And then I smiled. It was a small, quiet curve of my lips, the kind of smile that hides a storm. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t remind him of the years of support, the money I had lent when his start‑up was barely a garage with a flickering neon sign. I simply nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze settle on me like a stone.
He turned away, his coat collar turned up against the rain, and walked back toward the exit. I watched him disappear into the crowd, his shoulders stiff, his stride purposeful.
The Night I Left
That night, the rain had turned into a steady downpour, the kind that makes the city feel like a single, breathing organism. I walked through the hallway of the house that had been my home for twenty‑seven years, the floorboards creaking under each step as if they, too, were remembering every footfall.
