I finished my coffee.
Went inside.
And closed the balcony door.
The condo was quiet.
Safe.
Mine.
Not because I had defeated Adrian.
Not because his business venture had failed.
And not because the police had embarrassed him in front of his mother.
It was mine because I’d built a life there long before he entered it.
And I’d finally stopped apologizing for that.
That night, when I returned from work, I stepped out of the elevator carrying my handbag and a small bag of groceries.
The hallway was empty.
No suitcase.
No scattered clothes.
No strangers.
I reached Unit 2902.
Slipped my key into the lock.
Turned it.
And opened the door.
For a moment, I stood in the entrance and smiled.
A year earlier, Adrian had believed the sound of a new lock clicking into place meant he’d won.
But he had mistaken control for ownership.
And my patience for permission.
