"It doesn't sound like she wants you to come after her." Stellan says it quiet. Gentle, even, which is so unlike him that it cuts deeper than if he'd yelled. "You can't force Zola to be with you."
"I'm not forcing—" My voice cracks. I sink onto the edge of the bed, the letter still crumpled in my fist. "I just need to talk to her. Make her understand."
"Understand what? That you're giving up everything for her? That's why she left, Dec. Maybe…" He sighs. "Maybe she doesn't want you to give up your future when she's not sure you are hers."
"My future is with her." The desperation in my voice sounds pathetic even to me. "Nothing else matters."
"Clearly it matters to her."
The truth of that settles over me like concrete. Zola left because she doesn't want my sacrifice. Because she thinks that we can't work. Because she's terrified of dependence and I pushed too hard, gave up too much, showed her exactly what I was willing to lose for her.
And it broke us.
Maybe… Maybe Stellan's right and she realized that she wouldn't do the same for me. That she doesn't want it from me.
"I can't—" I can't finish the sentence. Can't admit that he's right. That she made her choice and I have to respect it even if it destroys me. "Stellan, I can't just let her go."
"I know." He exhales slowly on the other end of the line. "I'm coming over. Don't do anything stupid before I get there."
The call ends. I sit on the bed in the too-quiet home, holding a crumpled letter and trying to figure out how everything fell apart so fast. Four days ago we were fine. Not perfect, but together. Now she's gone and I don't know how to fix it.
I smooth out the letter, read it again. The words don't change. Still the same careful distance, the same heartbreaking sentences.
Please don't come looking for me.
But how am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to just accept that she's gone when every instinct I have is screaming to find her, to fix this, to make her understand that she's wrong about all of it?
I can't stomach that reality. Can't process a world where Zola isn't mine, where she doesn't come home to me, where I don't get to take care of her and make sure she's safe.
But maybe that's not my choice anymore. Maybe it never was.
I fold the letter carefully, hands still shaking, and wait for Stellan to arrive. Because I don't know what else to do. Don't know how to be the man who lets her go when everything in me is built to hold on.
7
ZOLA
EIGHT YEARS LATER…
The Cracked Cask smells the same as it always has—stale beer, sweat, and that peculiar tang of desperation that clings to places where people come to forget. I'm wiping down the bar top, watching condensation rings disappear under my rag, when Ava sidles up beside me with that practiced smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Girl, did you see table six?" She leans in, all conspiratorial warmth. It makes me suspicious instantly. "That's Anthony. Comes in every Thursday. Total gentleman."
"Mm." I don't look up.
"I'm just saying, he's been looking over here all night." Her voice drops lower, sugary. "Probably wondering why such a gorgeous woman is working in a place like this."
I finally glance at table six. Anthony is mid-forties, wedding ring tan line still visible, nursing a whiskey that's more ice than liquor at this point. "He's married."
"Separated." Ava waves a manicured hand. "That's basically single."
I bet he isn't and she just wants to stir up trouble. Otherwise she'd be blowing him in the back right now.
"That's basically still married."
She laughs like I've said something charming instead of dismissive. Everything with Ava is a performance—the hair that falls in perfect blonde waves, the jeans painted onto her thighs, the crop top showing off a stomach that's never known the comfort of carbs. She's pretty in that deliberately manufactured way, and she wields it like currency.
"You're so uptight sometimes." She bumps my hip with hers. "When's the last time you even went on a date?"
