The Second Time Around

Chapter Three

Abby awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting faint lines across the bed. The bed she didn't recognize. The sheets felt too stiff, the mattress too firm. It was her bed—or so she had been told—but nothing about it felt like hers. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together fragments of her old life. It was no use. The only thing that felt real was the dull ache in her chest, a mix of confusion and dread.

Atlas stirred at the foot of the bed, his presence a quiet comfort. His soft snoring was the only sound in the room until she heard Drew moving around in the kitchen. The clatter of dishes, the soft hum of a kettle boiling. The normalcy of it made her stomach twist with unease.

She sighed and pushed herself up, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't sure how long she could avoid him today. There was an awkwardness between them, unspoken but palpable, and she wasn't ready to face it yet.

When she walked into the kitchen, Drew glanced up from his spot by the stove. He offered a tentative smile, like he wasn't sure how to greet her anymore. "Morning," he said softly. "I made coffee."

Abby nodded, her eyes darting to the familiar coffee pot. She should know how to use it. She must have made coffee a thousand times, but as she approached the counter, she hesitated. The buttons blurred in front of her. She felt ridiculous, frozen in front of something so simple.

Drew must have noticed. He stepped closer, careful to keep some distance, his movements cautious. "You always take it with cream and sugar." he said quietly, handing her a mug. "Just like this."

She stared at the steaming cup he placed in front of her. "Thanks," she muttered, taking it more out of politeness than actual need. She wasn't sure if she even liked coffee anymore. Did she ever? Her own preferences felt foreign to her now.

She walked over to the kitchen table, sitting down and cradling the mug in her hands. Atlas padded over, resting his head on her knee, and she absentmindedly stroked his fur.

Drew lingered by the counter, his eyes never leaving her. The silence between them was heavy, and Abby could feel his struggle to fill it. After a beat, he finally spoke, his voice cautious. "I was thinking maybe I could take you out today. Just a short drive or something. We used to like—"

"No," she cut him off, too quickly. She regretted the sharpness of her tone the moment she saw the hurt flicker across his face. She sighed, softer now. "I'm... not ready for that."

Drew nodded, though the disappointment was clear. "I get it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to push you."

Silence fell over them again, and Abby's hands tightened around her mug. She wanted to say something—anything—to make things less uncomfortable, but the words wouldn't come. Everything felt forced, like she was playing a role she didn't understand.

Drew shifted awkwardly, then took a seat across from her. "You know," he began carefully, "we used to sit here every morning with Atlas. You'd drink your coffee, and we'd talk about the day. We used to plan weekend trips, or sometimes, you'd just read while I worked."

Abby stared into her mug, her heart tightening at his words. He was trying—she could see that—but the more he spoke, the more disconnected she felt. It was like he was talking about someone else's life, a version of her that didn't exist anymore.

"I don't remember any of that," she admitted, her voice small. "I don't... I don't know if I ever will."

Drew looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "I know," he said quietly. "But I'll keep trying. I'll keep being here."