Zoe packed the last of her things into her worn leather bag, the soft click of her laptop closing echoing faintly in the quiet office. She sighed, the kind of sigh that carried exhaustion and something heavier—something she couldn't quite name. The elevator dinged. She stepped in and pressed the lobby button, watching the floors descend as her reflection flickered across the mirrored walls.
The lobby doors slid open with a gentle chime. She stepped out. A familiar voice called her name.
"Zoe."
She froze.
That voice—it shouldn't have been here. Not in this place. Not after everything.
Zoe turned slowly. And there she was.
Alexandra.
Standing a few feet away, arms stiff by her sides, eyes wide with something like fear—or maybe shame.
"Alexandra," Zoe said, her voice low, sharp. The name hit like broken glass in her mouth.
"Can we talk?" Alexandra asked. There was no defiance in her tone—just quiet desperation.
Zoe blinked. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. "Talk?" She let out a dry, bitter laugh. "First it was Stacy. Now you?" She shook her head. "You two suddenly decided I'm worth a conversation?"
Alexandra didn't move. "I deserve that. I know I do. But I'm not here to defend myself. I'm here to tell you the truth."
Zoe's stare could've cut through steel. "Why now?"
There was a beat of silence.
"Because I can't live with you thinking she stopped loving you," Alexandra whispered.
Zoe's eyes narrowed. And yet—despite herself—she didn't walk away.
They found a small coffee shop around the corner. It was quiet inside, the low hum of a jazz tune weaving through the clinking of cups and quiet murmurs of other patrons. They ordered—Alexandra a black coffee, Zoe a latte—and sat across from each other by the window, the autumn light casting long shadows across the table.
Alexandra spoke first.
Then Alexandra finally said, "I know 'I'm sorry' means nothing to you. Not after what we did. But I swear, Zoe... none of this was meant to happen the way it did."
Zoe's fingers tightened around her cup. "You didn't just betray me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "You ruined me."
Her eyes lifted, and they were glassy—full of fire and something else. Something fractured.
"I believed in you, Alexandra. I believed you were on our side. I let you in."
"I was on your side," Alexandra said, her voice cracking. "I still am."
Zoe laughed, short and hollow. "That's rich. You're wearing the ring now, aren't you? Is this the part where you ask for my blessing?"
"No," Alexandra said quickly. "I'm not here for forgiveness. I'm here to tell you... Stacy never stopped loving you."
Zoe turned her face to the window. Her reflection wavered in the glass, barely holding together. "Don't do this."
"She didn't leave you because she loved me," Alexandra said. "She left because she loved you... too much."
Zoe turned her head slowly. Her voice shook. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Alexandra's throat tightened. Her hands curled slightly on the table like she was about to reach across the space—but stopped herself.
"Stacy knew everything, Zoe. She knew about your struggles. Your pain. And... your job at the restaurant."
Zoe's breath hitched. The cup in her hands trembled, and she set it down before she dropped it. Her voice was barely there—like a memory trying to speak.
"S-she... knew?"
Alexandra nodded—slow, careful, like she was stepping through broken glass.
"She saw how you kept it all hidden. How you smiled when you were breaking. How you worked yourself into exhaustion just to protect her from the truth. The double shifts. The bruises. That night a customer slapped you—"
Zoe flinched.
Her eyes widened, filling fast. She blinked once. Then again.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "She wasn't there. She couldn't have seen that."
Alexandra didn't move.
"She was there, Zoe," she said, her voice heavy with truth. "She saw it all unfold. And it broke her. She felt helpless, guilty—useless, even. Like she was watching the person she loved most destroy herself, just to protect her, to make her feel safe."
She paused, her eyes softening with understanding. "She couldn't stand being the reason you were hurting, struggling—still trying to protect her, when all she wanted was for you to be okay."
Zoe didn't respond. Her face was frozen in disbelief, but the tears betrayed her.
One fell.
Then another.
