Wade pov
The apartment door closes softly behind me, and the smell hits almost immediately.
It's faint now, but it's there.
Disinfectant. Something sterile. Something that clings to the back of your throat no matter how many windows you open or how many times the floors are scrubbed.
Something that doesn't belong in a home.
I stand there for a moment longer than necessary, my keys still in my hand, my thoughts lagging somewhere behind me like they haven't quite caught up to where my body is.
The night didn't follow me home.
That's the problem.
Out there, everything had felt sharp. Loud. Alive. Every second filled with something, her voice, her laugh, the way she looked at me like she didn't know what to do with me and still didn't walk away.
Like she should have.
Like any normal person would have.
But she didn't.
And now, I'm back here. In this silence.
In this space that feels too big and too empty at the same time.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly, and finally move, dropping my keys onto the counter with a dull clatter before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
The air feels colder here.
Or maybe that's just me noticing it now that everything else is gone.
My eyes drift down the hallway before I can stop them.
The door is slightly ajar.
Mavis must have left it open earlier while she was cleaning.
I stare at it longer than I should, something tightening in my jaw as I take a step forward, then another, each one heavier than the last until I'm standing right in front of it, my hand hovering just above the handle.
It's stupid.
It's just a room.
But it doesn't feel like that.
It feels like everything I've been avoiding, sitting quietly on the other side, waiting for me to deal with it.
I push the door open.
The smell hits first. Duller now.
But still there.
That sterile, clinical scent that seeps into everything and refuses to leave.
The hospital bed is still by the window, exactly where it was because she wanted to see the city lights at night. The sheets are folded neatly, like she might come back and need them, like this is temporary, like I didn't sit here and watch the machines go quiet one by one.
I step inside slowly, my chest tightening in a way that feels familiar now.
Expected.
This is what it's been like since she died.
A constant weight sitting behind my ribs, pressing in, hollowing everything out from the inside. Every thought circling back here. Every quiet moment filled with the same images, the same sounds, the same smell that won't leave no matter how badly I want it to.
I drag a hand over my mouth, exhaling sharply.
"I'll have to call hospice," I mutter.
The words sound wrong.
Too final.
Like saying them out loud turns this into something permanent in a way it hasn't been yet. Like this is the part where I'm supposed to move forward, pack everything up, clear it out, pretend this was something I can neatly close off and leave behind.
I shake my head slightly, cutting the thought off before it finishes.
My gaze drifts back to the bed.
And for a second, I can see her there.
Small.
Fragile.
Breathing too slowly.
Waiting.
The image hits too fast, too sharp, and I step back immediately, like I've gotten too close to something I shouldn't touch.
"Tomorrow," I say quietly, my voice rougher than I expect. "I'll call them."
Tomorrow feels safer.
Less final.
Something I don't have to do right now.
I close the door faster this time, like that might contain it, like that might keep everything inside from bleeding back into the rest of the apartment.
It doesn't.
The silence returns immediately.
Heavier than before.
Because now there's nothing to distract from it.
No music.
No voices.
No her.
Just the absence of something that used to fill this space.
I move through the apartment without thinking, grabbing a glass, filling it with water I don't really want, taking a sip just to give my hands something to do.
It doesn't help.
Nothing does.
I drop onto the couch, leaning forward, elbows braced against my knees, my phone heavy in my hand as I stare down at it without really seeing it.
I should sleep.
I know that.
I'm exhausted.
But the second I close my eyes, I already know what I'm going to see.
Not Lizzy.
Not the way I want.
Not the way I need.
It'll be the hospital again.
The machines.
The quiet.
The moment everything stopped and there was nothing left to do but sit there and exist in it.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.
I don't want that.
I don't want any of it.
So I do the only thing my brain lets me do.
I think about her.
The thought slips in so easily it almost feels like relief.
Lizzy.
The way she laughed, like she didn't expect herself to.
The way her eyes, those big, soft brown eyes, looked at me like she saw something worth paying attention to.
The way she didn't pull away.
The way she stayed.
The way she kissed me back like she wanted it just as much as I did.
My grip tightens around my phone.
I can still feel her.
Still taste her.
Still hear her voice in the back of my mind like it never left.
And suddenly the silence doesn't feel quite as suffocating.
Not completely.
