Two months slipped by before I noticed how much had changed. I’d stopped counting the days since the headlines faded from my inbox or the nights I’d slept alone. Ethan and I weren’t perfect, but we were figuring it out.
Living together happened quietly. My stuff migrated from my place to his, bit by bit—first a toothbrush, then a drawer of clothes, then my favourite mug on his kitchen shelf. There were mornings he was already gone, out for a run before sunrise. I’d wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of him humming under his breath. Sometimes he read the news out loud, skipping the politics and pausing for the weird stories, just to make me laugh.
We found a rhythm. We both worked early, him in his office, me at my desk in the bedroom. I’d hear him on calls, his voice steady and patient. Some days I’d bring him a cup of tea and just watch him work, loving the quiet focus on his face.
We fought, too. Sometimes it was stupid—his shoes in the hallway, my hair in the drain, the way I left dishes soaking when he wanted them done. But sometimes it got serious. I still had days where I’d shut down, not wanting to talk. He hated that. He wanted to solve every problem, and I didn’t always want to be fixed. After every fight, we always came back together—even if it meant sitting in silence until one of us caved.
Alex stayed in the picture, but he kept his distance. He texted a few times a week, sometimes called when he was in the area. We’d grab coffee on a Saturday or meet for lunch. He and Ethan were polite—never close, but there was no drama. Alex always asked if things were good, and I always told him the truth, even when it was complicated.
My brother called every weekend. Sometimes we talked for half an hour, sometimes just a few minutes. He never pried, but I could tell he listened for any crack in my voice.
Vivienne visited when she could, always with a new recipe or some story about Ethan as a kid. She asked if I was happy. Most days, I could tell her yes and mean it.
I still had rough days—old fears, bad dreams, moments when I wondered if I deserved any of this. But those moments passed. Ethan never let me hide for long. Sometimes he’d just pull me close, not needing words. Sometimes he’d challenge me until I snapped out of it. It wasn’t always gentle, but it was real.
One night, after a long day, I found him in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. He looked tired, but when he saw me, he smiled. “Come here,” he said, and I did. He pressed his forehead to mine and just breathed with me for a minute. No words, just the comfort of being together.
This was our life—messy, unfinished, but real. For the first time in a long time, tomorrow didn’t scare me.
Even in the middle of our routines, I felt the pull between us. Sometimes it was simple—a brush of his hand on my back as I passed him in the hall, the way he’d look at me over his coffee, a private smile only I got to see. Other times, it was more than that.
One evening, I was finishing up work when Ethan came in from his run. He was flushed from the cold, hair damp at his temples, breathing hard. He watched me from the doorway, his eyes hungry in a way that made my skin heat up.
“You done?” he asked.
I nodded, saving my file without looking away. He didn’t bother with small talk. He crossed the room, pulled me up from my chair, and kissed me—deep, slow, leaving no doubt about what he wanted. I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting myself melt into him.
We barely made it to the bedroom before he had my sweater off, his hands warm on my back. Sometimes we laughed in the middle of it, tangled in the sheets, both of us trying to take the lead. Sometimes it was rough and quick, sometimes drawn out, but every time, it left me wanting more.
After, we’d stay wrapped up together, breathing each other in, talking about work or dinner plans or nothing at all. He’d run his fingers through my hair, and I’d trace lazy circles on his chest, both of us comfortable in the quiet.
Even when the day was rough or we didn’t agree on anything, the tension between us never went away. Sometimes one look was all it took—he’d pull me in when I least expected it, or I’d catch him watching me and everything else would fade out. Sometimes we’d end up tangled together right there in the middle of the afternoon, laughing and breathless, forgetting whatever we’d argued about that morning.
At night, I’d reach for him and he’d always be there. His hands on my body were steady, certain, and I never had to wonder what he wanted. I wanted him too—again and again, like we were making up for all the time we’d wasted before.
No matter what the day looked like, he always found a way to remind me we were in this together.
One Thursday, I got an email from HR about a new policy at work. They wanted everyone to come in for a “team building” day. No excuses. My stomach dropped as soon as I read it. The idea of facing everyone in person, after everything, made my hands shake.
Ethan found me pacing the living room, my phone clenched in my fist.
“What’s wrong?”
I handed him the email. He read it, then looked straight at me. “You don’t have to go if you’re not ready.”
I shook my head. “They’ll think I’m hiding. I don’t want to give them a reason.”
He pulled me gently into his arms. “You’re not the same person you were back then. You can handle this. But if it’s too much, you walk out, no explanations. You owe them nothing.”
I rested my forehead against his chest. “Will you be here when I get back?”
He squeezed me tighter. “Every time.”
The day of the event, I put on my best jeans and a sweater that made me feel strong. Ethan handed me a travel mug of coffee and kissed my forehead before I left. “Go show them who you are,” he said.
The office was noisy, full of faces I’d only seen through screens. A few people avoided my eyes. Madison came over and gave me a quick hug, then started talking about the schedule like nothing had ever happened. My boss just smiled and handed me a name tag.
It wasn’t easy. I kept waiting for someone to bring up the past, but no one did. By the end of the day, I was tired but relieved.
When I got home, Ethan was waiting with a takeaway and a bottle of wine. He let me talk it all out, every awkward moment and every small victory, until I felt lighter. Later, he pulled me into bed and reminded me in every way he knew how that I was home.
Later that night, I sat on the balcony with Ethan, a blanket over our legs and the city lights stretching in every direction. We didn’t talk much, just listened to the sounds of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from the street below.
I leaned into him, feeling his warmth even through the chill. “I never thought I’d get here,” I said quietly.
He turned, brushing his lips against my hair. “Neither did I.”
I watched his profile in the glow from our window, the lines of his jaw, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. I reached for his hand, and he squeezed mine tight.
“We’re not perfect, are we?” I said.
He laughed, low and rough. “Not even close.”
I smiled. “I like us this way.”
He pulled me closer. “Me too.”
For a while, we just sat there, breathing in the night, not worried about tomorrow for once.
When we went inside, I left the balcony door cracked, letting the city in. I curled up next to Ethan, and as I drifted off, I realised I finally felt at home.