Chapter 1: "I'll Be Alright Without You"

Lucas in His Office

The city stretches out before me, glittering through the glass, but all I see is the blank screen in front of me. My hand hovers over the mouse, unmoving, waiting for something—anything—to spark an idea. I can hear the faint hum of traffic below, the distant chatter of my colleagues down the hall, but the office feels like an echo chamber. The once-inspiring view, now a reminder of how far away everything feels.

I sketch a line. Then another. It’s wrong. Rigid. Forced. I press the pencil harder, trying to make the line do what I want, but it resists. The paper crumples easily in my fist as I toss it aside. Another failed attempt joins the growing pile. I used to be able to do this—before. Before Jessica. The thought slips in before I can push it away, and I curse under my breath.

Why can't I focus? It wasn’t like this before. The ideas used to come naturally, almost effortlessly. I’d lose myself in the flow, hours disappearing as I brought designs to life. Now, all I feel is this heavy, gnawing frustration. Get over it, Lucas. It’s been months. You’re fine.

I glance at the half-finished blueprint in front of me, the lines staring back like a mockery of what I used to create. The community center... I wanted this project to be different, something meaningful. Instead, it’s becoming a reflection of my own disarray—unfinished, unfocused.

The door clicks open behind me. “Lucas, hey.” Matt’s voice is casual, almost too casual, and it breaks the heavy silence. He leans against the doorway, his usual grin plastered across his face. "How’s the community center coming along? You ready for that presentation?"

I hesitate, trying to summon a confident response, but my mouth is dry. “Getting there,” I manage, though it sounds hollow, even to me.

Matt nods, clearly not sensing—or ignoring—the tension. “Cool, cool. Just a reminder, the board’s really pushing for those designs by the end of the month. No pressure though.” He laughs lightly, but it falls flat in the quiet room. His words hang in the air, wrapping around me like a tightening noose. "We’ll lose the funding if we don’t deliver. You know how it goes."

"Yeah," I reply, too quickly, the weight settling deeper on my shoulders. "I know."

Matt lingers for a second longer, his eyes flicking to the mess of sketches on my desk. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, just taps the doorframe and pushes off. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” His footsteps fade down the hallway.

I sit back, staring at the scattered papers, the undone work. The clock on the wall ticks louder now, the passing minutes a reminder of everything I’ve yet to accomplish. I grip the pencil tighter, my knuckles white.

It was easier before her... Before everything fell apart.

But thinking about that doesn’t help now. I need to finish this. I have to.

Mia’s Workspace

The soft hum of my laptop fills the room, a steady rhythm beneath the tapping of my fingers as they fly over the keyboard. Words pour out, faster than I can fully form them, but I don't stop. I can't. The article is my refuge, a place to lose myself, to escape the noise in my head. It’s about community outreach, something that feels distant and impersonal enough to keep my thoughts at bay. But as I type, I realize the words are coming too easily. Like I'm hiding in them.

Around me, the apartment hums with warmth. The bookshelves, overflowing with a lifetime of reading, stand tall against the walls, grounding me. A soft light filters through the window, casting a golden glow over the papers scattered across my desk. Everything in this space is mine, an organized chaos only I can navigate. It's comfortable, safe.

I pause for a second, glancing at the half-empty cup of tea cooling beside me. It’s not just the warmth of the room that makes me feel at home—it’s the clutter, the way nothing is perfect but somehow everything fits.

The phone rings, sharp and intrusive, cutting through my concentration. My hands freeze above the keyboard, and I stare at the screen as the name flashes. For a moment, I hesitate. I know I should ignore it. Just let it ring, Mia. It’s easier that way. But my hand moves on its own, picking up the phone before I can stop myself.

"Hello?" My voice sounds flat, too controlled.

There’s a pause on the other end, and I hear a voice—a familiar one. My grip tightens around the phone. I don’t respond much. A few words here and there, all of them guarded. Curt. I’m careful not to let anything slip, though I can feel something inside me stirring, pushing to the surface. I need to end this call. Now.

"Yeah, I have to go," I say quickly, my tone colder than I intended. "I’ll talk to you later."

The moment I hang up, the silence feels louder. I set the phone down, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping up my spine. My fingers drift absently to the small necklace around my neck, the metal cool against my skin. I hold it tightly, feeling the weight of it—of everything it represents. Memories threaten to push through, but I force them back. Not now.

