Chapter Eleven :
The stranger with a name.
Izzy :
The second morning back home, I found my mom in the kitchen humming along to an old gospel song, her hands buried in flour.
" Biscuit or therapy?" I asked, my voice still rough from sleep.
.
She glanced at me over her shoulder with that subtle smile she reserved for when she knew more than she said.
" Both," she replied gently, "You look like you need feeding and fixing".
" I didn't argue, I just sat,
---
My mother didn't believe in prying.
She believed in waiting.
And when the silence was too long, she let it stretch even further—until I cracked on my own.
I bit into a warm biscuit, steam curling into the cold morning air.
And then I said it. Quietly. Like a confession.
"He cheated."
She didn't flinch. Just reached across the table, her fingers wrapping around mine.
"I know," she whispered.
"You do?"
She nodded. "A mother always knows when her daughter's heart is breaking."
I looked down, jaw tight, throat thick.
"I feel stupid," I said.
"Don't."
"I didn't see it. I believed everything he said. I defended him even when I shouldn't have."
"That's not stupidity," she said, eyes warm and sure. "That's love. And love... love makes fools of us all, baby."
---
Later that afternoon, she came into my room with a folded blanket and a cup of peppermint tea.
"You don't have to prove anything here," she said softly. "You don't have to be strong. Not for me. Not in this house."
I didn't say anything.
Just nodded, my eyes glassy.
She kissed the top of my head. "You'll find your way again. But right now, just breathe. Eat. Sleep. Let yourself be held."
---
And for the first time in a long time, I did.
---
one week passed and
Healing wasn't linear. It wasn't pretty.
Some days, I woke up and made it all the way through without crying.
On other days, brushing my teeth felt like climbing Everest in bare feet.
But the ache was changing.
It wasn't sharp anymore. It didn't slice. It settled in, dull and heavy like something I could learn to carry.
I went on morning walks.
Read books that didn't involve court cases or broken vows.
Laughed once—really laughed—when Dad tried to make pancakes and started a fire instead.
It wasn't joy, exactly.
But it was something close. A shimmer of light through the smoke.
---
Then one Saturday morning, Mom peeked into my room, holding a Post-it note Carl had apparently left with the doorman at my old building.
"He said your grandmother's bracelet is still in the drawer by the sink," she said gently.
I hadn't thought about that bracelet in weeks.
My grandmother's. A family heirloom. The one I always swore I'd wear to court when I finally made partner.
The only thing in that house that still felt mine.
I nodded. "I'll be quick."
---
Walking back into our….his….home felt like entering a museum of someone else's life.
The pictures were still on the wall.
The scent of his cologne was still faint in the air.
The bed is still perfectly made.
I told myself I'd be in and out.
Just the bracelet. No memories. No lingering.
I wore sunglasses even though it was cloudy. Kept my keys clenched tight in my fist like a weapon.
The moment I stepped into that apartment, my chest tightened.
The air still held traces of him,
Then I moved straight to the bathroom. Opened the drawer.
There it was—Grandma Rose's bracelet, still nestled in its velvet pouch like it had been waiting for me to come to reclaim it.
I slipped it on, tightened the clasp with shaking fingers, and turned to go.
Then I heard it.
The door unlocks.
I froze. My heart plummeted.
Not now. Please, not now.
The door creaked open behind me.
"Izzy?"
His voice.
Carl.
I didn't turn. Not right away. I couldn't.
He stepped in slowly like he wasn't sure how close he was allowed to come.
"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," he said, and for a second, I hated the way he could still sound so familiar. So easy.
"I left a note with the doorman," I said flatly. "I just came for the bracelet."
He nodded, his eyes scanning me—hungry, hesitant, maybe even regretful.
But I didn't give him space for it.
"Okay, I've got it," I said, stepping around him. "I'm leaving."
"Izzy, wait—"
The elevator dinged again.
I closed my eyes.
No. Please not now.
Then.....I heard a familiar voice
"Hey, man, I think I left my phone—oh."
I turned.
The world tilted.
There he was.
The man from the bar.
The one who touched me like he wanted to erase my pain.
The one I used was like a lifeboat in a storm.
The stranger who felt like forgetting.
Only now… he wasn't a stranger.
Carl turned to him, completely unaware of the silent earthquake happening between us.
"Perfect timing," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Izzy, this is my cousin. Dave"
Dave"
Of course, he had a name.
Of course, it would taste like glass in my mouth.
He looked just as shell-shocked as I felt.
His eyes darted to me, then to Carl, back again—like he was solving a puzzle and hating every piece of it.
"You two haven't met, right?" Carl asked, glancing between us with a light laugh. "Dave just got back from San Francisco. He's crashing here for a while."
Dave opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. Hard.
And in that moment, I realized—Carl had no idea.
He didn't know.
Not about the bar. Not about the hallway. Not about the night I shattered into someone else's arms.
I managed a tight smile.
"Nice to meet you," I said to Dave, every syllable a blade.
He flinched.
Carl nodded, oblivious. "Small world, huh?"
I forced myself toward the door, bracelet cutting into my wrist, nausea curling in my stomach like smoke.
"Yeah," I said, barely above a whisper.
"The smallest."
---