Morning came wrapped in a pale, golden light — the kind that made everything look softer, even the parts of life that still hurt.
Grace sat by her apartment window, a small place she'd rented on the quieter side of the city. The walls were still bare, the boxes still half-unpacked. It didn't feel like home, not yet — but it was hers. For the first time in weeks, she had a door that locked from the inside and silence that didn't echo someone else's voice.
The coffee on the table had gone cold, but she didn't mind. She was learning to live with small imperfections now — the half-empty cup, the wrinkled shirt, the tear she didn't wipe away fast enough.
That morning, she dressed for work again. Same gray suit. Same heels. But everything inside her felt different, heavier. The mirror reflected someone she didn't know yet — not the wife, not the twin, not the woman Mark had loved and betrayed. Just Grace. Undefined.
The office was both familiar and foreign. The receptionist's smile was kind but cautious, whispers following her as she walked to her desk. Everyone knew something. No one said it.
"Good to have you back, Grace," her supervisor said politely, eyes flicking over her like she was fragile glass.
She nodded. "Good to be back."
Lie number one.
The truth was she wasn't ready to be here. Every sound — the phones ringing, the hum of computers — pressed against her skull like static. Still, she pushed through. If she stayed busy enough, maybe her thoughts would quiet down.
By noon, Ethan stopped by her office door. He looked the same — rolled-up sleeves, easy confidence — but his eyes carried a question.
"You surviving?" he asked quietly.
She smiled faintly. "I'm working. That's close enough."
He stepped closer, dropping a file on her desk. "Meeting at three. You're with me on this one."
"Is that an order?"
"A favor," he said with a soft grin. "Keeps you from overthinking."
For a moment, she almost laughed. Almost.
Hours later, during the meeting, Grace caught herself drifting. The voices around the conference table blurred. She saw Mark's face in flashes — the curve of his smile, the warmth of his hand, the way his voice used to steady her. Then Mia's laugh echoed faintly in her mind, sharp and cruel.
Grace blinked hard, forcing herself back to the present. She scribbled notes she didn't read, nodded at things she didn't hear.
Afterward, Ethan found her by the window, staring at nothing.
"Breathe," he said softly.
She exhaled, realizing she hadn't in a while. "It's funny," she murmured. "People tell you to move on, like grief is a staircase. Step one, step two, done."
"It's not?" he asked gently.
"It's an ocean," she said. "Some days you swim. Some days you drown."
He nodded. "Then let's just try to float today."
His words lingered long after he left.
That night, back at her apartment, Grace sat in bed scrolling through old photos on her phone — Mark smiling at dinner, Mia's arm looped around hers at their birthday, the three of them together, perfect. She deleted them one by one until her screen was empty.
But when she set the phone down, she realized she hadn't deleted him from her heart. Not yet.
The first lie she told herself was that she was fine.
The second — that she didn't care anymore.
But deep down, she still waited for closure that would never come.
Outside, the city hummed softly, alive and indifferent. She pulled the blanket over her legs and stared at the ceiling, whispering a promise to no one:
"I won't let this destroy me."
Her voice cracked, but she meant it.
The next morning, she'd wake up, put on her gray suit again, and walk into the world like nothing had broken.
Because that's what strength looked like — pretending long enough until one day it wasn't a lie anymore.