I stood up slowly, smoothing down my skirt.

The restaurant manager approached me, offering a glass of water and a clean cloth.

The patrons began to clap, but the sound felt distant and hollow in my ears.

I politely declined the water, walked to the coat check, and got my coat.

Outside, the cold Boston wind hit me like a physical blow.

Snow was beginning to fall, dusting the windshields of parked cars along the street.

I walked to the subway station, my fingers numb inside my pockets.

The rejection from James didn’t hurt as much as the sheer exhaustion of my life.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I waited on the platform.

It was a text from James.

“You are far too dramatic for my tastes. Please do not contact me again.”

I deleted the message and boarded the train.

***

The quietness of my small home in Brookline was both a comfort and a curse.

I brewed a cup of chamomile tea and sat at the kitchen table.

The silence in the house was heavy, a constant reminder of the life I had hoped to build here.