Raw Vulnerability

Jerica settled into her seat, her forced smile not quite reaching her eyes as she replied, "Handsome, maybe... but he's not my husband." The words carried a weight she couldn't quite hide, a quiet sadness that lingered in the air. She had imagined nights like this—with Jared—but lately, she didn't even know where he was.

Chef Smith's smile faltered for a moment before Jerica quickly added, "He's my old friend, Harold Braddock." She gave the practiced smile she had worn for too long, but even Harold noticed the shift in her tone.

Harold caught the flicker of emotion in her eyes, but he stayed quiet, offering the chef a polite smile as he took his seat. They were treated like royalty—the best table, the finest service—but none of it eased the emptiness gnawing at Jerica. The laughter, the act of being happy—it all felt like a performance.

She stared at the plate in front of her. The food was beautifully presented, but it tasted bland. Jared's cooking had ruined her for restaurants like this. He could make a simple meal feel like an experience, plating dishes so perfectly it was like eating art. Even this, one of the best places in the city, couldn't compare.

It made her feel pathetic, how he still filled her thoughts like this. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake it.

Harold glanced at her, noticing she'd barely touched her food. He could sense the quiet storm swirling around her, and it hurt him to watch her like this. He wanted to pull her out of it, to make her laugh again.

"Is your engagement ring at the cleaners or something?" he asked, raising a playful eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood.

Jerica blinked, surprised, her eyes dropping to her wedding band. Her lips curved into a smile, more reflex than anything else. "I don't wear it anymore."

Harold's brow furrowed. "Why?"

She let out a soft laugh. "What's with you?"

But Harold didn't back down. His gaze was intense, searching her face for something more. Jerica sighed, feeling the weight of his question. "It's too big," she finally said. "For a clerk working on a government salary, I mean. It draws attention."

It was the truth. Jared had given her a huge diamond, something she wore proudly at first, but it had started to feel out of place at her job.

Harold scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "So, you married well."

Jerica shrugged, her smile tight.

He kept his eyes on her, studying her in a way that made her uncomfortable. She pushed a few more bites of food around her plate, trying to focus on anything other than the growing heaviness inside her. Even if the food wasn't to her liking, she didn't want to insult the chef. Not with him watching them so closely, beaming like he was serving royalty.

"You're really not going to tell me about your husband, are you?" Harold finally asked, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

Jerica exhaled slowly, setting her fork down. "He's a lawyer. We can grab dinner sometime if you really want to meet him," she said, more for Harold's sake than her own. She knew he wouldn't drop it until she gave him something.

She could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the way his gaze darkened slightly. They had grown up together—Harold knew her better than most people. He could see right through her forced smiles and evasive answers. He knew something was wrong.

He wasn't buying her story, but she didn't care. She was drawing a line, one he couldn't cross, even if it was Harold. Even if he cared.

"Are you happy, Jerica?" Harold's voice was barely a whisper, but the weight of the question hit her like a punch to the gut.

She tried to swallow, but her throat tightened, emotions bubbling up she wasn't ready to face. "Of course, I am," she lied, her voice catching in her throat as she stared down at the napkin in her lap, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Liar…" Harold breathed, his voice soft but firm. He leaned in, his hand trembling as he set down his cutlery. "We were so close, Jerica. Why did we... why did you push me away? You didn't even allow me to talk to you. One day, you were gone~" His voice cracked slightly as he cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure.

Jerica stared at him, taken aback by the raw vulnerability in his voice. His lips quivered slightly, his usually composed face now softened by emotions that hadn't surfaced in years. His eyes, glossy with unshed tears, told her everything before he even spoke.

"I missed you, Jerica," he whispered, his fingers trembling as they rested on the table, barely able to contain the emotion behind them.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew him—knew him better than most—and in that moment, she realized there was no pretense. No facade. The weight of his words, the aching sincerity in his gaze, left no room for doubt.

He wasn't lying. He had missed her. Truly. Deeply.

The truth hung between them, heavy and raw, filling the air with an unspoken history, years of unaddressed feelings. And as much as she wanted to push it aside, to bury it beneath the life she had built without him, a part of her felt the sharp tug of those same memories, pulling her back into a past that had never really let her go.