Chapter 9: Year Four — Almost Over Her
Kelvin
By year four, I was convinced I'd finally moved on.
Not the performative kind of healing I'd done before. Not the "fake it till you forget" version that kept me buried in deadlines and corner office upgrades. This time, it felt different.
It started slow—quiet mornings without the ache. A date that didn't end with me comparing her smile to Anna's. A full week without replaying that night in my head like a twisted highlight reel.
Then I met Natalie. Not a rebound. Not a distraction. A real person, with a past and pain and a soft steadiness I didn't realize I needed.
She was nothing like Anna.
And maybe that was the point.
Where Anna had been fire wild, unpredictable, intoxicating Natalie was calm. She didn't demand all of me. She just asked me to show up honestly. And for the first time, I wanted to try.
She made space in my life before I even noticed.
First it was a toothbrush, then a mug she left on my shelf because she hated drinking coffee out of the metal travel ones. She filled my fridge with actual food. Talked about future trips and the kind of dog she wanted someday.
I started to believe I could have a future with her. One where Anna was just a chapter I'd already finished.
But the body doesn't lie.
I still flinched when someone mentioned Thanksgiving.
Still kept her necklace in the back of my drawer, even though I told myself it meant nothing now.
Still had moments in the dead of night when I woke up from dreams I couldn't explain her laugh echoing through them like a ghost that refused to be buried.
The final unraveling came one rainy night, sitting on the couch with Natalie. She leaned her head on my shoulder, soft and familiar, and asked what scared me most.
I hesitated too long.
She sat up, searching my face like she already knew the answer.
"It's her, isn't it?" she said, voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't speak.
"kelvin, I love you," she said. "I really do. But I deserve someone who doesn't leave a part of himself in someone else's story."
I watched her leave. Not with anger. Not even with hurt.
Just quiet resignation.
And it gutted me.
Because she was right again.
Even with everything I'd built title, salary, condo with a view I still hadn't let go. Not really.
Somewhere inside me, I'd always held on to the hope that Anna would return.
That she'd walk through a door or show up in a meeting or call late at night, breathing hard and saying, I should've stayed. I was wrong. I never stopped thinking about you.
I never told anyone that.
Because it sounded delusional.
Because I hated myself for still hoping.
I threw myself back into work. Didn't date. Didn't sleep much. I kept my head down, told myself this was it success without love. It was enough.
It had to be.
And then five days before Thanksgiving I got the email.
A new analyst offer. Mid-level position. History-major-turned-accountant. Impressive GPA. Coming home after a long hiatus.
The name hit me like a gut punch: Anna Sliver James
I read it three times before my vision cleared.
She was back.
After four years, countless women, and a hundred nights spent trying to forget her…
She was back.
And I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do with that.