She met me at a park.
No big crowd.
No tension.
Just us, sitting on a bench as the trees whispered around us.
Grace looked the same, but lighter—like peace had been sitting with her for a while now.
"I wasn't sure you'd respond," I said.
She smiled softly. "I almost didn't."
"I don't want to take up your time," I added. "I just... I needed to say I'm sorry. Not because I want anything back. But because I never really gave you the words when they mattered."
She didn't interrupt.
"I treated you like you'd always be there," I said. "And I know now that love isn't something you hold like a safety net. It's something you show up for. I didn't. That's on me."
There was a pause—brief, but deep.
Then she nodded.
"I forgive you, Barry."
No lecture. No bitterness.
Just those four words, clean and healing.
We talked for a little while after that—nothing heavy. Just life.
And when we stood to leave, we hugged.
Not like lovers.
Like people who shared something once... and finally let it go.
⸻
Weeks passed.
I didn't rush into anything.
I didn't need to.
I was alone—but not lonely.
Not anymore.
I went to the company's end-of-year party.
Laughed. Talked. Even danced a little, terribly.
That's when she approached me.
Her name was Mila. She worked in marketing.
We'd passed each other in the hallway for months—but never spoke for more than a "hey."
We sat down. Talked books.
She liked Tom Rawlings too—though she said Shifting Tides was overhyped.
I told her she was wrong, but we laughed anyway.
We weren't fireworks.
Not yet.
But we were something.
At the end of the night, she handed me her phone.
"Put your number in," she said, grinning. "If you ever want to argue about fiction again."
I did.
And for the first time in a long time,
I walked away not wondering if I'd lost someone—
but smiling, because I'd finally found someone.
Me.
⸻
THE END