Chapter 4: Something Like Relief

“She thought silence made her strong. But it was softness that set her free.” ~Alia Holt

The office lights were too bright for a Monday. Or maybe Elara was just tired. Not physically — though the weekend had worn on her — but in the way that made her brain feel like a wet sponge, trying to absorb things it didn’t have space for. She blinked at her screen. Focused. Clicked into Slack. Answered three emails. Smiled at a team message. Typed a goal update. Floated.

She’d led a metrics meeting earlier with her usual confidence, even cracked a joke about last week’s engagement numbers being “lower than her patience on Sundays.” They laughed, nodded, took notes. She floated through it, grateful for the autopilot mode she’d spent years perfecting.

Still, her stomach was tight. Jabari.

They were meeting during his lunch break, and for reasons she couldn’t entirely name, she was… anxious. Not in a butterflies way. Not in a “does my hair look okay” way. It was deeper. Like her body knew that something heavy was finally about to be lifted, and didn’t quite trust the release.

She picked up her phone and scrolled through their messages, stopping at a video he’d sent the night before: some guy impersonating The Flash if he had asthma. Elara laughed quietly. It was so stupid. But she laughed. That warm, head-thrown-back kind of laugh. And for a second, she felt normal. Lighter.

“Girl, you look like you just saw a ghost… or your student loan balance,” her assistant Brittany said, sliding into her office.

Elara smirked. “They aren’t the same thing?.”

⸻

She moved through the rest of the morning with robotic precision. Another meeting. Another weekly update. Check the calendar. Assign the project brief. Smile during the video call. Take a bite of a granola bar, forget to finish it. Repeat.

But in the back of her mind, the question echoed:

Why does this feel so big?

Why is it easier to bleed in silence than speak in truth?

⸻

At 12:56 p.m., her phone buzzed.

Jabari:

Outside. Don’t make me come in there and embarrass you in front of your little work friends.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile that tugged at her mouth was real this time. She grabbed her bag, told Brittany she was stepping out, and headed toward the parking lot.

When she opened the door to his car, she didn’t say hello.

“You always park like you own the whole lot.”

He didn’t even look up from the playlist he was queuing. “I don’t like neighbors.”

They both laughed.

The weight eased. A little. Not gone, but quieter.

⸻

The drive was short. Familiar. The kind of silence between them that had never needed filling. Still, Jabari noticed — the way she fidgeted with her fingers, switched which leg she crossed every few seconds. Her nails tapped against her water bottle rhythmically.

He glanced at her briefly, then back at the road. In his mind, he was running through a million possible scenarios. Was she moving? Was she sick again? Was she—nah. Couldn’t be. But what if she was pregnant? Or worse… what if she was in love with somebody else and about to soft-launch it with him now, like it was no big deal?

He shook it off. “Relax,” he whispered to himself. Not for her — for him.

⸻

They pulled up to a little corner park, a place they used to go to in undergrad after long days or heartbreaks or both. She hadn’t been there in years.

Jabari ordered two chili dogs from a stand nearby and returned with napkins stuffed in his back pocket.

Elara looked up. “I haven’t had these hot dogs in forever.”

He handed her the tray without looking too proud. “I didn’t know what this talk was gonna be about, so I figured — best to go somewhere that feels like home.”

She didn’t say anything. Just smiled. Noted it.

Of course he’d think of that.

That’s what he did — made her feel safe without announcing it.

⸻

They sat on the bench nearest the pond. Ducks floated by. A toddler threw goldfish crackers into the grass. An old man walked his shaggy dog in slow, deliberate loops. The trees above them swayed just enough to feel like a soft hum was floating in the air.

Elara wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and set the paper bowl down next to her on the bench. Her eyes never left the scene in front of her — she was watching the world unfold, like she needed a distraction before the confession.

She took a breath.

“Okay. So…”

And then she began.

⸻

“You already know about the fibroids. The weight stuff. You knew I wasn’t myself that year.”

