The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 09

The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 09

Two years later, I became a regional operations manager.

I was overseeing more than a dozen locations.

There were constant business trips

Constant meetings.

And my phone never seemed to stop ringing.

But for once, all that work had my name on it.

With the money I’d saved over the years, I bought a two-bedroom apartment.

It wasn’t big.

One room was my bedroom.

The other became my study.

On closing day, the real estate agent handed me the keys.

“Congratulations, Mr. Mercer.”

I took them and held onto them for a long time.

I didn’t hand them to anyone else.

After I moved in, the first thing I did was fill half a wall with books.

Then I put Grandma’s photo on the nightstand.

The catalog was still with me.

But I never opened it again,

I just put it away with the rest of my old things, deep inside the closet.

Mom came to stay for a few days.

One afternoon, she sat on the couch staring out the window.

Then she suddenly smiled.-

“A place you bought yourself really does feel different.”

I was washing fruit in the kitchen.

When I heard that, I smiled too.

“Come whenever you want.”

That weekend, some coworkers and friends came over for dinner.

Director Claire Donovan looked around when she came in, then patted me on the shoulder.

“Not bad.”

“You finally have a decent place.”

I poured her some tea.

“I never had anywhere to put my books before.”

She looked at me.

“You’ll have more someday.”

They stayed late that night.

After everyone left and the apartment went quiet, I stood in the middle of the living room.

And suddenly, I understood something.

A home wasn’t someone promising me a room.

It wasn’t a place I could earn just by putting up with enough.

Home meant I got to decide who walked through that door.

And when I wanted to close it, I could.

I didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s reaction.

Sloane was still living in that city.

One day, one of my vendors mentioned her over dinner.

He said she’d changed a lot.

I listened.

I didn’t say much.

Later, we ran into each other again at an industry networking event.

I was talking with a business partner.

She stood nearby and waited until we finished before walking over.

“Congratulations on the promotion.”

I smiled at her.

“Thanks.”

She glanced down at my name badge.

Like she wanted to say something else.

In the end, she only asked,

“How have you been?”

“Good.”

“You?”

“Not bad.”

She paused, then added,

“Those processes you wrote up back then…”

“I went through them again.”

“They’ve been really useful.”

I nodded.

“That’s good.”

We talked like any two people in the same business.

Polite.

Distant.

Neither of us brought up what had happened between us.

When the event ended, rain was pouring outside.

A crowd had gathered near the entrance.

Sloane opened her umbrella and instinctively stepped toward me.

“Blake, I’ll walk you…”

She stopped halfway through.

Because I’d already pulled an umbrella from my bag.

A lightweight black one.

When I opened it, rainwater slid down the edges.

I gave her a small nod.

“Get home safe.”

She stood on the steps and watched me walk into the rain.

She didn’t follow.

When I got home, I left the wet umbrella by the door and turned on the living room light.

Photos from the locations I’d worked at over the years hung on the wall.

The day I turned the underperforming location around.

The day the Westbridge location opened.

The first time I spoke at a regional operations meeting.

No wedding photos.

No countdown board.

I walked over to the closet and took out the wedding suit catalog.

The drawing on the last page was still there.

The shoe print had faded a lot.

I gently pulled the page out and placed it in a box with the rest of my old things.

Then I closed the box and pushed it deep into the closet.

From now on, I was the only one who got to decide whose home this was.