Later that night, Lesley returned to her house.
Before she opened the door, she stood there for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob.
Leanne's words from that afternoon came back to her, uninvited and painfully clear.
You may have hurt each other, but don't forget that the two of you love each other, too.
Lesley lowered her gaze.
Her fingers tightened around the knob.
For a moment, Lesley wondered why Leanne's words felt so difficult to hear when, deep down, she knew they were true.
Then she turned the knob.
The moment she pushed the door open, the silence met her.
She stood there for a few seconds, one hand still curled around the doorknob, listening to the faint click of the door settling into its frame. The house was dark except for the muted glow spilling from the living room. Somewhere, the refrigerator hummed. The air-conditioning rattled softly through the vents.
That was all.
For weeks, she had been coming home to that sound.
Or rather, to the lack of sound.
Before Denisse, the quiet had never bothered her. She had liked the stillness of the house after a long day, the way she could drop her keys on the counter and hear them land. She had liked having a place that belonged entirely to her.
Then Denisse had come into her life, and somehow the house had learned how to breathe.
There had been laughter in the kitchen. Music playing while they cooked. Denisse calling for her from another room because she had forgotten where she left her phone, only for Lesley to find it exactly where she had told her it was. Even after work, when both of them were exhausted, they had somehow ended up on the same sofa, shoulder to shoulder, talking about nothing until neither of them could keep their eyes open.
Now, the house had returned to its old silence.
Only it felt different.
Heavier.
Lesley closed the door behind her and slipped off her shoes.
Her gaze drifted toward the living room.
The sofa was still there.
For a moment, she simply stared at it.
The television sat dark across the room, its black screen reflecting a faint outline of the doorway behind her. She remembered how it used to be on most evenings, filling the room with meaningless noise while neither of them paid much attention to whatever was playing.
Lesley swallowed.
She crossed the room slowly.
One step.
Then another.
Her footsteps tapped softly against the tile, the sound carrying farther than it should have in the quiet house.
When she reached the sofa, she lowered herself onto it.
Her hand slid absently across the cushion before she turned toward the left corner.
Denisse's spot.
The fabric still looked the same.
Lesley stared at it, and the memory came without warning.
Denisse was sitting there, her body angled toward Lesley, one hand resting gently against her temple. Her fingers moved in slow circles, pressing into the places where the day's tension had settled.
"I told you, you should've cancelled the meeting with the executives," Denisse said, her voice soft with concern. "Look at you. You look spent."
Lesley had her eyes closed, too tired to argue properly.
"You know I can't do that."
"You could have."
"I really couldn't."
Denisse sighed, but her fingers never stopped moving.
Lesley opened one eye and looked at her.
"Besides," she said, letting a tired smile pull at her mouth, "I get to have my favorite massage whenever my head starts aching."
Denisse's hand stopped.
She stared at Lesley for a beat.
Then she smacked her lightly on the arm.
"Seriously? You're so childish."
Lesley laughed, the sound warm and effortless.
"Childish?" She caught Denisse's wrist before she could pull away. "Yet you can't get enough of me."
Denisse rolled her eyes, but the smile was already breaking through.
And then they were both laughing.
The memory faded as quickly as it had come.
Lesley's fingers tightened around the edge of the cushion.
She looked away.
After a moment, she forced herself to stand.
Her knees felt strangely weak as she walked toward the stairs.
The first step.
Then the second.
Her hand slid along the banister.
She knew every inch of these stairs. The small scratch near the third step. The spot where the wood creaked beneath heavier footsteps.
Denisse had never learned to slow down on them.
Lesley almost smiled at the thought.
Almost.
The memory surfaced before she could stop it.
Denisse had been rushing toward the front door, practically flying down the stairs because of the delivery waiting outside.
"Wait," Lesley had called after her.
Denisse didn't listen.
Her foot caught the edge of a step.
For one terrifying second, her body pitched forward.
"Whoa! Watch out!"
Lesley lunged forward.
Her arms caught Denisse around the waist just before she could fall, the sudden weight nearly sending both of them tumbling down the stairs.
Then Denisse slowly turned her head.
That wide, innocent smile spread across her face.
The same smile of a child caught doing something she knew she shouldn't.
Lesley stared at her in disbelief.
"Were you trying to kill yourself?"
Denisse only giggled.
"I was in a hurry."
"You almost broke your neck."
"But I didn't."
"You almost took me down with you."
Denisse's smile widened.
"But you caught me."
Lesley had sighed then, unable to stay angry.
She remembered the warmth of Denisse's body against hers. The way Denisse's arms had instinctively wrapped around her for balance. The little laugh that escaped her as she looked up.
Lesley blinked.
The stairs were empty.
Her hand remained on the banister.
She stood there for a long moment, staring at the step where Denisse had almost fallen.
The memories didn't stop Lesley from climbing the stairs to the second floor of her home. Before long, she found herself standing in the hallway leading to the master bedroom—the very same hallway where a memory still lingered, warm and vivid.