She paused. “But you didn’t know everything.”

He didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

“I was told… years ago, that I probably wouldn’t be able to carry. That if I ever did get pregnant, it would be a miracle. And that if I did carry, I probably wouldn’t carry to term.”

Her voice didn’t waver. She’d told it before now — told her mother the night before — and she was surprised how steady it came out this time.

“I got pregnant. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even you. Not at first. Only my mom knew.”

She paused to breathe.

“I wanted to surprise everyone. I kept imagining how I’d do it — maybe with a little onesie at dinner. Maybe I’d wait until I started showing and just… let people figure it out.”

Jabari’s hands stilled. No more fidgeting.

“I lost it. 3 months in. One second, I was Googling names. The next, I was sitting on a bathroom floor… bleeding. Alone.”

Jabari’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say a word, but the pain behind his eyes flashed too quickly to catch if you weren’t watching for it.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she said quietly. “And I didn’t think I deserved to be healed while I was breaking.”

Jabari’s jaw tightened. Not out of anger — not at her. But at the weight she’d carried alone. At the quiet pain he’d missed, even when he knew something was wrong.

He looked at her — fully, steadily. “You think broken scares me?” His voice was quiet but sure. “I watched you put yourself back together with no manual.”

Her eyes stayed forward, but her chest rose with the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Jabari grabs her hand forcing Elara to face him.

“You didn’t have to be okay for me to be there,” he continued. “I would’ve shown up. I would’ve sat in the dark with you if that’s what you needed.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just full.

⸻

Jabari leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, but turning his head towards her. “Can I ask you something?”

Elara raised a brow. “I’m scared.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you date?”

She blinked. “That’s what you’re leading with?”

“I’m serious. Every time we’re out, guys are practically throwing themselves at you. Like, it’s embarrassing for me sometimes. And you shut it down. Every single one. Why?”

She was quiet for a beat. Watching a toddler feed crumbs to birds like she was saving the world.

“I don’t feel like my body belongs to me,” she said finally. “Not in the way it used to. Not since… everything.”

Jabari didn’t respond. He waited.

“I feel like men only want me now. Like, now that I ‘look the part.’ And I think I resent that. Because they didn’t look twice at me before. And now suddenly I’m desirable?”

Her voice didn’t crack, but her fingers twisted in her lap.

“I don’t trust it,” she went on. “I don’t trust them. I feel like my old self is being erased, like people act like she was some kind of ‘before’ version that didn’t deserve nice things. But I loved her. Even if no one else did.”

She turned back to look at him.

“I’m tired of teaching people how to treat me. Tired of hoping someone will be gentle with something they don’t even understand.”

Jabari nodded slowly, the expression on his face unreadable. But then he spoke — soft, low, steady.

“The Elara I knew at twenty was just as worthy of love as the one sitting next to me now. Nothing about your weight ever changed that. Nothing.”

He turned toward her completely now, elbows still on his knees, voice firmer.

“You’ve always been full of light — even when you didn’t know it. You’ve been magnetic, and sharp as hell. Kind, but not a pushover. Loyal. Hilarious. Intimidating in the best way. Big-hearted in ways that don’t always get seen.”

A tear slipped down Elara’s cheek. Then another. She didn’t wipe them. Jabari reached into his back pocket and handed her a crumpled napkin.

“Okay, enough crying. You’re gonna mess up your mascara and scare the kids.”

She laughed, sniffled, wiped her face. “You’re so dumb.”

“You knew this and still voluntarily got in my car.”

They both smiled. It was easier now. Not easy — but easier.

⸻

Jabari leaned back, stretching his arms out over the top of the bench like he was claiming it.

“You still need to get out more though. You’re 25. Life is happening. You go to work, you come home. Your life is basically spreadsheets, reality TV, your mom, church, and of course—me.” He popped his collar with exaggerated flair. “But you need some action or something.”

