Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Weight of Loneliness

Erin woke the next morning to pale sunlight filtering through her curtains, but the brightness did little to lift the heaviness that had settled in her chest. The journal from the night before sat on the coffee table, its leather cover still damp where her tears had soaked into it. She stared at it, as if expecting it to offer some kind of solution.

It didn’t.

She dragged herself into the kitchen, her movements slow and mechanical. The silence in the apartment was oppressive. She made a half-hearted attempt at breakfast—toast and black coffee—but barely touched either. Her appetite had been dwindling for weeks, though she hadn’t noticed it until now.

She checked her phone. Nothing.

Her fingers hovered over Lucas’s name in her contacts. The urge to call him, to hear his voice, was almost unbearable. But the memory of his words from the night before stopped her. “Why do you always need so much from me?”

Her chest tightened again. It was as if the person she trusted most in the world had placed a mirror in front of her, forcing her to see every flaw, every crack in her carefully constructed facade.

She needed to get out of the apartment.

Throwing on a coat and scarf, Erin stepped out into the chilly morning air. The city was already alive with activity—cars honking, pedestrians rushing, vendors setting up shop. She walked aimlessly, letting the energy of the streets distract her from the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her feet led her to a small park she hadn’t visited in years. She sat on a bench near the fountain, watching as children chased each other across the grass and couples strolled hand in hand. The sight made her feel more alone than ever.

She thought back to the days before Lucas, back when she used to come here with her sketchbook, filling pages with quick, messy drawings of strangers and scenery. She couldn’t remember why she’d stopped—probably because Lucas had joked that her drawings “weren’t good enough to be worth the effort.” She had laughed it off at the time, but now the memory stung.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice startled her. She turned to see a woman standing nearby, holding a steaming cup of coffee. She had a warm, open face, framed by wild curls that spilled out from under a knitted hat.

“I’m fine,” Erin said quickly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “Just… thinking.” The woman nodded as if she understood. “Mind if I sit?”

Erin hesitated but then gestured to the empty spot on the bench. The woman sat, cradling her coffee in both hands.

“I come here a lot when I’m feeling overwhelmed,” the woman said. “Something about the sound of the fountain, I guess. It helps me clear my head.”

Erin nodded, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t used to strangers striking up conversations with her, let alone ones that felt so… genuine.

“I’m Mia, by the way,” the woman said, offering a small smile.

“Erin.”

For a few moments, they sat in silence. Erin felt an odd sense of comfort in Mia’s presence, as if she didn’t need to fill the silence with words or explanations.

“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Mia said eventually.

Erin hesitated, then let out a shaky laugh. “You could say that.”

Mia didn’t press her, but there was something in her gaze that encouraged Erin to continue. Before she knew it, the words were tumbling out of her—about Lucas, about the journal, about the crushing loneliness she felt even when she was with him.

By the time she finished, her hands were trembling, and she was afraid to look at Mia, afraid of seeing pity or judgment in her eyes. But when she finally glanced up, Mia’s expression was one of quiet understanding.

“It sounds like you’ve been carrying a lot,” Mia said gently. “More than anyone should have to.”

Erin nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“And it also sounds like you’ve forgotten something important.”

Erin frowned. “What’s that?”

“That you’re allowed to be more than someone else’s shadow.”

The words hit Erin like a jolt, as if Mia had reached into her chest and pulled out the thought she’d been too afraid to admit to herself.

“I don’t even know who I am without him,” Erin whispered.

“Then maybe it’s time to find out.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, the sound of the fountain filling the space between them. When Mia finally stood to leave, she placed a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she said. “And if you ever need a reminder, you know where to find me.”

Erin watched as Mia walked away, her figure disappearing into the crowd. She felt an unfamiliar flicker of something in her chest—something that wasn’t quite hope but wasn’t despair, either.

For the first time in a long time, she wondered what it might feel like to stand on her own two feet.

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