The visual shock hit me harder than I expected. The Elena I knew, the Elena of three months ago, would never have left the house without a full face of "no-makeup makeup," hair blown out, and an outfit coordinated to look effortlessly chic. The woman in the corner looked like a rough draft: her roots were grown out, a stark dark band against the fading blonde; she was wearing an oversized, shapeless gray sweater that I recognized as one of mine—she must have dug it out of the trash bags I left in the hallway—and it was stained; her nails, usually impeccable acrylic claws, were bare and bitten down. She looked tired—not "sleepy girl aesthetic" tired, but real, poverty-level exhaustion.
I walked in. The bell above the door chimed. She looked up. When she saw me, her face crumbled; it was a mix of relief and shame that contorted her features into something painful to watch.
"Mark," she breathed. She stood up, knocking the table with her hip. Water sloshed over the rim of the cup. She moved to hug me.
I didn't step forward. I didn't open my arms. I stayed exactly where I was, just inside the door, creating a wall of invisible glass between us.
She stopped, sensing the temperature drop. Her arms fell to her sides.
"You came?" she said, her voice cracking. "I didn't think you would."
"I was in the neighborhood," I said. My voice was calm, conversational. "Closing on a condo."
Her eyes widened. "A condo? You bought a place downtown?"
"Floor-to-ceiling windows. Great light."
The irony landed. She flinched. "That sounds amazing. You always wanted that."
"I did," I said. "So, you called. You have five minutes."
She swallowed hard, looking around to see if anyone was watching. "Mark, please. Can we sit? People are staring."
"Let them stare," I said. "I thought you liked an audience."
She looked down at her scuffed boots. "Don't be cruel, please. I know I deserve it, but I'm drowning, Mark. Julian is... he's a monster. He gaslit me. He used me for the apartment, for the money. He even pawned my jewelry."
"He sounds like a bad investment," I said.
"He was a mistake!" She stepped closer, her eyes desperate, searching mine for a flicker of the man who used to pay her rent. "I was confused. I got caught up in the hype. But losing you... it woke me up. I miss us. I miss Sunday mornings. I miss you cooking. I miss having a partner who actually cares about me."
She reached out and touched my arm. Her hand felt cold.