I told myself it was temporary. A week, maybe two. Long enough to breathe, to shake the dust of him off my clothes and find my footing again. That’s what I told Diana, anyway.

She hesitated when I asked. I heard it in the pause, the sharp little intake of breath before she said yes. She’s always been careful, always measuring. But I knew she would let me in. She had to. That’s the thing about Diana - she can’t stand being the bad guy.

When I step into her living room, duffel bag in hand, I almost laugh. It’s so… Diana. Everything in its place, coffee table free of dust, pillows lined up like soldiers. It’s the kind of neatness that doesn’t invite you to sit, only to admire.

I drop my bag by the sofa, hear the thud, and let my eyes travel the room. The photos on the wall - Diana smiling with coworkers, Diana at the beach, Diana at some wedding where she looks like she’s the one who belongs. She always looks like she belongs.

“It feels the same,” I say. Not this house, of course. I’ve never been here before. But Diana’s world. The ease of it. The way she always seems to land on her feet.

She laughs, polite, like she doesn’t know what I mean. But I see it in her eyes - the flicker of discomfort. She never did like it when I reminded her how parallel we’ve always been. Diana and Nadia. Same letters, different order. I used to think that was funny. Now I think it’s fate.

We eat pasta from a jar. She tries to fill the silence with questions: how am I holding up, do I need anything, what are my plans. I answer just enough to keep her satisfied. She doesn’t need to know yet.

Later, when she excuses herself to bed, I stay behind. The kitchen hums with the refrigerator’s low buzz, the house settling into sleep. I stand there in the half-dark, breathing it in.

This house is too big for her. Too quiet. Too empty. She doesn’t even realize it yet, but she needs me here.

I smile when I hear her bare feet pad down the hall, hesitating before she rounds the corner. She sees me and startles, hand twitching toward the light switch.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, my smile fixed, my voice calm. And it’s true.

How could I? I’m finally home.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » Adjustments