Chapter 7 Every Choice Is Yours
Milan POV
I’m free.
The words settle over me so slow it’s almost like I’m dreaming.
I keep looking toward the elevator like at any second the doors are going to open and Daniel is going to walk through them yelling my name.
Like any minute he’s going to tell me this was all some stupid idea and drag me right back home.
Yana looks at me.
“I’m going to go home and get some clothes and come stay with you and the twins for a while,” she says.
“Okay.”
I don’t ask her to stay right now even though part of me wants to. She already dropped everything for me today.
After she leaves, I sit on the couch and open the phone box King gave me.
I set it up and realize it’s already on and ready to use.
Why the hell does someone just have a phone sitting around?
I turn it over in my hand like the answer might be written on the back. New phone. New number. No Daniel attached to it.
I look for the paper Yana wrote his number on and add it to the contact list along with hers.
Two contacts.
It looks almost sad sitting there, but they’re two people I know will answer.
Then I decide to be brave and pull up King’s number.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard before I type.
Me: Running has always felt so impossible that I don’t even know what to do with myself.
His response comes back quicker than I expected.
King: You live.
I stare at the message.
Me: You make it sound easy.
King: It’s not easy, but with the right people in your corner it can be.
Me: Are you one of those people?
The typing bubbles pop up.
King: If you want me to be. Every choice from here on out is yours to make.
Why does he say stuff like that?
He probably doesn’t even realize how strange that sounds to me.
Every choice.
Nobody has said that to me in years.
Me: Are you real?
King: 🤣 Last I checked I was.
I smile at the phone.
An actual smile too. Not the little one I learned to put on when somebody asked if my marriage was going well.
Me: Are you busy? Am I interrupting you?
King: No, it’s all good Milan.
I chew the inside of my cheek before typing again.
Me: Would it be weird if I asked you to come over? I just like talking to you. You feel safe.
I almost delete the last two words.
I don’t.
King: I’m a ways out from you right now, but give me a few hours and I can be there.
Me: That’s fine. Come hungry, I’ll cook.
King: Nah. I’ll cook. You free remember.
I stare at that one longer.
You free.
There it is again.
Why does talking to him feel so right but be so wrong?
You literally ran from your husband today, Milan.
Thinking about another man is not normal.
At least it doesn’t feel normal.
I put the phone on the table and go check on the boys.
They are both still asleep, which I’m grateful for.
Avi is sprawled sideways across the little bed while Adonis has somehow kicked his blanket onto the floor. I pick it up and cover him again.
I use the quiet to explore the apartment.
The room the boys are in is stacked with clothes and everything else I can think of for them.
Pajamas. Socks. Little shirts and pants. Diapers. Wipes. Toys still in boxes. Even bath stuff.
I stand in front of one of the drawers and just look at it.
King told Saint to get toddler things. Somehow that turned into enough stuff that I could’ve walked in here with nothing.
The master bedroom is huge.
It has a private balcony that’s blocked off with a privacy screen around the entirety of it.
I test the door anyway before stepping outside for a second. Nobody can see up here from the street.
That matters more to me than the view.
The two other rooms are only a little smaller than the master.
The kitchen is immaculate, and the bathrooms are insanely gorgeous.
Everything looks expensive without looking like anybody actually lives here.
I start unpacking the few things I grabbed for myself.
A couple dresses. Leggings. Tops Daniel picked because he liked how they looked on me.
I pause with one of the dresses in my hand.
I don’t even know if I like it.
That thought bothers me more than it should.
How do you get to twenty-something years old and not know if you like your own clothes?
I fold it and put it away anyway.
Then I move to unpack the boys’ things, not that they need much now.
I put our important documents in the safe in the master bedroom.
Birth certificates. Social Security cards. Anything Daniel would make difficult to replace if he got his hands on it first.
When I close the safe, I stand there with my hand on the door.
