Reclaiming My Path
Mark followed quietly, whispering, “You did the right thing.”
I didn’t answer. I just picked up my pace.
At the corner of the street, I couldn’t help but glance back to see Enzo still standing there, staring at the spilled tortellini soup like a lost child. Snow began falling again, covering his hair with a fresh white layer.
I buried myself in work. I was so busy with meetings, reports, and client negotiations that I barely had time to take a sip of water.
By evening, Mark handed me a cup of hot cocoa. “He’s gone.”