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CHAPTER 31;; Selene’s Mother Visits
publish date:
2026-03-12 09:14:53
Latest chapter
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 92: The Morning After
I did not sleep well.Not badly enough to call it insomnia. Just the fractured kind of sleep that comes when your brain has something in its teeth and refuses to put it down. I would go under for an hour and then surface again, ceiling, dark, the city outside doing its four in the morning thing, quiet in a way Manhattan is only ever quiet for about ninety minutes before it starts again.Is it him.I turned over.Closed my eyes.Went under again.By six I gave up.I made coffee and stood at the counter and looked at the plants and did not think about anything specific. That was the plan. Just coffee. Just the morning. Just the pale gray light coming through the window and the small terracotta plant with its new leaf that had unfurled fully overnight, open now, no longer tentative.I looked at it for a long time.Then I got dressed and went to work an hour early.The office was empty when I arrived. Just the morning light and the hum of the building and the smell of the cleaning crew’s
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 91: What He Said
He told me on a Tuesday.Not planned. I could see that it wasn’t planned. He came into my office at the end of the day with a folder he did not open and set it on the edge of my desk and stood there for a moment with his hands in his pockets and something in his face that was different from every other version of his face I had learned over the past months.I looked up from my screen.“Sit down,” I said.He sat.For a moment he just looked at the folder. Then he looked at me.“I need to say something,” he said. “And I need you to let me finish before you say anything back.”My hands went still on my keyboard.“Okay,” I said.He leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Hands loosely linked. The posture of a man who had decided something and was now living inside that decision one word at a time.“I have feelings for you,” he said. “I have had them for a while. I am not telling you this because I expect anything from it or because I want to make things complicated. I am telling you because
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 90: What It Looked Like
Camille called on a Saturday morning.Not a text first. A call. Which meant something had happened or something was about to happen or she had information she did not trust herself to communicate in writing.I was still in bed. Not asleep. Just lying in the particular stillness of a Saturday when you have nowhere to be and your body knows it. I looked at her name on the screen for one ring before I answered.“Tell me something good,” I said.“I need to tell you something first,” she said. “And I need you to not make it weird.”I sat up.“What happened.”“Nothing happened,” she said. “I just.” A pause. “Do you know a woman named Sloane Mercer?”I thought about it. “She does PR. We’ve crossed paths a few times. Why.”“She was at the gallery opening in Tribeca last night.”I was very still.“She called me this morning,” Camille said. “We’ve been friends since college. She wanted to know if you and Nicolas Crane were together.”The bedroom was quiet. Outside a car passed slowly. A door so
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 89 :: Temperature
The gallery opening was not a date.I knew that. Nicolas had mentioned it the way he mentioned most things, directly and without ceremony, standing in the doorway of my office on a Friday afternoon with his coat already on.“There’s an opening tonight in Tribeca,” he said. “A client we’ve been courting for six months. They’ll be there. It would help to have you.”“What time,” I said.“Seven.”“I’ll be there,” I said.That was the entire conversation.I went home and changed into something that was not quite work and not quite personal and stood in front of my mirror for two minutes longer than necessary before deciding it was fine and leaving.The gallery was the kind of space that knew exactly what it was. High ceilings. Concrete floors. Work on the walls that demanded something from the people looking at it. The crowd was the right size. Enough people to create energy without killing the art.I found Nicolas near the entrance talking to a woman I recognized from the client brief. Ta
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 87: Late
Everyone left by seven.I heard them go one by one. Chairs pushing back. Bags zipping. The small sounds of a day ending.Ro called goodnight from across the floor. Petra turned off her monitor and waved through my glass wall. Dax left without saying anything, which was his way of saying everything was fine.Then the office went quiet.I stayed.The Chicago brief was not wrong exactly. It was close. Close enough that I could have sent it and nobody would have questioned it. But I knew the difference between close and right and I was not interested in close.I pulled up the file and started again from the section Nicolas had flagged.At some point I became aware that the light in his office was still on.I did not look up.Forty minutes later he appeared in my doorway with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled and two takeout bags hanging from one hand.“You didn’t eat,” he said.“I had lunch.”“It’s eight forty-five.”I looked at the time on my screen.Said nothing.He set one of the b
THE PRICE OF LETTING GO Chapter 86: Selene Whitmore
I found the photo while looking for something else.That is how these things always happen.You are not looking for the thing that finds you. You are looking for a charger cable or a spare key or the lease document your landlord has now requested three separate times, and instead you pull open a box you have not touched since moving day and there it is, sitting on top of everything as though it has been waiting.I carried the box to the bed.Set it down.Looked at the photograph.It was not framed. Just an old print, slightly worn at one corner, the kind that came from disposable cameras back when people still carried them around and developed rolls of film without knowing exactly what they would get.Someone had taken it without asking.The best photographs usually were.Nobody was posing.Nobody was aware of being watched.I was laughing.Not the polite laugh I had perfected during my marriage. Not the social version that appeared on cue and disappeared the moment it was no longer n
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