She goes to his apartment in the morning

Emily left early the next morning.

Jason never came home.

Not during the night, not before dawn. His text still sat unread on her lock screen—"Pulling an all-nighter. Don’t wait up."

She didn’t wait up.

She held it together just long enough to get dressed and to thank Tasha for showing up to watch Chloe. Her friend didn’t ask why Emily had shadows under her eyes or why her hands shook while buttoning her blouse. She just kissed the baby on the forehead, gave Emily a hug that lingered a second too long, and said, “Go do whatever you need to do.”

Emily nodded. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

She didn’t go to work.

She pulled into a grocery store parking lot down the street from the office, parked between two delivery vans, and called in sick. She lied about stomach cramps and a fever. No one questioned her. No one asked follow-ups. She sat in the driver’s seat for another twenty minutes, gripping the wheel, trying to convince herself this was a terrible idea.

Then she typed the address into her phone.

513B West Magnolia Blvd.
Apt 42

Four floors up. No elevator. The building was older than it looked from the street—red brick, narrow stairwell, beige numbers stenciled onto the doors in fading paint. She climbed in silence, her breath growing tight, not from exertion but from nerves. At the top, she paused. The hallway was quiet.

She knocked.

A long pause.

Then the door opened a few inches, the chain still latched.

Eli’s face appeared behind it.

And Emily’s breath caught in her throat.

His right eye was swollen, dark purple at the edges. A crusted line of blood clung to the corner of his mouth. His lower lip was split. He looked like he hadn’t slept. A hoodie was pulled over his head, but it didn’t hide the damage.

He blinked at her. Confused. Wary. Silent.

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

So she just stood there, holding her bag strap like a lifeline, heart pounding, lips trembling slightly, and finally whispered—

“Hi.”

He took a step back, holding the door just far enough open for him to stand behind it. His voice was hoarse. “What—what are you doing here?”

Her throat was tight. She remembered her purpose: apology. Repair. Atonement, in what small measure she could.

“I came to see if you’re okay,” she said, voice trembling. “No excuses. I wanted to apologize. I—” Her lip quivered. “I hate what’s happened to you.”

His eyes flickered, pain and anger and disbelief mingled in them. But he didn’t slam the door. He didn’t scream at her. He just… waited.

Emily drew a shaky breath, stepping forward. “I know I messed up. I never meant for this—for any of this. If you’ll let me…” She trailed off, unsure what to ask, how to make amends.

He frowned, the bruise on his brow deepening with the motion. “Why are you here now?”

Because she couldn’t leave without trying.

Because she couldn’t face Chloe’s eyes without doing something.

Because guilt had become lead in her chest.

But she didn’t say that.

She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I’m here to try to fix it. If you’ll let me.”