And Julie had plans.
The first time I saw Larry again, I almost didn’t recognize him.
He was standing outside my office building in downtown Newark, New Jersey, hunched like his spine had forgotten how to hold him upright. His hair looked thinner, his cheeks hollowed out, and the sharp “I’m the man of the house” attitude he used to wear like armor was gone.
Now he looked like a man who’d been chewed up by the very people he chose over me… and spat back out.
He spotted me the second I stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Julie,” he called, voice hoarse.
I froze for half a heartbeat. Not because I missed him. Not because I was afraid.
Because I was annoyed.
Like finding a stain on a shirt you just dry-cleaned.
I tightened my grip on my bag and kept walking, pretending I didn’t hear him.
But he jogged after me, slow and desperate, like he didn’t even trust his own legs anymore.
“Julie, please. Just—just hear me out.”
I turned, letting my expression stay blank.
“Larry,” I said calmly, “what are you doing here?”
His eyes flickered—relief that I stopped, fear that I might keep going.
He swallowed.
“I… I needed to see you.”
I laughed, and the sound came out sharper than I expected.