Her voice finally came, hoarse and shaking:
"Why didn't she say something?" Zoe whispered. "Why didn't she just talk to me?"
Alexandra inhaled shakily.
"Because she thought the only way to give you your life back... was to take herself out of it."
Zoe stared at her, frozen.
"She made a deal with her father. If he helped you get back on your feet—she'd agree to the life he wanted for her. Including marrying me."
Zoe's lips trembled. Her hands curled into fists in her lap.
"No..." she breathed. "No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't throw us away like that."
Alexandra's voice cracked, her own eyes shining now.
"She did it because she thought it was the only way to save you. She gave up everything, Zoe. Her love. Her freedom. Her future... because she thought your happiness was worth more than her own."
She leaned in, her voice almost breaking.
"I never wanted to marry her. I only agreed because she begged me. She made me promise it was temporary. That once you were okay—once you had your life back—we'd find a way out."
Zoe shook her head slowly, like if she kept denying it, the truth might retreat. But it didn't.
It sank in.
And then it shattered her.
She let out a strangled sound—half gasp, half sob—as her shoulders caved in. Her hands flew to her face, but they couldn't stop it. The grief crashed over her like a wave she hadn't seen coming, one she'd been holding back for far too long.
"She gave it all up..." Zoe whispered, choking on the words. "For me?"
Her chest heaved, a cry tearing loose from somewhere deep and buried. She pressed her palm to her mouth as if she could force it back down—but it was no use. The dam had broken.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her fingers trembling as tears spilled quietly down her cheeks and onto the worn wood. Her voice came out raw and broken. "She was everything to me... and she left thinking I'd be better off without her."
She sat like that for a moment, trembling, breath hitching through sobs that wouldn't stop.
Then finally, her voice returned—shaky and raw, barely holding shape:
"But why didn't she tell me? Why just leave me in the dark—let me think she didn't love me anymore?"
Alexandra's tone softened to something almost mournful.
"She did tell you, Zoe. She said she left you a letter. Everything was in it. The whole truth."
Zoe's breath caught like something had punched the air from her lungs.
"A letter?" she whispered. "There was no letter. I never saw anything."
Alexandra nodded slowly, carefully. "She said she left it in your apartment. Somewhere you'd find it. Before she left."
Zoe's face went blank—then broke. Her voice faltered.
"I—I never saw it. I tore that place apart looking for answers. For her. There was nothing."
Elsewhere. Before.
The apartment had been silent long after Stacy left.
A letter sat on the small table, folded with care, trembling in the breeze.
The window had been left open—just a crack. Just enough.
The wind stirred the curtains, then caught the edge of the page.
It fluttered once. Twice. Then slipped from the table's edge.
No one saw. No one stopped it.
It drifted across the floor and vanished beneath the couch.
By the time Zoe returned, the table was bare.
A letter had been left. But no one would ever read it.
"I'm sorry," Alexandra whispered. "But what matters is that you know now. Stacy didn't walk away because she stopped loving you. She walked away because she couldn't bear to watch you break yourself for her anymore."
Zoe sat still, her hands resting limply on the table. Her eyes were swollen, her breath uneven. The tears that came now were silent, softer—the kind that burned more because there was nothing left to fight them.
She felt hollow. Like something inside her had been torn open and left to ache in the quiet.
"She should've told me," She whispered, her voice small, spent. "We could've figured it out. Together."
"I know," Alexandra said gently. "But she thought this was the only way she could protect you. And even now... she still loves you, Zoe. That never changed."
Zoe didn't answer. She only stared at the untouched coffee between them, her reflection trembling in the dark surface.
For the first time in a long time, Alexandra didn't try to fill the silence. She simply reached out, her fingers resting lightly on Zoe's trembling hand—an unspoken offer of comfort without words.
And in that fragile moment, surrounded by fading light and whispered music, Alexandra let Zoe grieve.
Not with answers. Not with explanations.
But with the quiet presence of someone who understood.