The rich scent of coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the soft hum of quiet conversations and the gentle hiss of the espresso machine. Sunlight warmed the wooden tables, while the clink of mugs punctuated the cozy calm.
Bea took a slow sip of her coffee, the rich, bitter warmth grounding her as she glanced over at Zoe. Zoe sat by the glass wall of the café, her eyes fixed on something far beyond the street—lost in thought, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table.
"Hey," Bea nudged gently, smiling.
Zoe blinked, pulling herself back. "Hm? Yeah?"
"You're always zoning out," Bea teased, tilting her head. The scent of fresh espresso and baked bread wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.
Zoe let out a tired sigh. "How unlucky can one person be? I got fired from two restaurants in one week... and I haven't even told Stacy the truth about my job yet. I've already been let go twice." Her voice was small, almost swallowed by the low hum of the café.
Bea reached out, touching Zoe's hand briefly. "You'll find something better soon. You always do."
Just then, Zoe's phone buzzed softly on the table, a new email notification lighting up the screen.
She glanced down, eyes widening. "Oh my God."
Bea leaned in. "What is it?"
"I've got an interview. Today." Zoe's voice cracked between disbelief and hope.
Bea grinned, her eyes shining. "See? I told you. The universe isn't done with you yet."
Zoe let out a breathless laugh. "I thought it had totally forsaken me."
"When's the interview?"
"Today. Three o'clock. It's... in half an hour." She jumped up, heart pounding. "I should go."
"Go get 'em," Bea said, raising her cup in a mock toast.
Zoe smiled, grabbing her bag. "Thanks, Bea. Really."
-
"Congratulations, Ms. Rivera. I'm sure you'll make a great Product Strategy Lead," Mr. Hann said with a firm handshake, his tone warm but professional.
Zoe managed a smile as she shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Hann. I'll do my best."
"Don't be late tomorrow, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," she replied, heart thudding with disbelief.
And just like that, it was real.
The job was hers.
She stepped outside the building, the sun flooding her face with light—but all she could feel was disbelief. Her chest tightened. Not with nerves, but with joy. She did it. After being tossed aside twice in a week, told she wasn't enough, made to feel like a burden—she had finally made it. She had something to be proud of.
Zoe blinked back a stunned laugh, almost lightheaded with relief. There were probably better candidates—more polished, more stable—but they chose me.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone and tapped Stacy's number. It rang once. Then nothing. Straight to voicemail.
"Maybe her battery died," Zoe muttered to herself, trying to push down the flicker of unease. "She always forgets to charge it."
She headed home, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. Her feet barely touched the ground. She couldn't wait to tell her. Stacy would be proud. She always said she believed in Zoe—even when Zoe didn't believe in herself.
She imagined Stacy's face lighting up. The way she'd throw her arms around her, kiss her forehead and whisper, "I knew you could do it."
Zoe reached the apartment and stepped inside. The apartment didn't feel empty—it felt like it was holding its breath. Like it knew something Zoe didn't.
"Stacy?" she called out, slipping off her shoes. No answer. "Hey, babe? You here?"
She checked the kitchen. Empty. Living room? Still. Maybe Stacy had gone to a tutoring gig, she thought. That made sense.
But then, as she walked into the bedroom, something tugged at her
The closet door was slightly ajar. Just an inch.
"She didn't even close it properly," Zoe muttered, reaching out to push it shut.
But she stopped. Her hand froze.
There was too much space inside.
She yanked the door open.
Gone.
Stacy's clothes—vanished. The shelf where she kept her books and makeup bag? Empty. Zoe spun around, heart racing, checking the drawers, the corners, the suitcase they'd taken on their first trip together.
Gone.
All of it. Gone.
"No..." Her voice cracked. "No, no, no..."
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed onto the floor, fingers gripping the edge of the bed like it could hold her together.
She grabbed her phone with shaking hands and dialed again.
No ring. Just silence. Then: "The number you dialed is out of reach."
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the hardwood with a soft thud.
Then the tears came—slow at first, then unstoppable. Her body curled in on itself, the rough hardwood biting into her skin as sobs tore through her—raw, uncontrollable. Her breath caught and shuddered in her throat; tears stung her eyes and left a salty taste on her lips. The silence around her seemed to grow heavier with each ragged cry.
Her chest tightened, breath caught between sobs as the weight of it crashed down.
Did she really leave me?
Did she say goodbye and she just didn't hear it?
Why?
The silence in the apartment felt deafening now, like it was screaming at her. Every corner, every shadow, every soft fabric seemed to hold a trace of her—whispers caught in the still air, fading slowly like a fragile breath slipping away.
Gone.
Was it the stress? The instability? The weeks of uncertainty, job-hopping, scraping by?
Was she too much? Or not enough?
Or was it something deeper—was Stacy never meant for this life?
Did she miss the life she left behind—the comfort, the certainty, the version of her that didn't have to fight for everything?
Zoe pressed her forehead to the floor, trying to breathe through the ache. The room smelled faintly of lavender and lemon cleaner—the delicate scent that once filled every corner now barely clung to the air, like a ghost unwilling to let go, dragging memories of warmer days and soft laughter behind it.
And in that silence, surrounded by the absence, Zoe could only sit with the one thing Stacy had left behind: the emptiness.