Chapter 120


    We weave through the streets, the bright signs ofte-night diners and convenience stores shing by


    in a blur. For a moment, the weight of my job—the critics, the health inspectors, the constantly ringing


    phone—lifts, and I find myself lost in the rhythmic hum of the car’s engine.


    Karl finally breaks the silence. “You looked like you were having one hell of a dream back there. Was it


    about a beach, a tropical drink, and a server shortage all at once?”


    I chuckle. “More like a health inspection nightmare. I can’t seem to escape the restaurant, even in my


    sleep.”


    He nces over at me with a smirk. “Well, dreams are just unpaidbor then, aren’t they? Surely you


    could getpensation somehow.”


    “Exactly. My subconscious is working overtime,” I reply, my words tinged with a fatigue I can’t hide.


    We reach the front of my apartmentplex—a red brick building with ivy crawling up the sides and a


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    tall set of steps leading to the front door. It’s surrounded by other buildings that look just like it. I


    remember when I first moved here, I almost walked into someone else’s apartment. That was


    embarrassing.


    Karl pulls up to the curb and turns off the engine, then looks at me, his eyes searching my face. “Abby,


    are you sure you don’t need a vacation? My offer still stands. Remember the pool and the hot tub?”


    I look away. Of course I remember the pool and the hot tub, and all of the luxuries of our old home. But


    it doesn’t mean that I think I should go back.


    “And,” he leans in a little, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone, “I could take you to some of those


    ces you used to love. Remember the little cafe with the perfect cappinos? Or that park where we


    used to hang out?”


    I feel a nostalgic tug at my heart. Karl’s words paint a vivid picture, transporting me momentarily back


    to those carefree days when life felt easier, lighter. But then the logical side of my brain kicks back in,


    reminding me of the bad times: of fights, mmed doors, secrets.


    “Thanks for the offer,” I say, still looking out the window. “But I can’t. You know that.”


    “Why not?” He asks.


    “Because…” I shrug, not wanting to delve into it all right now, and decide to tell a half-truth. “The


    restaurant needs me.”


    Karl sighs. “The restaurant won’t burn to the ground if you take two days to yourself, you know.”


    I sigh, feeling the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile. “That’s easy for you to say, Karl. You’re not


    the one dealing with the chaos day in and day out.”


    Karl studies me for a moment, then leans back, nodding. “I get it. The restaurant is your baby, and it’s


    hard to let go. But even parents need a break sometimes, you know?”


    “I know,” I concede, “but not now.” I open my mouth to say more, to exin to him that I can’t bring


    myself to walk those halls again where our marriage fell apart, but I choose not to. Not tonight, at least.


    Karl’s eyes hold a hint of disappointment, but he covers it quickly with a warm smile, taking me by


    surprise yet again. “Alright, Abby. No harm in asking, I suppose.”


    We sit there for a moment, the quiet stretching between us, filled only by the soft hum of the car’s idling


    engine and the rain gently pitter-pattering against the windows.


    “Thanks for the ride, Karl,” I finally say, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


    Karl shoots me another mncholic look, but says nothing more. Instead, he nods slowly, his eyes


    meeting mine. “Goodnight, Abby.”


    “Goodnight, Karl.”