Chapter 8 - SIX MONTHS WITHOUT RYAN
Ryan left on Friday.
I kissed his cheek at the airport.
That was all.
He did not ask for more.
He carried one suitcase and a laptop bag.
I hated that he looked good leaving.
“You could at least appear miserable.”
“I am miserable.”
“You look annoyingly competent.”
“Years of practice.”
I smiled.
Then the boarding announcement sounded.
He looked at me.
“Kate.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t wait for me.”
My chest tightened.
“Very romantic.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“If you meet someone—”
“Stop.”
He did.
“I am not discussing my hypothetical dating life with you at an airport.”
“Fair.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“If you meet someone?”
Ryan smiled faintly.
“I’ve been failing at that for almost ten years.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Then he hugged me.
Longer than usual.
Not inappropriate.
Not possessive.
Just enough that when he released me, my body noticed the absence.
“Be happy, Kate.”
I looked at him.
“That sounds suspiciously final.”
“It isn’t.”
“Good.”
Then he walked away.
For the first month, we barely spoke.
That was intentional.
I started therapy.
Not because I felt broken.
Because I was tired of confusing endurance with strength.
My therapist, Dr. Maya Chen, asked me why I had stayed with Noah after the earring.
“Because it had an explanation.”
“Did you believe the explanation?”
I stared.
“Not completely.”
“Then why accept it?”
“Because the alternative was worse.”
“What alternative?”
“That I had wasted three years.”
She nodded.
“So instead of risking that three years had been a mistake, you risked giving it more years.”
I hated therapy immediately.
Second month:
I moved out of the condo Noah had practically lived in.
Too many memories.
I bought a smaller place overlooking the Charles River.
My own name.
My own mortgage.
My own choices.
Third month:
The federal case against Noah expanded.
He was charged with wire fraud, falsification of financial documents, and conspiracy related to investor solicitations.
The forged instruction involving my trust became one count in a much larger indictment.
Marissa Kane was charged too.
Lucy cooperated.
Noah called me from his attorney’s office.
I almost didn’t answer.
Then decided I wanted the last conversation.
“You ruined my life.”
That was his opening.
I actually laughed.
“You called me.”
“Ryan turned everybody against me.”
“No.”
“Lucy handed over documents.”
“Yes.”
“My father froze me out.”
“Yes.”
“You canceled the wedding.”
“Yes.”
His voice rose.
“Do you understand what you did?”
“Yes.”
I sat by my new apartment window.
“I stopped cooperating.”
Silence.
Noah breathed hard.
“We could have fixed it.”
“No.”
“You loved me.”
“I did.”
“You think that disappears?”
“No.”
That confused him.
I continued.
“I don’t need to pretend I never loved you in order to know I should never marry you.”
He went quiet.
“I made mistakes.”
“You committed crimes.”
“Alleged.”
“Sure.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
And I realized I meant it.
“I don’t hate you anymore, Noah.”
That hurt him more.
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because at least that would mean you still care.”
I closed my eyes.
“Goodbye.”
I hung up.
Fourth month:
Lucy sent a handwritten apology.
Eight pages.
I read two.
Then put it away.
Forgiveness could come later.
Maybe never.
I no longer treated it like a moral deadline.
Fifth month:
Ryan called on my birthday.
“Thirty-one.”
“Cruel.”
“You’ve survived.”
“Barely.”
“Any gray hair?”
“I’m hanging up.”
He laughed.
The sound did something dangerous.
“How’s Denver?”
“Cold.”
“How’s the project?”
“Less dramatic than my family.”
“Low standard.”
We talked forty-two minutes.
Nothing romantic.
Everything intimate.
Books.
Food.
My apartment.
His project.
His mother attending therapy with Charles.
Noah’s case.
Then:
“Are you dating anyone?”
I froze.
“You lasted five months.”
“I’m growing.”
“No.”
“Good.”
My pulse changed.
“Ryan.”
“Yes?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“That answer isn’t pressure.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Sixth month:
Noah accepted a plea agreement.
He faced prison.
He agreed to restitution.
Lucy avoided charges on some counts because of cooperation but lost nearly everything she invested.
I heard she moved to Connecticut.
I did not ask where.
And then Ryan came home.
Not for me.
That mattered.
The Denver phase completed.
He returned to Rhode Island for the Harper Foundation annual meeting.
I knew because Diane invited me.
I almost declined.
Then went.
The event was held at a museum in Providence.
No wedding arch.
No white dresses.
Thank God.
I stood near a sculpture when I saw him.
Ryan.
Across the gallery.
Dark suit.
Longer hair.
A little thinner.
Talking to his father.
He looked up.
Found me immediately.
Everything inside me went quiet.
He did not rush over.
That mattered too.
He finished the conversation.
Then walked toward me.
“Hi.”
I smiled.
“Hi.”
“You cut your hair.”
“Two inches.”
“I noticed.”
“That is disturbing.”
“I had six months.”
We stood there.
No touching.
No dramatic reunion.
Then he asked:
“How are you?”
I thought about it.
“Good.”
His expression softened.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that feel?”
“Suspicious.”
Ryan laughed.
I looked at him.
“And you?”
“Better.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then I said:
“I missed you.”
His smile disappeared.
“Kate.”
“I’m allowed to say it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not rebounding.”
“I didn’t say—”
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“I missed you after I stopped missing Noah.”
Ryan stopped breathing.
“That seems important.”
“It is.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He laughed softly.
I continued.
“But I’m sure enough to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
His eyes changed.
“With me?”
“No. Your brother.”
“Cruel.”
I smiled.
“You. Tomorrow. Seven.”
Ryan swallowed.
“Is this a date?”
“Yes.”
He looked genuinely stunned.
I enjoyed it.
“Ryan Harper speechless.”
“Temporary condition.”
“Seven.”
“I’ll be there at six forty-five.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Seven.”
He smiled.
“Right.”
“Boundaries.”
“I remember.”
Then I walked away.
My hands started shaking only after I reached the bathroom.
Because six months earlier, I had walked toward Ryan under an arch while my heart was breaking.
May you like
Tomorrow night, I would walk toward him because nothing was broken.
And that difference meant everything.