Elara raised an eyebrow. “Just because I’m not dating doesn’t mean I’m not getting my rocks off.”

Jabari coughed mid-sip of his water. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged like she was talking about buying groceries. “His name is Marcus.”

“Wow. Casual.”

“Exactly,” she said. “He’s fine. The sex is great. There’s no pressure, no attachment. It’s just… easy. It’s what I can handle right now.”

Jabari nodded slowly. Too slowly. His jaw flexed slightly. He turned his head just enough to look away — pretending to track a bird’s flight, pretending to care.

Elara didn’t notice. Her gaze was locked on a dog across the park chasing a squirrel in dramatic zigzags.

⸻

And then, something shifted.

Not in the air. Not between them.

But inside Jabari.

His thoughts, his emotions, all swirled in quiet chaos.

She had finally let him in — fully, unflinchingly. And now he had to carry it.

She deserves more. She deserves everything. And maybe one day…

No. Not today. Not while her wounds were still fresh. Not while she still saw herself in fragments.

But he knew now, more than ever:

One day, he’d tell her.

He’d tell her how long he’d loved her. How long he’d been waiting to be her soft place.

But not yet. Not while she was still learning how to love herself.

⸻

Elara leaned her head gently on his shoulder. He didn’t move.

After a beat, he reached over and gave her hand a small squeeze.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For listening. For staying. For being here.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You don’t get to go through that kind of thing alone. Not anymore. Not while I’m here.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, as the wind picked up and a leaf landed in her lap, she thought:

Maybe I didn’t know how to let people love me then.

But I’m learning now.

A timer on Elara’s phone buzzed. She flinched a little, the vibration sharp against her thigh.

“That’s… lunch,” she murmured.

Jabari glanced down at his watch. “Damn. An hour passed just like that?”

She nodded. “Felt like ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

They stood together slowly, not rushing the stillness that had found them. As they tossed their empty bowls in the nearby trash, the lightness in her chest caught her off guard. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like her body was betraying her just by existing.

The car ride back was quiet again — but not like before. That silence had been taut and anticipatory. This one was full, softened by release on her end and weight on his.

Elara stared out the window, watching the trees blur past. A small smile played on her lips, quiet but present. Jabari, meanwhile, gripped the steering wheel like it was holding him together. There was so much he wanted to say. So many things swirling in the spaces her words had opened. But now wasn’t the time. Not when she had finally let him in. Not when she was still unpacking the rubble.

When they pulled into the lot, Jabari parked, turned off the engine, and climbed out of the car without a word. Elara was gathering her purse, phone, and badge when he appeared outside her passenger door and opened it for her.

She looked up at him, a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “If I knew I’d get this type of treatment, I would’ve let you in sooner.”

He chuckled. “Ha. Very funny.”

She stepped out, and he closed the door behind her, then pulled her into a hug. A real one. Not the casual type they gave after hanging out. This one was firm. Steady. The kind of hug you feel two hours later.

“I’m here, El,” he said into her hair. “No matter what. And I’m never gonna let you go through something like that alone again. Ever.”

She closed her eyes for a second. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” he said easily, like he always had.

“I love you too.”

And that was it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just truth.

She walked back inside, lighter. And he leaned against his car, watching her go — his arms crossed, heart full, mind racing.

⸻

The second half of Elara’s workday was smoother than the first. Her mind was still full, but it wasn’t loud. Her body wasn’t buzzing with anxiety. She moved through tasks with purpose and flow, closing loops, finalizing memos, clearing her inbox. Jabari’s words kept echoing in the background.

You’re 25. Life is happening.

So when 3:17 p.m. rolled around and her workload was complete, she shut her laptop, grabbed her bag, and took the rest of the day for herself. One of the benefits of being salaried — she could reclaim her time when it mattered.

She got home, stripped off her work clothes, and showered off the day. Then she changed into black biker shorts and a sports bra, threw on her oversized headphones, and queued up her “That Girl” playlist.

