6:54 PM — One Month Later
We met for coffee today.
Technically.
She ordered the autumn hot chocolate special with whipped cream and cinnamon on top.
I got black coffee.
I don't know why that felt funny.
She's ten years older than me.Supposed to be the adult.
And I'm the one drinking something that tastes like responsibility.
She looked lighter today.
Not fixed.
Just… less fragile.
I was careful.
I didn't bring him up.Didn't want to step on anything she wasn't ready to touch.
But she did.
She hesitated first.
Then said his name like it had weight.
She told me she knows she shouldn't lean on me about this.That I'm younger.That it's not fair to put relationship weight on me.
I told her it's okay.
And I meant it.
She still adjusted how she spoke after that.
Careful. Measured. Considerate.
She's always like that.
Then she said it's been about a month since their big conversation.
And that he's started making small changes.
Small, but significant.
Progress.
She used that word.
Progress.
She stirred her drink when she said it.
Didn't look up immediately.
There was something in the pause.
Something unfinished.
And I almost filled it in for her.
I almost said,"But it's not enough, is it?"
I caught myself.
I don't get to decide that.
So instead I asked, quietly —
"Well… I mean…"
And I shouldn't have.
Because I saw it.
That flicker behind her smile.
That tiny fracture.
Still, I finished it.
"Is it?"
It was an honest question.
Soft. Not accusatory.
But it still hurt her.
Not because I was wrong.
Because I said out loud the thing she hasn't fully decided yet.
She looked down.
Then told me she wants to give it more time.
More time.
I didn't push.
I left it there.
But I think I understand something now.
Progress matters.
But sometimes progress doesn't erase the damage that made change necessary in the first place.
And I don't know which one she's weighing.
The improvement.
Or the memory.
She finished her hot chocolate.
I finished my coffee.
We didn't talk about it again.