No matter how many times the words crossed his mind, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around them. She'd been living a new life for the last three years, a life that had seemed to make her happy.
Was she happy? Really happy? Happy like she was with me?
He rubbed the heel of his palms roughly against his closed lids, trying to determine a resolution. His heart had found its other half and wasn't willing to let go again. Of that, he was positive. He could show her their life in pictures because he had their life chronicled through photographs right there on his computer at home. Grace would get her family back. She could experience all the love that everyone had for her, especially the love he still had for her. They could be married. Finally.
But that was his heart. His head told him she loved Dr. Hunter Barnes. He knew how Grace loved-fiercely. So, to be engaged to him, she must be in love with him. That obstacle he never saw coming. She had built a life here in Chicago and probably wasn't hopping on a plane with him anytime soon to go back to Seattle. She didn't even know about their life in Seattle.
Another harsh realization, though it made him feel ill, was that she didn't know him anymore. She wasn't in love with him anymore. And he doubted she'd throw her current life away to come start, or finish, a life with him.
Had it been too long? Had too much time passed? Was it too late? Or maybe, was he just in time?
The pestering questions ate at him and he hadn't noticed what hour it was or that everybody had already left for the day. He looked out the window of his corner office and watched as the sun set in the distance, the view slightly obstructed by another high-rise. Metaphorically, his view reflected his current situation.
Gathering his stuff and closing down his computer, he switched the lights off as he left the office. When he unlocked his apartment, he sighed in discontent. His place was barren, as if someone had just moved in or was in the process of moving out. The brown leather couch sat against one wall with a coffee table in front of it and a flat-screen hanging on the opposing wall. The bookcase to the side of the TV held a small collection of books on one shelf, but the rest were still empty. His bedroom had even less in it with just a large unmade bed and a dresser. No art on the wall and no knickknacks. A desk on the other side of the TV was where he spent most nights. Two stools at the kitchen bar finished off the room. Furniture, but not stuff, no real personal belongings made this space where he lived. Home was where Gra . . .
In the apartment, though, there was one thing that stood out, one thing prominently set apart from the bland and desolate. The framed picture of Ben's family on the desk. It was a picture of his parents, his sister, himself, and Grace. They had already taken the standard perfectly posed, smiling picture before this one. This photograph was the silly outtake. After looking over the funny faces of his family for the millionth time, his eyes landed on Grace who had taken that exact opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. So, as he stuck his tongue out and winked at the camera, his love had her lips pressed to his skin. They held hands, and the depth of emotion emanated from the paper and through the frame, filling the room and his heart with heaviness. They'd been so in love. So happy.
The picture was the main reason Rebecca rarely stayed at his place. Who could blame her? It was like a shrine. A shrine to love.
He knew what he had to do. Ultimately, he had never committed to a life in Chicago. He'd never put down roots or invested in anything of value or anyone, not even Rebecca . . . And she knew that from the beginning.
At a coffee shop downtown, Ben hadn't noticed the woman, lost in his own thoughts as usual, until she leaned over. "May I borrow your sugar?"
"You can have it," Ben replied, looking up.
The pretty woman smiled. "Thank you."
Ben returned to staring out the window when he heard, "Sorry to bother you, and I know this is embarrassingly forward, but would you like to join me?"
At first he hesitated, not used to talking to strangers in coffee shops or bars or anywhere anymore. But he felt it would be rude to say no. "Okay."
"I'm Rebecca Bauer." She held her hand out.
When he accepted her hand, he felt a small surge of guilt blend with his loneliness. "Ben-Benjamin Edwards." He didn't know why he shortened his name. Ben wasn't a name he went by anymore, but in this city he'd lost who he was. He wasn't Ben without Grace, so he became Benjamin.
After sitting for over an hour talking about everything from what brought him to Chicago more than two years ago and their jobs, they exchanged business cards.