Chapter Five — The Weight of Words

Chapter Five — The Weight of Words

It was late.

Lila was at her dad’s for the weekend—a fact that sat like a stone in Elena’s chest. The apartment was too quiet without the chatter of cartoons, the mess of glitter glue, or the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps thumping from room to room.

Elena hated the silence.

It left too much room for memory.

She sat curled on her balcony, hoodie drawn tight over her knees, fingers wrapped around a chipped mug of lukewarm tea. The steam had long since faded, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. The air was cold, but not biting—just enough to sting her skin and remind her she was still here.

From next door, a soft voice broke the quiet.

“You always sit out here alone?”

She turned slightly, startled—but not afraid.

Jack leaned on the rail of his own balcony, his elbows resting on the edge. His silhouette was backlit by the glow of his kitchen. His eyes looked tired, like hers, but kind. Grounded.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t tease.

He just waited.

“I don’t sleep much,” Elena murmured after a moment, her voice rough from disuse.

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he said. “Me either.”

The quiet that followed didn’t push against her like silence usually did. It rested between them like a soft blanket—unspoken but not uncomfortable.

Elena sipped her tea. Her throat ached.

Then, surprising even herself, she said, “Lila’s with her dad tonight.”

Jack didn’t press. “That hard for you?”

She laughed bitterly, and the sound felt too sharp in the soft night. “It’s hell.”

He sat down on his side of the balcony, mirroring her posture like an echo. “Want to talk about it?”

She hesitated.

People always asked, but their eyes said something else—“Hurry up,” or “Spare me the drama.” But Jack’s voice held space. Real space.

“I was married,” she began, her gaze fixed on the stars above, half-hidden behind thin clouds. “He was charming. Everyone adored him. He knew how to be the man people wanted to see. But when the door shut…”

Jack didn’t move, didn’t interrupt.

“He controlled everything. What I ate. When I slept. Who I saw. He’d track how long I spent in the grocery store. He told me I was lucky to have him. That no one else would want me.”

Her hands trembled. She set the mug down.

“When I was pregnant, he’d come home drunk and angry. He’d accuse me of things I didn’t do. Yell until I cried. Once he screamed so loud I went into early labor.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

“He told me I was a bad mom before I ever became one.” Her voice cracked. “I started believing him.”

She paused to breathe. The air felt colder now, but it didn’t stop her.

“He used to drug me. Said it would help me sleep. But it was just so I’d shut up. He gave me Benadryl. Sometimes more. Said I was exhausting. That I talked too much.” Her eyes didn’t blink. “He locked up food. Said I didn’t need it. That I was fat. I started sneaking crackers like a teenager hiding candy.”

Tears welled and spilled, silent and steady. But she didn’t wipe them away.

Jack didn’t say a word.

No pity. No gasps. Just presence.

That, more than anything, cracked something open.

“I thought it was love,” she whispered. “Even after everything. I thought if I just… loved him better, he’d stop. I kept thinking maybe I’m the problem. And even now, sometimes I hear his voice in my head. And it sounds like the truth.”

She finally turned her head toward Jack.

He didn’t look away. His voice was quiet. Solid.

“He was wrong.”

Her heart stuttered. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t have to.” He exhaled slowly. “I know what it looks like when someone’s still trying to piece themselves back together. I know what strength looks like when it’s still shaking.”

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat thick with disbelief.

“You show up for your daughter,” Jack said. “You’re doing the work. You left. You stayed standing. That makes you more than strong. That makes you whole—even if you don’t feel it yet.”

No one had ever said that to her. Not like that. Not without strings.

She didn’t thank him. Not yet.

But she didn’t argue.

And when they both sat in silence again, it wasn’t empty.

It was sacred.