4

My weekend proved to be fulfilling as I devoted most of it to painting my apartment.

By Sunday evening, I admired my work with a sense of accomplishment. I had chosen a predominantly monochromatic theme, incorporating various shades of peach and cream in all the rooms, punctuated by a burst of color on an accent wall. My living space, consisting of a single bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, a square kitchen, and a dual-purpose living and dining area, had been my home since college days and still suited my needs perfectly.

My mother, however, held a different opinion. According to her, it was 'cozy… for now.'

With a dreamy look in her eyes, she often spoke of a future time when God would send her a son-in-law and grandchildren, anticipating that I would need more spacious accommodations for them. When such discussions arose, I refrained from bursting her bubble by revealing my firm decision to stay away from any form of relationship.

Four years ago, when the pain was raw and felt like a knife in my heart, I vehemently insisted that I was done with men and relationships forever. My mother, gently but firmly, asserted that it was merely the pain talking and that, being young, I would soon re-enter the dating scene. She believed that, as an attractive and sensible woman, potential suitors would soon be eager to pursue me.

I didn't argue, but I was resolute in my decision against it.

As a child, I had witnessed my parents' deep love for each other and dreamed of experiencing a similar love. Even as my father succumbed to terminal cancer, their affection remained evident. Following his passing, my mother, at the age of forty-one, declared that he was the only man for her, and she would never remarry.

I yearned for a love like theirs. For a brief moment, I thought I had found it. Yet, in the blink of an eye, it all crumbled.

Surveying my freshly painted apartment, I remembered when he used to walk barefoot and shirtless through these rooms. An image flashed in my mind: him leaning against the kitchen doorway, biting into an apple while observing me prepare a cup of bitter tea. I shook my head to dispel the vivid memory and frowned. It had taken a long time to erase every trace of him from my space, and this paint job was meant to be the final touch. There wouldn't be any reminders of the soft blues he helped me apply to the walls long ago or the intimate moments our paint-splattered bodies shared on the canvas-covered floors.

My eyes darkened. Why were these flashbacks and memories surfacing now? It wasn't a special season, my birthday was weeks away, and his was in the fall. We met in winter. So, why were these memories flooding back in the middle of March? Why all these thoughts about Zade Herron, the man who not only shattered my soul but also left me ruined for any other?

After cleaning my hands with a rag and soaking the brushes, I headed for the shower, feeling utterly drained. Following a brief dinner of grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and a can of green beans, I retreated to bed.

The upcoming Monday held the promise of getting lost in work once more. Zade was no longer part of my life, confined to some prison cell, never to return. The final memory before drifting into sleep was Zade's deceitful whisper, "You're the only woman for me, Sapphire."

He lied.

With that, I succumbed to sleep.