Saying My Final Farewell to Him

Sitting alone at the table, surrounded by the gentle hum of conversation and the rich aroma of simmering broth, I scrolled through the photos from my Colosseum trip. Each one was a memory preserved in soft hues of ancient stone and sunlight. Carefully, I arranged the shots into a nine-photo collage, each image a piece of a journey I'd taken without her—this time on my own terms. I added a simple caption beneath the post: [As hoped.]

Within minutes, the notifications began. Friends and acquaintances liked and commented, but one name stood out—Jonah. I almost laughed as a fresh notification popped up: Jonah had posted something of his own.

Curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on it. The photo showed Lyra, gazing intently at something out of frame, a serene smile on her lips. His caption read: [My little princess is such a foodie; she just loves the cake at my place. But as long as she's happy, I'll keep buying it for her until she's had enough!]

The comments streamed in, fawning and flirtatious replies piling up. I pressed "like" without hesitation, feeling a strange satisfaction as I set my phone aside and refocused on my meal. Each bite of hot pot seemed to ground me, the spice and warmth filling a quiet void.

Moments later, my phone buzzed violently. I glanced down, frowning when I saw Lyra's name flash on the screen. I ignored it, then a second call and a third. Finally, on the fourth ring, I sighed and answered, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

"Hello, Lyra."

Her voice came through, sharp and indignant. "Finley, did you go to Rome alone?" In the background, I could hear the sound of running water, as though she were in the middle of something—or with someone. "Didn't we agree that we'd go together when I had time? What's the point of going by yourself?"

I could almost see her pout through the phone, the familiar look of exasperation she wore whenever things didn't go her way. She continued, her tone shifting to a forced sweetness, "And don't forget, we agreed that when the baby arrives, we'd go there as a family to take a family portrait..."

Her words hit a nerve and I felt a slow, simmering anger rise. For years, I'd suggested going to Rome, to fulfill my mother's dying wish. But each time, Lyra had pushed it aside with flimsy excuses, empty promises, until finally, she'd stopped pretending altogether. I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.

"Nothing special," I said flatly. "I just wanted to go, so I went."

Silence hung between us, thick with her unspoken irritation and my quiet resentment. I could tell she wasn't used to hearing such indifference from me.

"If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now," I finally said, my tone devoid of warmth. Before she could respond, I pressed the red button and ended the call. It was like releasing a weight I hadn't known I was carrying.

Later that night, when I finally made it back to our apartment, I could hear voices before I even opened the door—a familiar, careless laugh mingling with Lyra's softer, teasing tone. When I stepped inside, the two figures on the couch froze, turning toward me. The room was filled with the smell of expensive cologne, the cushions indented where they had been leaning close.

"Finley, you're home late," Lyra said, standing up quickly and crossing over to me, a faint edge of impatience under her smile as she took my coat.

My eyes drifted to Jonah, who looked momentarily startled before his usual smug grin returned. He was relaxed, sprawled across the couch as though he owned the place, eyes darting between us with a mild curiosity.

"Why did you bring him back here?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice even.

Jonah looked down, his expression shifting to feigned guilt. "Sorry, Finley. I was in town for work and Lyra mentioned it'd be fine if I stayed over. You don't mind, do you?"

I could feel Lyra's gaze on me, watching closely, gauging my reaction. "If you do mind, Finley, I'll have Jonah stay at a hotel," she added, crossing her arms, the challenge clear in her eyes.

I looked between them, a calm, detached smile forming on my lips. "I don't mind," I said, feeling a strange satisfaction at the shock that flickered across their faces. I turned my gaze back to Jonah, keeping my voice steady. "You two have been childhood friends, inseparable since you were kids. Why would I mind?"

Without a word, I turned and retreated to the study, closing the door firmly behind me. I sank into the leather chair, the faint scent of old books and cedar offering a small comfort. Turning on my laptop, I immersed myself in work.

But the solitude was short-lived. A soft knock broke through my concentration and Lyra's voice filtered through the door, tentative and sweet. "Finley? Are you really not mad?" She hesitated, then knocked again. "Finley?"

Every time before, when she tried to have Jonah stay at our place, we would end up in a huge fight.