The sun was barely up, but i was already wide awake.
I didn't know what time it was.
I didn't even want to check.
I just stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying not to cry again.
The sheets were tangled around my legs.
My body was aching, my chest, my throat, my heart, all of it sore from the emotional whiplash of the past twenty-four hours.
And then i turned my head.
He was still here.
Lorenzo.
Fast asleep, chest rising and falling, lashes casting faint shadows under his eyes.
He looked peaceful in a way that made me ache deeper.
Like nothing had ever broken us.
Like we hadn't ripped each other apart a hundred different ways.
I covered my mouth with my hand, stifling a sob.
Why does love feel like this? Why does it have to feel like choosing between breathing and drowning?
I reached out—carefully, like i was touching something sacred and brushed my fingers along his jaw.
His skin was warm, and I could feel the slight stubble prickling beneath my touch. My tears fell freely, dripping down my cheeks and landing on his shoulder.
"I still love you," I whispered. "God, I still love you."
But i couldn't stay.
Because love alone wasn't enough.
Not when it came with the risk of losing everything i'd built, everything I was protecting.
Not when staying meant exposing the one thing i could never let him find out.
I leaned forward, my lips trembling, and kissed his forehead.
Then his lips. One soft, lingering kiss.
"I love you," I whispered again.
And then i got up.
I dressed quickly, as quietly as i could.
Every rustle of fabric felt deafening.
I avoided the creaky spot on the wooden floor. My hands shook as i zipped up my bag, and I kept glancing back at the bed, half-expecting him to wake up, to call my name, to ask me to stay.
But he didn't.
When i slipped out the door, I left behind a piece of my soul.
I ran.
Not physically—but internally, I was sprinting.
My thoughts raced.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
The streets were still quiet when i reached the hotel where we were staying, where she was waiting.
My daughter.
My everything.
The moment i stepped into the hotel room, Yaya Minda looked up from the couch where she was folding baby clothes. "Anak? Everything okay?"
I didn't answer her.
I just darted toward the closet, throwing open the suitcase, grabbing clothes, toiletries, passports—anything i could fit.
"Yaya Minda," I gasped, my voice catching, "we have to go. Now. Pack Celestine's things."
"What happened?" she asked, alarmed.
"Please," I begged, already pulling Celestine's blanket. "Just trust me. We can't be here when he finds us."
Yaya Minda didn't argue.
She knew me too well.
She saw the panic in my eyes.
The way my hands trembled.
The desperation clinging to every movement.
While she gathered the celestine essentials, I changed into jeans and a plain shirt.
My heart thudded like it was trying to warn me of something coming.
I didn't want him to see her.
Not even a glimpse.
He couldn't know.
Because if he did, I wouldn't have the strength to keep her from him and i'd lose everything.
We were almost ready when i heard it.
The elevator dinged.
My breath hitched.
I rushed to the peephole of our suite—and froze.
Lorenzo was there.
Waiting.
How the fuck did he find me?
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to still the chaos inside me.
Think, Atasha.
I turned back to Yaya Minda. "Stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it unless it's me."
"But—"
"No buts. Keep Celestine inside. Promise me."
Yaya Minda nodded slowly.
She must've heard the steel in my voice.
I stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind me, and walked toward him.
He looked up.
His eyes searched mine like he already knew i was slipping away.
"Atasha—"
"If you love me," I said, cutting him off, "then let me go. Please."
My voice cracked at the end, and tears burned down my cheeks.
I didn't want to hurt him.
But i knew i would.
I already had.
He took a step forward.
I took one back.
"I don't want to let you go," he said, his voice rough and broken. "I just got you back."
I shook my head. "No. You didn't. You got a version of me who doesn't exist anymore. I tried, Lorenzo. I tried so hard. But i can't live in a story that ends the same way every time."
His face crumpled. "I'm not giving up."
"But i am," I whispered.
And i hated myself for it.
He reached for me but i stepped around him.
And then—he did something i didn't expect.
He didn't speak.
He didn't plead.
He just wrapped his arms around me.
I stiffened.
Then collapsed into him.
We stood there for what felt like forever.
I cried silently into his shirt while he held me like it was the last thing he'd ever do.
Because it was.
I knew it.
And maybe he did too.
When i finally pulled away, I looked up at him and said, "I have to get something from the room. Wait here, okay?"
He nodded slowly. "I'll be here."
But i wasn't coming back.
Inside, I told Yaya Minda, "We're going to the airport. Now."
She didn't question me.
We packed the last of the things.
I wrapped Celestine in her soft blanket, kissed her forehead, and tried not to fall apart.
This was my daughter.
My reason.
My purpose.
And she didn't need a man who couldn't fight for us, who didn't even know she existed.
We left through the back exit.
Avoided the lobby.
Avoided Lorenzo.
I couldn't bear to see his face one more time.
The ride to the airport was a blur.
I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting him to show up.
To stop the car.
To take me in his arms again and promise something he couldn't keep.
But he never came.
By the time we reached the gate, my tears had dried.
My heart felt like it had been wrung out completely.
Celestine was asleep in my arms, unaware of the storm i was carrying.
And as the plane ascended, I closed my eyes and whispered a silent goodbye to the only man i ever truly loved.
-
Paris was colder than i remembered.
Not just the air, but the silence.
The quiet of being alone again.
The ache of missing him—of wondering what could've been if i wasn't who i am now.
Celestine giggled from the living room, where she was playing with her stacking cups.
Her laugh was the only thing that kept me together.
I crouched beside her, brushing a curl from her forehead.
"Mama," she said, grinning up at me.
My throat clenched.
The first time she said that, I cried for hours.
I remember it so clearly.
The way her small voice stumbled around the syllables.
How she looked at me with so much trust, so much love.
No one else had ever said my name like that.
Not even Lorenzo.
She said it again now—"Mama!"—and I smiled even though my heart felt like it was still bleeding.
"Yes, baby?"
She handed me a red cup.
Her eyes shined, so full of life.
I kissed her temple and held her close.
"You're my whole world," I whispered.
And no one—not even Lorenzo—was going to take that from me.