Chapter 16: The Last Time He Asked Me to Stay

A month passed.

My life had settled into a rhythm I barely recognized.

I went to work.

I came home.

I cooked for myself.

I visited my mother on weekends.

And slowly, the memories of Kostas stopped controlling my days.

Then, one Saturday morning, someone knocked on my door.

I already knew who it was.

Kostas stood outside holding a small cardboard box.

“I found these in my apartment.”

I looked at the box.

“What is it?”

“Your things.”

I opened the lid.

Inside were photographs, a sweater, a book, and the ceramic mug I had left in his kitchen.

Things I had forgotten about.

“You could have thrown them away,” I said.

“I couldn't.”

I took the box from him.

“Thank you.”

He didn't leave.

I waited.

Finally, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Do you ever miss me?”

The question caught me off guard.

I looked at him honestly.

“Sometimes.”

His eyes softened.

“Then maybe there's still a chance.”

I shook my head.

“Missing someone doesn't mean you should return to them.”

He looked down.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He nodded.

“I'm trying to.”

We stood quietly for a moment.

Then he said, “I started seeing a counselor.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For myself.”

“Not to get you back.”

“I realized I spent years avoiding difficult decisions.”

“I let other people decide what I wanted.”

“And then I blamed everyone when things fell apart.”

I listened.

For once, he wasn't making excuses.

“That's good,” I said.

He smiled sadly.

“You really mean that?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to become a better person.”

“Just not for me.”

His smile disappeared.

“I understand.”

He turned to leave.

Then he stopped.

“Romy.”

I looked at him.

“I'm sorry about your mother's document.”

“I should have protected it.”

“I should have protected you.”

I nodded.

“Yes, you should have.”

He swallowed.

“I can't change what happened.”

“No,” I said.

“But you can make sure you never do it to someone else.”

He nodded.

“I will.”

He walked away.

I watched him reach his car.

For a moment, I remembered the man I had fallen in love with.

Then I remembered the man who had lied to me.

Both were real.

But only one had shown me who he truly was.

I closed the door.

That night, I opened the box he had given me.

At the bottom was a small envelope.

Inside was the spare key to his apartment.

A note was attached.

“You don't need this anymore.”

I held the key in my palm.

For months, I had wanted access to that apartment.

Now the key meant nothing.

I placed it inside a drawer.

Not because I planned to use it.

Because I was finally ready to let it go.