Julien returned just before dusk.
Mara heard the door before she saw him the soft click of the lock, the muted scrape of boots against the mat. Ordinary sounds. Familiar sounds.
Her heart reacted as if they were anything but.
She remained in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't touched in minutes, listening as he moved through the apartment. He didn't call her name. Didn't announce himself.
That hurt more than if he had.
When he finally appeared in the doorway, he looked colder somehow not physically, but carefully so. His coat was still on. His bag hung from one shoulder like he hadn't decided whether to stay.
Their eyes met.
Neither smiled.
"You made it back," she said, immediately hating how small her voice sounded.
"Yeah." He nodded once. "Roads cleared faster than expected."
Silence stretched between them, thick and cautious.
Mara gestured vaguely toward the counter. "There's coffee. If you want."
"Thanks."
He set his bag down by the door but didn't remove his coat. He poured coffee, added nothing to it, then leaned against the counter across from her. The space between them felt deliberate measured.
"How was the drive?" she asked.
"Long."
Another silence.
This one felt heavier.
She studied him without meaning to the faint bruise of exhaustion under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders he pretended not to carry. He looked like someone who had slept poorly but thought deeply.
"I went to the cemetery today," she said suddenly.
Julien stilled.
"Oh," he replied quietly. "How was it?"
"Cold." She swallowed. "Quiet."
He nodded again, waiting.
She almost laughed at how patient he was being, how careful not to push. It made everything worse.
"I didn't mean to push you away," she said. "I just… I don't know how to stop doing it."
Julien's gaze softened, but he didn't move closer.
"I know," he said. "That's the problem."
The words weren't sharp, but they landed with weight.
She set the mug down before her hands could start shaking. "I'm not asking you to fix me."
"I'm not trying to," he replied. "But I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."
Her chest tightened.
"I didn't say it didn't."
"No," he agreed. "You just don't say anything at all."
The truth of it made her flinch.
They stood there, two people who cared deeply and spoke carefully, as if one wrong word could crack everything open.
"I don't want to fight," she said.
"I don't either."
"Then what do we do?"
Julien exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "We stop pretending we're fine when we're not."
That sounded dangerously close to hope.
She nodded. "Okay."
But neither of them knew what okay meant yet.
He finally removed his coat, folding it over the chair instead of hanging it up. A small thing but it felt like a decision.
"I'll sleep in the guest room tonight," he said gently. "If that's alright."
The words stung, even though she understood.
"Yes," she replied. "That's fine."
They moved around each other cautiously after that sharing the kitchen without touching, existing in the same space without claiming it. Dinner was quiet. Polite. Almost too controlled.
Later, Mara sat alone on the couch while Julien disappeared down the hallway.
She stared at the darkened television screen, watching her own reflection flicker back at her. She looked like someone waiting for permission.
Her phone buzzed.
Ada again.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
"Did he come back?" her sister asked when she answered.
"Yes."
"And?"
"And we're being careful," Mara said.
Ada sighed. "You always are."
Mara closed her eyes. "I don't know how to be anything else."
"Maybe that's the risk," Ada said softly. "Being reckless enough to stay."
The call ended soon after, leaving Mara with thoughts she wasn't ready to untangle.
That night, the apartment was quiet in a different way than before. Julien's presence filled the space without demanding attention. It made the walls feel closer. Warmer. More dangerous.
Mara lay awake long after midnight, staring at the ceiling.
At some point, she heard him moving in the guest room soft footsteps, the creak of the bed. She imagined him lying there, equally awake, equally restrained.
The thought tightened something in her chest.
February refused to loosen its grip.
The next morning, they moved around each other again, brushing close but never touching. Julien made breakfast. Mara cleaned without being asked.
"Are you working today?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'll be at the office late," he replied. "Valentine's week is chaos."
Of course it was.
She nodded. "Drive safe."
He hesitated at the door.
"Mara."
She looked up.
"I'm not leaving," he said quietly. "I just need us to be honest."
Her throat tightened. "I know."
He left after that, the door clicking shut behind him.
She sat down slowly, heart racing.
I'm not leaving.
The words stayed with her all day.
Work was impossible. She reread the same paragraph five times without comprehension. Her thoughts kept drifting toward February fourteenth, toward expectations she didn't know how to meet.
She had never celebrated Valentine's Day properly. Never trusted it. Love with a deadline always felt like a trap.
But this year felt different.
Dangerous.
When Julien returned that night, there was something new in his expression not warmth, not distance, but resolve.
"I booked a reservation," he said. "For the fourteenth."
Her breath caught. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he replied. "Not because of the holiday. Because of us."
She searched his face. "And if I can't do it?"
"Then we talk," he said simply. "No disappearing."
The promise frightened her more than any argument ever had.
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
This time, the word meant something.
That night, they sat together on the couch for the first time since his return. Not touching. Just close enough to feel each other's presence.
It was intimate in a way that scared her.
When she finally stood to go to bed, she paused.
"Julien?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you… for coming back."
He looked at her for a long moment. "I came back because you asked me to."
Her chest ached.
February wasn't over yet.
But for the first time, Mara wasn't facing it alone.