The bass hit her chest like a heartbeat. Megan. Key Glock. Sexy Redd. Unapologetic, raw, and loud. The kind of music that reminded her she was alive. She laced up her sneakers and hit the pavement.

The air was warm. The breeze wrapped around her arms like affirmation. Her legs moved with rhythm, not resistance. For once, she wasn’t running from anything — not shame, not fear, not pain.

Around the fourth mile, she slowed down near a park. Out of breath. Sweating. A young mom sat on a bench, bouncing her baby gently in her lap. The baby giggled, wild and toothless. The mother smiled like it was the only thing that mattered.

Elara paused. Watched.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel that familiar stab in her chest. She didn’t feel envy or ache or loss.

She felt hope.

Maybe she’d get that one day. Maybe she wouldn’t. But now, at least, she was open to the possibility.

⸻

Back home, she tossed her workout clothes into the laundry room and drew a hot bubble bath. Lavender-scented soap frothed up around her thighs. She sank in and let herself be. No scrolling. No spiraling. Just steam, warmth, and stillness.

That night, she slept hard.

⸻

Tuesday

Her office was cool and quiet, the scent of peppermint and eucalyptus from her diffuser already doing what the morning coffee hadn’t. Her assistant popped in with a quick update on meetings and flagged a few changes in the week’s project timelines.

Messages buzzed in: Teams, Slack, her Gmail… and then one that made her pause.

Marcus

A photo. Fresh out the shower. Shirtless.

Brown skin glistening. Abs sculpted. Towel low.

Marcus:

Still on for tonight? Been thinking about you since Sunday.

Elara smirked and typed back:

Elara:

You’re trying to get me in trouble at work.

Keep texting like that and I’ll leave early.

The day passed in a blur of mild distractions and daydreams. And by 6:15 p.m., she was home again — showered, moisturized, and slipping into a soft, lacy two-piece set: strapless top, high-waisted shorts that hugged her hips like they’d been custom made. She lit a candle and dimmed the lights.

At 6:43, a knock at the door.

She opened it to find Marcus, looking like a GQ fever dream: wife beater, gray sweatshorts, and the kind of walk that said I know what I’m doing.

No small talk. Just heat.

They kissed like they’d missed each other. Clothes disappeared like they’d planned it. And when it was over, tangled in sheets and breath and skin, neither one reached for their phone or the door.

Elara blinked up at the ceiling, Marcus’s arm draped across her stomach. She turned toward him slightly.

“You’re breaking the code,” she said. “You’re losing sight of the mission.”

He smirked. “Mission changed.”

She raised an eyebrow.

They never talk like this after sex. He never stays. They said pleasantries and he went home. Simple.

He ran a hand down her thigh, slow. “The sex is amazing. But I’m starting to think I want more. From you. With you.”

She stared at him, blinking. Her mind flashed back to yesterday — to Jabari. To the way she’d promised herself she wouldn’t run anymore.

She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no.

“So what, you wanna go on a date?” she asked jokingly.

“I do.”

She paused. Then nodded. “Okay.”

She reached for her phone, but he took it gently from her hand and set it aside.

“No distractions.”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “Elara Monroe — will you go on a date with me?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

Marcus shot out of the bed, fully nude, dancing like he’d just scored a touchdown in the Super Bowl. Elara laughed so hard she had to hold her sides.

He struck a pose at the window — arms folded, legs wide, chest out like a damn superhero. She shook her head, still smiling.

He turned back to her, crawled into the bed again, and kissed her — slow, intentional. Something they only did when they were having sex. It was another one of those unwritten rules to casual sex.

Then he stood up, tugged on his clothes, and headed to the door.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he said. “Be ready by 8. And wear something sexy.”

She wrapped the sheet around herself and walked him to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

She shut the door, leaned her back against it, and let a smile come. Then confusion.

I have no idea what the future holds, she thought.

But I know I’m done living in fear.