Because she's here now too.
Filling the space in a way nothing else has managed to.
I unlock my phone without thinking.
My thumb hesitates for a second over the screen.
This is a stupid long shot.
I don't even know her last name.
Don't know where she lives.
Don't know anything about her beyond what she chose to tell me between drinks and half-laughed conversations.
And yet, I don't stop.
I open Facebook.
The search bar stares back at me.
My thumb hovers again before I type it anyway.
Lizzy.
Dozens of names appear.
Hundreds.
Different faces.
Different lives.
None of them are her.
I scroll.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Then slower again.
It's pointless.
I don't even know what I'm looking for.
I lean back into the couch, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand over my face.
"Think," I mutter.
What did she say?
Kids.
Books.
The way her face lit up when she talked about that place.
Her shop.
Of course.
Coffee and books.
My hand moves before I consciously decide.
I search again, slower this time, more deliberate.
Coffee shop.
Bookstore.
My city.
I scroll through the results, my focus sharpening, narrowing until everything else fades into the background.
And then, something catches.
A name.
A photo.
A small, warm-looking space with books lining the walls and soft light spilling through the windows like something out of one of the mornings she described.
Juniper & Ink.
My pulse picks up slightly.
I tap it.
The page loads.
Photos.
Posts.
People tagged in the background.
And then,
her.
It's not even a clear photo.
She's half-turned, caught in the background, smiling at someone just out of frame, her hair falling over her shoulder the same way it did tonight.
But it's her.
There's no hesitation.
No doubt.
I know it instantly.
Something tightens in my chest, something sharp and electric, replacing the heaviness that's been sitting there all night.
My thumb hovers over the screen as I take her in, memorising every detail like I'm afraid she'll disappear if I look away for too long.
Juniper & Ink.
Of course she owns a place like that.
It suits her.
Warm.
Quiet.
Safe.
Everything she felt like.
Everything I want to see again.
I scroll further, slower now, taking my time, looking for more,another photo, another glimpse, anything that gives me something real to hold onto.
Because now that I've found her, I'm not letting this go.
The apartment is still silent.
Still empty.
But it doesn't feel the same anymore.
Because now there's something else here.
Something sharper than the grief.
Something that feels like direction.
I tap the map.
The location loads, a small pin sitting in the center of the screen
Fifteen minutes away.
Close enough that it feels intentional.
Close enough that it doesn't feel like a coincidence.
I stare at it longer than I should, my thumb hovering as if I might press something that will change the distance, make it shorter, make it immediate.
But the world outside is quiet.
The kind of stillness that only exists this late, when everything is shut down and nothing is open.
There's no reason for her to be there.
I know that.
Still, I don't close it.
I just sit there, staring, letting the idea take shape in my head whether I want it to or not.
I could go in the morning.
Walk in like it's nothing.
Like I didn't spend half the night thinking about her.
Like I didn't sit here searching until I found something real.
My grip tightens slightly around the phone.
That would be the normal way to do it.
But the way I feel right now is far from normal.
I lean forward again, elbows on my knees, dragging a hand through my hair as I exhale slowly.
The apartment feels smaller now.
Quieter.
Like it's closing in again.
And the second I look away from my phone, it's back.
The hospital.
The silence.
Everything I don't want to sit with tonight.
So I don't look away. I search through her page until I find a name, a tag, anything that would lead me closer to knowing her.
Finally an article about the shop.
A cosy nook for coffee lovers and readers opens in Portland.
I scan through the article and there..
Owned by Elizabeth Hayes.
I go back to Facebook. Type in her name and relief hits so hard it almost hurts.
It's the very first profile that comes up. The profile picture is of her and two little boys.
Her kids. She briefly told me about them but I didn't pry.
I scroll through her photos, which I can see very little of due to her profile being set to private.
I consider sending a friend request, but that would ruin my plans of showing up.
I finally find a picture of just her, and before I can help myself, I save it to my phone.
The quiet presses in, but I'm too focused on studying her face. The line of her jaw, the curve of her smile.
And the knowledge that she is real. That she exists somewhere outside of that moment we had last night and that I can find her again.
Eventually.
I lean back into the couch, my head resting against it, my eyes drifting closed for a moment despite myself.
When and the dreams finally come they are all of her.