I stand up and move to the window, the familiar view of the street below offering little comfort today. I watch the people moving through their lives, unaware of the chaos swirling in mine. I press my hand to the cool glass, willing the thoughts to stop, to give me some peace.

But peace is fleeting these days.

With a sigh, I turn away from the window and sit back at my desk. My fingers hover over the keys again, but the words don’t come as easily this time. The rhythm is broken. Still, I force myself to keep typing. Work is the only thing that keeps me going right now.

And I’m not ready to face everything else just yet.

Lucas’s Meeting with Ollie

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the low murmur of conversation filled the air, but it all felt distant. I stared at the foam swirling in my cup, trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t the deadline hanging over me. Across the small table, Ollie was animated, his eyes bright as he spoke, his hands moving in quick gestures.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“So, yeah, the promotion sounds amazing. But it’s in Seattle,” Ollie said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Can you believe it? Me, uprooting everything and heading across the country?”

I nodded, barely hearing him. The café was bustling around us—laptops, phone calls, people talking business deals. It felt like everyone had something important to say, something meaningful to contribute, except me. My mind was still stuck on the project, the crumpled papers, the empty sketches on my desk. How was I going to get anything done? How was I supposed to—

“Lucas?”

I blinked, realizing Ollie had stopped talking. He was staring at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for some kind of response. I cleared my throat, trying to pull myself back into the moment.

“Uh, sounds exciting, man,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Big change, though. You, Seattle?”

Ollie chuckled, but there was something off about his expression. “Yeah, no kidding. It’s a lot to think about. And then there’s... well, you know, her.”

I looked up, catching the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He didn’t have to say it—I knew who he was talking about. Ollie always got that look when it came to relationships, that mix of hope and hesitation. He was caught between excitement for the future and the fear of losing what he had here. I used to get that feeling, too.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked, leaning forward, the steam from his cup curling between us. “You think it’s worth the risk? Leaving everything behind?”

I hesitated, but only for a second. I knew what I should say—encourage him, help him sort through the pros and cons. That’s what friends do, right? But the words didn’t come. My mind was too clouded, too full of deadlines and unfinished work. The weight of everything I hadn’t done pressed on my chest.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “Go for it. If it feels right, you know?”

Ollie’s grin faded slightly, and I could tell he was expecting more, something thoughtful, but I couldn’t muster it. I took a sip of coffee, hoping it would hide my lack of engagement. It didn’t.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ollie asked, frowning now. “You seem... off.”

I shrugged, brushing it aside. “Just tired. Been busy with the project, you know?”

He nodded slowly, like he didn’t fully believe me. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve been hearing things about that, by the way. Rumor mill’s saying the funding for your project might not be as solid as you think. You got a backup plan, just in case?”

My stomach tightened. His words lingered longer than they should have, echoing in my mind. The funding might not be solid? I forced myself to stay calm, but the anxiety was creeping back in, swirling around like the foam in my cup.

“I... hadn’t heard that,” I said carefully, trying not to let the panic show. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

Ollie smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll figure it out, Lucas. You always do.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. The outside world felt like it was moving faster and faster, while I was stuck in place, watching it pass by.

As Ollie started talking again, I tried to focus, but my thoughts were already drifting back to the office. To the designs still waiting for me. To the mess I had no idea how to fix.

Grace and Susan’s Conversation

The familiar scent of lavender tea fills the room as I sit across from Susan, cradling my cup between my hands. The soft glow of the fireplace flickers, casting warm shadows over the photographs lining the walls—memories of Lucas at every stage of his life. His toothy grin as a child, his awkward teenage years, the proud smile at his graduation. I trace the edge of the cup with my thumb, the weight of all those years settling heavy in my chest.

“He’s different, Susan,” I say quietly, breaking the silence that’s been lingering between us. “Every time I talk to him now, it feels like he’s not really there. Like he’s... somewhere else.”

Susan nods, her eyes soft and understanding. She’s known Lucas almost as long as I have, seen him grow, seen him break. “Since Jessica?”

