Hoops & Harmonies

50.

The next few days were quiet for both Angel and Monica. After their video call, Monica had promised Angel that she would think about everything they had discussed, and Angel had agreed to give her space. Even though they had reconnected, it was clear that healing wasn't going to happen overnight. Monica needed time to figure out what she truly wanted, and Angel was trying her best to be patient.

Back in Chicago, Angel's house still felt empty. She had gotten used to the sound of the kids' laughter filling the rooms, and Monica's voice calling out from the kitchen or the living room. Without them, the house felt cold, like it was missing its heart. Angel wandered from room to room, unsure of what to do with herself. Normally, when things got tough, she'd throw herself into work or a project, but now, she felt like nothing could distract her from the ache of missing Monica and the kids.

She found herself standing in front of the portrait she had sent to Monica. The copy she had kept for herself hung in the hallway, and she stopped to look at it often. It was a beautiful reminder of the life they had built together—a family that she cherished more than anything. She gently touched the edge of the frame, her thoughts drifting to the last time they were all together, happy and carefree.

The memory made her smile, but it also brought a sharp pain to her chest. She missed them so much, but more than anything, she missed Monica. The conversations they had, the way Monica would laugh at her jokes, and the way she always made Angel feel like everything would be okay, no matter what was going on in the world.

Angel sighed and made her way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She couldn't let herself get stuck in her feelings all day. She needed to stay busy, to keep moving forward, even if it felt like she was walking through quicksand. She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. There was nothing new from Monica, but she wasn't surprised. Monica had always been someone who needed time to process her emotions, and Angel had to respect that.

As she sat there, Angel thought about all the things she wanted to say to Monica. She had said a lot during their video call, but there was still so much left unsaid. She picked up her phone and started typing out a message, but then stopped. She didn't want to overwhelm Monica with more words, not right now. Instead, she deleted the message and put her phone down, deciding to wait. Monica would reach out when she was ready.

Meanwhile, in Atlanta, Monica was deep in thought. The conversation with Angel had stirred up a lot of emotions. Seeing Angel's face and hearing her voice had brought back all the love she had for her, but it had also reminded her of the pain. It was a confusing mix of feelings that Monica didn't quite know how to handle.

She sat on the couch, staring at the portrait that Angel had sent her. The image of their family together made her chest tighten with emotion. She traced the outline of Angel's face with her finger, remembering all the times they had spent together, both good and bad. The words Angel had written on the back of the picture, "I will be right here waiting for you. Pun intended," still made her smile. It was such a classic Angel thing to say, referencing the lyrics to her song. It was a little inside joke between them, one that had always made Monica laugh.

But now, as she sat there, Monica couldn't help but wonder if things could ever go back to the way they were. Could they really rebuild what had been broken? Could she ever fully trust Angel again? She loved her—there was no doubt about that—but love wasn't always enough to fix things.

Monica leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes, thinking about her mom's advice. Marilyn had always been her rock, the person she turned to when she needed guidance. And Marilyn had been clear when they talked: mistakes happen, and people aren't perfect. But forgiveness was something that had to come from the heart. Monica wasn't sure if she was ready to forgive yet. The hurt still felt too fresh.