All Chapters of Go Away Chris : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Chris's POVI didn't sleep that first week without Gemma in the house. The silence felt different now, heavier, full of the things I hadn't let myself think about while I was busy convincing myself I was doing the responsible thing.It was a Sunday morning, early enough that the light outside was still gray, when I gave up on sleep entirely and turned on the television without any real intention of watching anything. I flipped through channels the way a person flips through their own thoughts when they're trying not to land on one in particular.Then I stopped.She was sitting across from a morning show host in a bright studio, a microphone clipped near the collar of a fitted rust colored dress, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way I had never once seen her wear it at the office. She looked nothing like the woman who used to sit quietly at her desk finishing reports after everyone else had gone home. She also looked, somehow, exactly like herself, the version of herself I thin

Ayesha's POVI had a routine now, something I had never managed at the old apartment where mornings used to begin with the phone already in my hand, checking messages before I had even fully woken up.Now I woke up, made coffee in my small kitchen, ate breakfast at the table by the window, and walked three blocks to the gallery. On weekday mornings, before the gallery opened, I stopped at a coffee shop called Dora's, a narrow place with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that changed every few days. I always took the same corner table by the window and spent forty minutes reading or simply watching the street outside.It was one of the few places in my new life that felt completely mine, which made what happened on a Wednesday morning feel like more of an intrusion than it probably was.I looked up from my cup and he was already crossing the room toward me, unhurried but deliberate, the way Chris moved when he had already decided something and was simply carrying it out. He sat d

Ayesha's POVThe invitation came through a collector I had met at Diana's second exhibition, a woman named Celeste who had bought two pieces that night and followed up a week later with a dinner that turned into a genuine connection. Celeste moved in rooms I was only beginning to have access to, and when she mentioned the charity gala and said she wanted to bring someone interesting, she was looking directly at me.I wore a deep burgundy off shoulder gown I had found in a boutique I used to walk past without going in. The woman at the counter had pulled it from the rack without hesitation when I described what I was looking for, and when I put it on and looked in the fitting room mirror, I understood what it felt like to enter a room rather than simply arrive in one.The gala was everything I had imagined those kinds of events would be and slightly more uncomfortable in practice. But I found my footing quickly enough, moving between collectors and artists and people who knew my name f

Ayesha's POVMy mother had always been the kind of woman who called on Sunday mornings, without fail, regardless of what was happening in either of our lives. It was so consistent that I had built my Sunday routine around it, keeping the first hour of the morning free, making a second cup of coffee I didn't always need, sitting by the window and waiting for the phone to light up with her name.When she didn't call on a Sunday in late October, I noticed immediately.I told myself she had probably fallen asleep late the night before, or gone to early service at the church she occasionally attended when the mood took her. I called her at noon. No answer. I called again at two and again at four, and by the time evening came I had talked myself into a level of calm I didn't actually feel, the kind that sits on top of something much less calm and does a poor job of hiding it.Her neighbor, Mrs. Foye, called me at half past seven.She had found my mother on the kitchen floor. Not unconscious

Ayesha's POVI had not been inside Azul Corporation since the morning I walked out of it with my handbag and my resignation sitting in a drafted message on my phone. That had been nearly two years ago. Standing in the lobby now, I was struck by how familiar it all was, the same pale stone floor, the same curved reception desk, the same quality of light coming through the tall front windows, all of it exactly as I remembered it and completely unrelated to who I was now.The receptionist looked up when I approached."I need to see Chris Azul," I said. "I don't have an appointment. I'll wait as long as necessary."She looked at me with polite uncertainty. "Can I ask what this is regarding?""It's personal. My name is Ayesha Adams. Please just let him know I'm here."She picked up the desk phone and I moved to the waiting area, sitting in one of the low chairs near the window. I had dressed simply that morning, nothing deliberate, just clean clothes and good posture, which was its own kin