Page 209 of His Reckoning

Her door is open. I hesitate for half a second before I walk toward it.

Her room feels smaller without her in it. Not physically, but less alive.

The bed is made perfectly. No tangled sheets or pile of clothes on the chair. No open notebook on the nightstand.

Everything is in place, like she was trying to make it easier. It’s as if she didn’t want to leave anything behind that would make this harder.

I step inside slowly, my gaze moving over the room, taking in details I never paid attention to before. I spot a book on the nightstand with a pen left near the edge. There’s also a small stack of papers tucked neatly beside it. I reach for them before I think about it.

I begin to flip through the notes. There are random lines written in the margins, which appear to be scenes.

My heart beats rapidly.

I recognize some of it. Not word for word, but fragments and ideas that are pieces of something bigger.

I set the pages back down carefully. A quiet breath leaves my chest as I turn slightly, my eyes landing on something else.

A hoodie. It’s mine, and it’s folded at the end of the bed.

I pick it up without thinking. The fabric feels soft in my hands.

I stare at it for a second, then bring it closer. Because part of me expects something. Maybe her scent or her presence. Anything.

It’s faint, but it’s there. And that’s the problem because, suddenly, this doesn’t feel like space anymore.

It feels like absence.

I drop the hoodie back onto the bed and step away, running a hand through my hair again.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath.

I turn and walk back into the hallway, faster this time as I try to outrun the feelings taking over inside of me.

But it doesn’t work. Everything I pass reminds me of her.

The kitchen, couch, even the stupid refrigerator she treated like it was a puzzle.

A quiet huff of air leaves my chest.

I stop in the middle of the apartment when I realize I can’t ignore it anymore.

The shift—or realization—that’s been building since I left my office. When Melissa told me she had walked away from everything and I read what she’d actually written.

I was wrong about her intentions.

The thought lands fully this time. Clear and completely unavoidable.

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose.

I hurt her—bad. Maybe even worse than she hurt me because hers wasn’t intentional. Mine was.

My jaw tightens as I look around the apartment again at everything she filled. Everything she made feel different, and now emptiness sits in its place.

I drag a hand down my face while I exhale slowly. “I need to fix this.” The words come out quiet but steady.

For the first time since she walked out that door, I know exactly what I need to do next.

Chapter Thirty-Eight