But at the end of the day, as she gathered her things to leave, he followed her to the elevator.
"You're not going to pretend like we didn't have something, are you?" he asked.
She sighed. "Chris…"
Before she could finish, he leaned in and kissed her—fast, familiar, forceful.
She froze for a moment.
Then lightly pushed him away. "Not today," she whispered, almost apologetically.
Chris looked confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but she was already walking toward the exit, not looking back.
Her head buzzed with shame.
And disappointment in herself.
---
Meanwhile, Daniel had wrapped up his client work by late afternoon. Two full days of delay had left him drained, but something inside him felt… settled now.
He closed his laptop and sat still for a moment.
And then, quietly, he reached for his phone and searched the address of the public library near the park.
Where Ira worked.
---
The library smelled of old pages and soft dust—calm, quiet, and safe.
Daniel walked past the shelves until he spotted her, sitting behind the desk, flipping through a hardcover.
Ira Heart.
She looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise, then softened instantly.
"Daniel?" Her voice carried a smile. "This is unexpected."
He offered a small nod. "Thought I'd come see what an actual library looks like. Been years."
She laughed gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, you've come to the right place. Quiet, well-lit, lots of judgmental silence if you talk too loudly."
He chuckled lightly. The first time in days.
They sat down at one of the small corner tables, their usual ease returning in pieces—old friends reconnecting in the one place that didn't demand anything from either of them.
They talked about books. Her job. His work. The weather. The usual.
But Ira was watching him.
Closely.
"You're different today," she said softly.
Daniel blinked. "Different how?"
"Quieter. Like you're holding your breath."
He paused.
Then, almost without thinking, he asked, "Do you know any good places to rent around here? Something peaceful. Short commute, decent light."
Ira looked puzzled. "You're… moving?"
Daniel nodded slightly. "Soon."
"What happened?"
He stared down at the table. "I don't want to get into all the details. But… Leah. There's been someone else. It's over."
Ira sat back, eyes searching his.
He expected anger. Or a bitter "I knew it." Or a flood of advice.
Instead, he saw her eyes glisten.
She reached across the table, gently took his hand in both of hers, and said quietly, "You didn't deserve that. I'm so, so sorry."
Daniel opened his mouth, but no words came.
Not at first.
The warmth of her hands surprised him. The sincerity in her voice undid something tight in his chest.
He felt his throat close.
And then, without meaning to, he smiled.
A small, broken thing.
But real.
It was the first time he had truly smiled in days.
And in Ira's quiet eyes, he saw something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Not judgment.
Not pity.
Just presence.