Getting back together with James didn't magically fix my life.
If anything, it made me realize how broken I had become.
Home was still difficult.
Some days, the atmosphere became unbearable.
Arguments.
Shouting.
Accusations.
Old wounds being reopened.
Sometimes I couldn't stay there another minute.
So I would leave.
And James's house became the place I ran to.
Sometimes I arrived without warning.
Sometimes I would call him from the roadside.
"James."
"Yes?"
"Can I come over?"
His answer was always simple.
"Come."
I would take my little bag and leave.
Sometimes I stayed for two days.
Sometimes three.
Once, I stayed for several days.
His house wasn't luxurious.
It wasn't perfect.
There were mosquitoes.
Insects.
Nights when I couldn't sleep properly.
Sometimes I woke up scratching my legs because mosquitoes had been feasting on me.
James would laugh.
"You came here voluntarily."
"I was running from trauma, not mosquitoes."
He laughed.
I would throw a pillow at him.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal.
During the day, I helped him at the poultry farm.
The smell of feed followed us everywhere.
We cleaned.
Carried things.
Fed the birds.
Moved around under the hot sun.
Sometimes I complained.
"My hands are hurting."
"You wanted to help."
"I didn't know helping meant suffering."
He laughed.
"You're becoming a professional farmer."
"Never."
But secretly, I enjoyed it.
It gave me something to do.
Something real.
There was no pretending at the poultry farm.
No complicated conversations.
Just work.
Sometimes James would look at me while I worked.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Why are you staring?"
"You look happy."
I would smile.
Maybe I was.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't thinking about what someone owed me.
Or what someone had taken from me.
I was simply there.
With him.
At night, we talked.
Sometimes until midnight.
Sometimes until two.
We talked about the nine months.
But strangely, James didn't tell me much about his own life.
Whenever I asked, he gave simple answers.
"Nothing much happened."
"You worked?"
"Yes."
"Anything interesting?"
"Not really."
I didn't push.
I was too grateful to have him back.
And perhaps that was my first mistake.
Not because I was wrong to trust him.
But because I was so desperate for peace that I didn't notice the small things.
The way he sometimes became quiet when his phone rang.
The way he occasionally turned the screen facedown.
The way certain names seemed to make his expression change.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing obvious.
Just little things.
I noticed them.
Then I dismissed them.
Everyone deserved privacy.
After all, hadn't I also changed?
Hadn't I spent nine months with another man?
Perhaps James simply needed time to become comfortable with me again.
So I told myself not to overthink.
I had already survived enough.
I didn't want to create problems where there weren't any.
One evening, we sat outside after finishing work.
The sky was dark.
The farm was quiet.
I rested my head against his shoulder.
"I missed this," I whispered.
"What?"
"Us."
He squeezed my hand.
"I missed you too."
I closed my eyes.
I believed him.
At that moment, I believed him completely.
But somewhere beneath that beautiful reunion was a truth I hadn't discovered yet.
Nine months was a long time.
And people don't always remain the same while you're gone.