Chapter 9: confessions and vulnerabilities

The rain had started quietly in the afternoon, soft at first, then growing into a gentle drizzle that tapped against Abigail’s apartment window. She sat cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, scrolling through her phone. Her mind kept drifting back to James—the way he smiled, the way he made her feel like she could breathe again.

A message buzzed from him:

James: Can I come by? I brought snacks. And maybe a dumb movie we can pretend to hate but secretly like.

Abigail smiled, typing back:

Abigail: Sure. Come over. But only if you promise to share the snacks.

James: Deal. I have the best snacks. Maybe too many. You might regret it.

She laughed softly. When he arrived, the apartment door opened to reveal him with a small bag in hand, slightly damp from the rain, a sheepish grin on his face.

“You brought enough snacks to feed an army,” she teased as she stepped aside.

“An army that only eats chocolate,” he countered.

They settled on the couch with blankets over their legs, surrounded by a small fortress of chips, chocolate bars, and soda cans. The movie started, something cheesy and over-the-top, but they didn’t pay much attention. Conversation flowed naturally, moving from jokes to stories, until Abigail found herself growing quiet, lost in thought.

James noticed immediately. “You’re quiet,” he said, nudging her gently. “What’s on your mind?”

Abigail hesitated. Sharing her thoughts was still hard. She didn’t want to feel like a burden, but there was something about James’ presence that made the walls around her heart feel thinner.

“I…don’t really know where to start,” she admitted softly.

“Start wherever you want. Or don’t. Just…talk to me,” he said, his voice gentle, patient.

She took a deep breath. “It’s about…everything. Lila, my aunt. Her illness…her death. I keep thinking I should have done more, been there more. And sometimes…it just feels like I can’t escape it. Even when I try.”

James nodded slowly, leaning back into the couch. “I get that. I really do. People we care about…we carry them with us even when they’re gone. And sometimes that weight feels unbearable.”

Her eyes stung. “Exactly. It’s like I’m stuck, carrying this…guilt. And I know Lila would want me to live, to move on, but…how do you do that without forgetting?”

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke, carefully. “You don’t forget. You remember, and you live alongside the memory. It becomes part of your life, not the whole of it.”

Abigail stared at him, absorbing his words. They were simple, yet comforting. “That makes sense,” she murmured, almost surprised by how easily it sank in.

There was a pause, a quiet moment where the rain outside filled the silence. Then James spoke again, softly.

“I’ll tell you something,” he said. “Not a lot of people know this about me. But…my family, they’ve been…difficult. Not in the same way as your aunt, obviously, but…hard. I grew up trying to please people who didn’t really see me. And I guess I…built walls. Thick ones.”

Abigail looked at him, surprised. She had expected him to be easygoing, carefree—but this? Vulnerable, real.

“You built walls?” she asked, curiosity soft in her voice.

He nodded, shrugging slightly. “Yeah. And somehow, I don’t always know how to take them down. But…I feel like I can be myself with you. Or at least…closer to it. You make it feel…possible.”

Her heart thumped. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a strange mixture of relief and nervousness. “I…feel the same way. I’ve been…closed off too. Since Lila…everything just…shut down.”

They sat there for a long moment, just looking at each other, letting words hang in the air like fragile glass. Neither pushed, neither pulled. Just acknowledgment.

Then James reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know. Not ever. Even when I’m not here in person.”

Abigail’s eyes glistened. “It’s hard. Some days, it feels impossible.”

He smiled softly, a gentle, understanding smile. “Then those are the days we let someone else help. Let them in, even if it’s just a little. You don’t have to be alone.”

Her chest tightened. It was the first time she admitted to anyone, really, how heavy the grief had been. And yet, with James, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt…shared.

“Okay,” she whispered finally. “I’ll try. Not because it’ll make the pain disappear…but because…maybe it’ll make it lighter. Even a little.”

James reached out and took her hand, holding it softly. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking in quiet confessions—funny childhood stories, embarrassing moments, secrets they had never told anyone else. Abigail felt herself laughing again, softly, genuinely, something that had felt foreign for weeks.

At one point, James leaned back, looking thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I never expected to meet someone like you. Someone who’s…real. Honest. Fragile and strong at the same time. I don’t say that lightly.”

Abigail’s cheeks flushed. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “Just…keep being you. That’s enough.”

It was quiet again, except for the hum of the TV and the rain tapping against the window. Abigail rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the weight of her thoughts ease just slightly. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel safe, to feel seen.

“You make it…easier,” she whispered.

James smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over her hand. “Good. That’s the idea.”

As the night wore on, they drifted into comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts but aware of the other’s presence. The city outside continued its endless motion, but inside Abigail’s apartment, there was a small island of calm.

And for Abigail, that calm was everything.