I sigh, the name still leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “Yes. Since the breakup. He throws himself into work like it’s the only thing keeping him going. But he’s not the same. He used to be so full of life, always talking about his projects, his plans... now it’s like there’s this wall between us.”

I glance over at the photo of Lucas standing proudly beside one of his early architectural designs, back when he still believed the world was his to shape. My heart aches, seeing that fire dim in him.

Susan takes a sip of her tea, her gaze thoughtful as she sets the cup down. “You can’t rush healing, Grace. He’ll come around, but it has to be on his terms. You know how Lucas is—he needs time to figure things out for himself.”

I nod, though it’s hard to accept. “I just... I don’t want him to go through this alone.”

Susan leans forward, resting a gentle hand on mine. “He’s not alone. He knows you’re here for him. But pushing him might only make him retreat further. I’ve been there, you know. When my son was going through his divorce, it was the same thing. I wanted so badly to fix it, to make him feel better. But it took him finding his own way out. Sometimes all we can do is be there, waiting.”

I look at her, the wisdom in her words settling over me like a blanket. She’s right. Lucas has always been stubborn, always needed to face things on his own terms. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

“I just miss him,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “The real him. I keep thinking, maybe if I say the right thing, he’ll open up. But it’s like I don’t even know how to reach him anymore.”

Susan smiles softly, her eyes kind. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready. And when he does, you’ll know exactly what to say. You’re his mother, Grace. You always know.”

I blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, squeezing her hand in thanks. The warmth of the fire, the soft clink of tea cups—it all feels so familiar, so safe. But I know the road ahead for Lucas isn’t so simple.

“I’ll be here,” I whisper, more to myself than to Susan. “When he’s ready... I’ll be here.”

Susan pats my hand gently before leaning back in her chair, a knowing smile on her face. “And that’s all he’ll need, Grace. Just you.”

Lucas Alone at Home

The door clicks shut behind me, and the emptiness swallows me whole. My apartment is just as I left it—immaculate, silent, cold. The soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, the air so still it feels suffocating. I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter and glance around. The sleek furniture, the polished floors, the neutral walls... it’s all perfectly arranged, but nothing feels like mine.

The city stretches out beyond the massive window, a sprawling, glittering landscape of lights. People going about their lives, unaware of the stillness that’s crept into mine. But I don’t care about the view. I never do.

I move to the dining table, dropping my bag on the floor as I pull out the stack of blueprints. It’s automatic now, this routine. Spread the sketches, open the laptop, stare at the screen. Try to work. Try to feel something. Anything.

I sit down, fingers poised over the keyboard, but nothing happens. My mind is blank, a vast, empty space where ideas used to flow. My eyes flick to the crumpled sketches already littering the table. More failed attempts. More dead ends.

Ollie’s words replay in my head, the conversation gnawing at the back of my mind. Funding might not be solid... I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t. And now the deadline is closer than ever, and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing.

I press my hands to my face, rubbing at my eyes, but the frustration won’t leave. It clings to me, tightening around my chest. I used to thrive under pressure. I used to love this—creating something from nothing. But now, it feels like every idea I have slips through my fingers before I can grab it.

Jessica’s name flashes in my mind, uninvited. I clench my jaw, willing it away, but it sticks. She’s always there, lingering in the background, a reminder of what I’ve lost. Of how much easier everything was when I had her by my side.

I pick up the pencil, tapping it against the table, staring at the blank sheet of paper. It’s no use. My focus is shot. My hands are still, but inside, everything’s a mess.

The apartment is too quiet. Too cold. I can hear the faint hum of the city outside, cars rushing by, people laughing, living. And here I am, alone, in a space that feels more like a museum than a home.

My hand moves on its own, sketching a line. It’s jagged, too harsh, like everything inside me right now. I stare at it, then crumple the paper into a tight ball and toss it aside. Another failure.

I stand, walking to the window. The city looks so vast, so full of life. But from up here, I feel small. Disconnected. Like I’m watching the world from behind glass, unable to reach out, to touch it.

I press my forehead against the cool pane, closing my eyes for a moment. The silence presses in harder, and I wonder if this is it. If this is all there is now. Work, deadlines, loneliness. No spark. No light.

I open my eyes, staring out over the city again, but it’s just lights and buildings. No answers.

I’m stuck. And I don’t know how to get unstuck.