The drive to his place was quiet. Ralph didn't say a word. His head was tilted toward the window, breath fogging the glass. Now and then, a low murmur slipped from his lips—words she couldn't quite make out, but they sounded like apologies. Or maybe prayers.
By the time she pulled into the gated driveway, her shoulders were stiff. The house loomed in front of them, dark and intimidating with its towering frame and trimmed hedges, but she didn't care about the architecture.
She cared about the man barely awake beside her. She helped him out of the car with quiet grunts, ignoring how her body ached. The front door was already unlocked. She wasn't surprised. He probably hadn't expected to come back alone.
Inside, the scent of rich oak and something faintly musky greeted her. It felt expensive. Cold. Immaculate.
Ralph leaned heavily on her, and she guided him to the living room couch, gently lowering him until he collapsed with a soft groan.
His eyes fluttered open for a second. "You didn't leave…"
She swallowed hard. "Don't talk."
He smiled faintly. "Bossy."
"Drunk," she countered, unbuttoning the top of his suit jacket and easing it off his shoulders.
He didn't resist. Just exhaled like even breathing was an effort. She reached for his phone where it had slipped from his inner pocket, careful not to wake him. Her fingers brushed the sleek screen as she placed it gently on the coffee table. Just then—
Beep. She blinked.
A message banner slid across the screen.
Jane: I'm sorry, Ralph. I'm sorry for kissing you without permission. If it annoyed you that much, I'm sorry for stirring up a misunderstanding. But at least reply me.
Alison froze.
Her hand hung mid-air. Her eyes locked on the message. Silence filled the room, thick and sharp.
The screen dimmed again.
Alison stared a moment longer, something painful settling in her chest. She didn't know what to call it—relief? Guilt? A strange cocktail of both?
She turned back to Ralph just as his lashes fluttered again. This time, they didn't close. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, confused.
"Alison…" he rasped, trying to sit up.
She steadied him with a hand on his chest. "Easy."
He blinked at her slowly, then dragged a hand down his face. "You saw the message."
She didn't answer. He let out a humorless breath, one that sounded more like defeat. "Jane's not my girlfriend."
Her gaze flicked to his. He looked wrecked—tired in a way sleep couldn't fix.
"She was," he continued hoarsely. "Years ago. But she left. Said she needed space… that she needed to find herself."
His eyes glazed for a second, like the memory stung more than he wanted it to. "Fashion institute. Abroad. Big dreams. New beginnings. I supported her… and she disappeared like I was something she had to outgrow."
He coughed suddenly, a harsh sound that made him double over slightly.
Alison stepped forward on instinct, her hand cradling the back of his neck as she reached for the bottle of water nearby. "Hey, hey. Don't talk so much. You need rest."
He drank from the bottle with shaky hands, exhaling afterward as if the weight of it all was catching up.
"I'm not seeing her," he muttered, softer now. "I only took her for dinner". Kissed me when I wasn't looking. I didn't want it. I didn't kiss her back."
Alison was quiet, her fingers still at his nape, grounding him.
He searched her face. "I didn't want to hurt you."
Her throat tightened.
"I didn't know it'd matter to you," he added almost bitterly. "I didn't think I'd… matter to you."
Silence.
Only the soft hum of the heater. Then, she exhaled slowly and sank beside him on the couch.
"It's weird, isn't it?" she murmured. "How things loop."
He looked at her, confused.
"He's my ex, the one that caused all this mess".
That caught his attention.
Alison gave a dry little laugh. "Derek. The man who told me I'm nothing to him and I'm getting boring to him". And now he's back like nothing happened. Sat right beside my sick aunt in the hospital like some doting son-in-law."
Ralph's expression darkened slightly.
"She wants me to give him another chance," Alison whispered, eyes distant. "She thinks I'm alone. That I need stability. That maybe I'm just being difficult. And when he asked me to go to dinner with him… I couldn't say no. Not when she looked at me like that."
Ralph didn't speak.
Alison's voice cracked just slightly. "I hated every minute of it. I wanted to walk out the second he smiled at me like nothing happened. But I stayed. For her."
She turned her face to him, and their eyes locked—something raw passing between them.
"You're not the only one who's a little fucked up," she said gently.
He laughed, but it was broken. "Guess we're both a mess."
"Maybe that's okay," she whispered. "Just for tonight."
They sat there in silence, side by side. No walls. No pretenses.
Just two wounded people trying to breathe. And somehow… that was enough. He dozed off not long after.
Head leaning gently against the edge of the couch, breaths evening out, lashes casting shadows beneath his eyes. Even in sleep, Ralph looked like a man carrying weight no one else could see.
Alison stood quietly, watching him for a long time.
She didn't know what came over her, but she knelt beside him and began unfastening the top buttons of his shirt. Just enough so he could breathe comfortably. She slipped off his shoes, then reached for the soft throw draped over the armrest and pulled it around him like a shield.
Her fingers brushed his cheek once—soft, fleeting—before she stood again.
She looked around the room. His apartment was quiet. Too quiet. And cold.
On the table sat a pen and a scrap of paper. A hotel notepad.
She stared at it for a moment. Then wrote.
Her handwriting was neat. Controlled.
> You should rest.
I'm glad you're safe.
Next time, don't keep it all inside.
Alison.
She placed it gently beside his phone and stared down at it for a second too long.
Then, with one last look at the man curled on the couch, she slipped out the door into the night—leaving behind her heartbeat, heavy and silent on the paper.
Alison had just changed into her pajamas when her phone lit up on the nightstand.
Aunt Liz calling…
She hesitated before answering. "Auntie?"
There was a short pause, then Aunt Liz's voice came through, tired but tender. "Oh, sweetheart. Did I wake you?"
"No," Alison murmured, curling into the edge of her bed. "I just got in."
"I had a feeling," Liz said softly. "It's late… I was worried. I couldn't sleep."
Alison bit her lip. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Should I come—"
"No, no, baby. I'm alright." She coughed lightly, but tried to mask it. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
That made Alison's throat tighten. "You sure you're not in pain?"
"I've been in pain for years," Liz said with a quiet laugh. "This old body is just reminding me it's still here. But that's not why I called."
Alison waited.
"I know when something is weighing on your heart, Allie. You sound… tired. Not physically. Tired in your spirit."
Alison's eyes stung. She closed them. "It's just been… a long day."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
A breath. Then a whisper. "Not yet."
Liz didn't push. She never did.
"Alright," she said gently. "Just know that whatever it is, it'll pass. You've always been stronger than you think."
Alison felt her lips tremble. "Thank you."
"I love you, sweetheart. Come see me tomorrow if you can."
"I will."
And then—
"Alison?"
"Yeah?"
There was a pause. Then, "You deserve to be loved by someone who never makes you question your worth."
The line went quiet.
Alison sat there for a long time after, staring at nothing, her heart heavier than before.