Those papers are probably the most important things I managed to get out of that house besides my children.
A little while later, my phone dings.
Yana.
Yana: Staying at my parents’ house tonight, but I will be there first thing in the morning.
Me: Okay.
Yana: Will you be okay by yourself?
I look around the quiet bedroom.
Me: Yeah. I asked King to come over for a little while.
Her response comes fast.
Yana: Are you sure?
I sit on the edge of the bed.
Me: He just feels safe. I just feel like I can breathe. I don’t plan on sleeping with him. I’m not even ready for another relationship at all.
Yana: Okay. Whatever happens, it needs to be at your pace.
Me: I know. I love you.
Yana: Love you more Milly.
I set the phone down.
At my pace.
I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those either.
I put on a movie while I wait for King, then look up virtual therapists.
I scroll past a few before changing the search.
Domestic violence therapist virtual.
Then support groups.
I don’t click anything yet. I just save a few pages because even that feels like enough for tonight.
My phone dings.
King: I’m downstairs.
Me: How do I let you up? 🙈
King: Lol green button next to the elevator.
I walk over and press it.
A few seconds later, the elevator starts moving.
My stomach flips, and I immediately get irritated with myself for it.
When it opens, my breath hitches.
He really is an attractive man.
Tall. Tattooed. Broad enough that the elevator somehow looks smaller with him standing in it.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
He steps out but doesn’t come any farther until I move away from the elevator.
He looks at the TV.
“I like that movie.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“More than once.”
That surprises a laugh out of me.
He heads toward the kitchen and washes his hands.
“Anything you don’t eat?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
He dries his hands before looking over at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t allowed to eat a lot of stuff, so I’m not even sure what I like anymore,” I say.
His face doesn’t change. No pity. No hundred questions.
“Okay, so then we start simple. A burger.”
“Burgers are fattening.”
The answer comes out automatically.
He looks at me.
“Not in moderation.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Daniel would count calories off my plate. If I gained weight, he noticed before I did.
King just turns back toward the refrigerator.
It’s almost like he knows how to navigate me better than I can myself.
Or maybe he just isn’t trying to control the answer.
The conditioning will take some time to unlearn.
“Okay. Burgers it is.”
“They will be good.”
“We’ll see.”
He glances over his shoulder.
“You doubting my cooking?”
“I don’t know you well enough to trust your cooking.”
He laughs.
“Aight. Fair.”
I sit at the island while he starts pulling things out.
“So I started looking for a therapist to help me work through this. I want to see if I can find a virtual domestic violence support group until I’m ready to go outside.”
He stops and looks at me.
“That’s good. You’re not a victim anymore, Milan. You’re a survivor.”
I rub my thumb across the edge of the counter.
I know he means it in a good way, but neither word feels like mine yet.
“I don’t really feel like either one.”
He nods once.
“Then you don’t gotta call yourself anything yet.”
That I can handle.
He goes back to the food.
I watch him smash the patties against the pan.
“Are you single, King?”
He looks over at me, confused.
“I’m not asking because I’m interested.”
I stop.
That sounded worse.
“I mean, not that I wouldn’t be interested. I’m just saying that’s not why I’m asking.”
He laughs.
Heat crawls up my neck.
“It’s okay, and I know that’s not why you asked. But yes, I am single.”
“Why?”
He looks back at the pan.
“Women tend to want you for what you can do for them. Not what we can do for each other, and I’m big on reciprocated energy.”
I lean against the counter.
“What does that mean to you?”
“To me, it’s giving me the same things you want. Consistency, honesty, intimacy, time, love and care, understanding.”
He flips one of the patties.
“I just want someone who loves me the same way I love them. I don’t need anything spectacular. I just want to feel seen too.”
I stare at him.
A man built like him, running whatever kind of life he runs, standing in my kitchen talking about wanting to feel seen.
“Are you real?” I ask again.
He looks over at me.
That slow smile comes back.