They had barely made it that far that night.
Their bodies had been pressed against each other, their lips meeting again and again as they stumbled down the hallway, too caught up in each other to care about anything else. They were laughing between breathless kisses, fumbling with each other's clothes, neither willing to be the first to pull away.
They had been so lost in the moment that neither of them was paying attention to where they were going.
Until Denisse stepped squarely on Lesley's foot.
Lesley stumbled, and Denisse nearly went down with her.
The kiss finally broke.
For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, startled by what had almost happened. Then Denisse burst out laughing, and Lesley followed, their laughter filling the quiet hallway.
It was such a small, clumsy interruption to a moment filled with longing, but somehow, it made the memory even more precious.
Standing there now, Lesley could almost hear that laughter again.
The corners of her lips lifted, almost instinctively, before her expression faltered.
As Lesley reached her bedroom, she stopped at the doorway.
For a moment, she simply looked.
The bed was still there, exactly where she remembered it, its familiar shape softened by the low light spilling in from the hallway. The sheets were neatly pulled over the mattress, the pillows arranged against the headboard. Nothing had changed, and somehow that was what hurt the most.
She could still picture Denisse there.
They had spent so many nights in that bed that Lesley could almost feel the weight of those memories settling into the room. There had been nights when they had barely made it through the door before collapsing onto the mattress, exhausted from another long day at the office. Other nights had stretched into laughter, whispered conversations, and playful arguments that meant nothing by morning.
And there were the quieter ones.
Lesley remembered waking in the middle of the night to find Denisse fast asleep beside her, breathing softly. Sometimes, without even opening her eyes, Denisse would reach for her. Lesley would feel an arm slip around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She had always pretended to be annoyed by it.
She had never been.
She remembered the tickle fights, too. The way Denisse would attack without warning, leaving Lesley breathless from laughing as they tumbled across the mattress. Once, they had laughed so hard they were convinced the bed was going to give way beneath them.
Now the room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lesley walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, and the familiar movement sent a small ache through her chest.
Lesley leaned back against the headboard and picked up her tablet, forcing her attention onto the documents waiting on the screen.
Numbers. Reports. Deadlines.
Things she could understand.
Things that didn't ask questions.
She had barely finished reading a paragraph when she felt warmth against her waist.
An arm slipped around her.
Lesley froze.
Then a sleepy body shifted closer, fitting itself into the narrow space between her and the tablet as though it had done so a hundred times before. Denisse rested her cheek against Lesley's chest, her hair brushing softly beneath Lesley's chin.
"That can wait tomorrow," Denisse murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "Let's sleep now."
Lesley glanced down at her.
"You always say that."
"Because you're always working."
"I have a lot to finish."
"So finish it tomorrow."
Denisse tightened her arm around Lesley's waist, as if that settled the matter.
Lesley stared at her for another second before a smile finally pulled at the corners of her mouth.
"Fine."
She set the tablet on the bedside table and slid down beneath the sheets. Denisse followed without hesitation, already half asleep by the time Lesley wrapped an arm around her.
The warmth of her body settled against Lesley.
Familiar.
Safe.
Lesley pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Goodnight."
Denisse didn't answer.
Instead, her arms tightened around Lesley, pulling her closer in the only reply she needed.
The memory disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
A tear slipped down Lesley's cheek.
She blinked, staring at the empty space beside her.
The bed was still there.
Denisse wasn't.
-
Lesley stood alone on the balcony, the night air cool against her skin. A glass of wine rested loosely in her hand, the dark red catching the faint light spilling through the bedroom behind her.
She took a slow sip.
The wine lingered bitterly on her tongue.
Her back rested against the balcony railing as she stared into the night, but she wasn't really looking at anything. The lights beyond the balcony blurred into distant points, their glow doing little to reach the thoughts crowding her mind.
Denisse.
Her name surfaced again and again, until Lesley could almost hear herself saying it.
I love you so much, Denisse.
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
I love you so much that it hurts.
She lowered the glass, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
Over the past three weeks, Lesley had thrown herself into work, filling every hour she could so she wouldn't have to think about Denisse. She had hoped that if she stayed busy enough, the memories would eventually fade into the background.
They hadn't.
They were still there, waiting beneath the distractions she had piled over them. And now, they were coming back.
Lesley closed her eyes.
And with them came the same unbearable questions.
Do I still have the right to ask you to come back?
Her throat tightened.
After everything I've done, would you even choose me again?
She drew in a shaky breath.
And if you did… could you ever love me the way you used to?
The glass touched her lips once more. She took another sip, but this time, the wine did nothing to ease the ache in her chest.
Lesley turned away from the view and stared back into her bedroom.
The empty space beside the bed seemed to stare back at her.
Her grip tightened around the glass.
"Let me love you again, Denisse," she whispered.
The words left her lips like a plea.