Souls Remember What Matters — Corey Gibson 13
Chapter 13 – Ready
SERA
Johnson’s apartment felt like a safe bubble after everything that happened.
I shouldn’t have considered it home, but it was the first place in a long time that I felt wanted, valued and felt like something other than Luna’s mother or Darius‘ wife.
I was AJ, and I mattered.
I sat on Johnson’s simple gray couch, my phone buzzing non–stop on the coffee table.
Darius. Again.
The screen lit up with his name for the tenth time in two hours. I watched it ring until it went quiet, then buzz again with a voicemail notification. My stomach twisted into knots every time I saw his name pop up.
“You don’t have to listen to those,” Johnson said from the kitchen. He was making coffee, the smell filling up the space and making it feel warmer. “Not if you’re not ready,” He added, there was a certain edge to his tone that I’d almost missed, one that had me curious to see his expression.
I picked up the phone and turned it face down before turning in his direction. “I know. I just… part of me wonders what he’s saying.”
“Probably the same thing he always says.” Johnson’s voice had an edge to it that made me look up. He was gripping the coffee mug too tight, his knuckles white. “That you’re being unreasonable. That you should come home,” His eyes bored into mine, almost as if he was challenging me to prove otherwise.
He was right.
The word ‘home‘ felt like a gust of wind against my skin, a painful reminder of what I had to leave behind just so I could find myself.
I pulled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them.
“It doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Johnson came over and sat beside me, careful to leave space between us. He handed me the warm mug and I took it gratefully, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers.
“We’ll find you a real home,” he said quietly. “Somewhere that’s just yours, I promise.”
Three days later, we were standing in front of a small house with white shutters, white walls and a dark brown door. The realtor, a woman named Mrs. Chen, was chattering about square footage and property values, but I wasn’t really listening.
I was looking at the little garden in the front yard. Yellow flowers that needed water, a stone path that led to the front steps. It looked nothing like the mansion Darius and I shared, with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers.
It looked peaceful.
I’d already imagined Luna running around in the garden, the sound of her laughter and squeals filling the
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neighborhood.
My chest tightened.
I missed my baby.
“The previous owners loved this place,” Mrs. Chen was saying as she unlocked the door. “They raised three kids here before moving to Florida.”
Inside, the house was small but bright. Sunlight streamed through the windows, making everything glow. The living room had built–in bookshelves and a fireplace that looked like it actually got used. The kitchen was tiny compared to what I was used to, but it felt cozy instead of cramped.
“What do you think?” Johnson asked. He was standing by the window, looking out at the backyard. There was a swing set out there, left behind by the previous family.
My throat got tight when I saw it. Luna would love that swing set. She’d beg me to push her higher and higher until my arms got tired.
But Luna wasn’t here. Luna was at home with Darius, probably wondering where her mommy went.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered, and meant it.
Moving my stuff took longer than I expected. Most of my clothes were still at the house with Darius, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back there yet. Johnson helped me buy basics – sheets and towels and a coffee maker that looked nothing like the expensive one Darius had imported from Italy but would suffice nonetheless.
My phone kept ringing. Darius called every few hours, like clockwork. Sometimes he left voicemails that I deleted without listening to. Sometimes he just hung up when it went to voicemail, like he was hoping I’d pick up at the last second.
I never did.
“He’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” Johnson said one evening. We were unpacking boxes in my new living room, and my phone was buzzing again on the counter.
“He’s scared,” I said, surprising myself. I hadn’t realized I knew that until I said it out loud. “He’s scared because he can’t control this situation like he controls everything else,” I breathed, knowing full well that Darius won’t be giving up any time soon.
A quality I used to adore in him but now, it just made things harder.
Johnson looked at me over the box he was opening. “Are you going to talk to him eventually?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled out a frame with a picture of Lama from her third birthday party. She was covered in chocolate cake, grinning at the camera with her front teeth missing. My chest ached looking at her little face.” Maybe. When I’m ready.”
“And when will that be?”
I set the picture on the mantle and stepped back to look at it. “When I stop feeling like I might break if 1 hear his
voice.”
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After a few hours of settling in, the music came back to me slowly at first, then all at once.
I set up my keyboard in the spare bedroom, the one with the best light. Johnson had helped me move it from his apartment, careful not to scratch the keys. It was the one thing I’d managed to grab from the house before everything fell apart – my old digital piano that I’d had since college.
Darius always disliked it. Said it was too cheap–looking for our house, that I should upgrade to something better. But I loved the way the keys felt under my fingers, familiar and worn smooth from years of playing,
Now, sitting in my new house with sunlight streaming through the windows, I let my fingers find the keys again.
The melody that came out was sad at first. All minor keys and slow rhythms that matched the empty feeling in my chest. I played for hours, losing track of time, letting the music say everything I couldn’t put into words.
But sometimes, when the house got too quiet, the emptiness crept back in.
Without Luna’s laughter echoing through the rooms, without her little feet running up and down the stairs, without her calling “Mommy!” every five minutes, the silence felt heavy. Wrong.
I’d gotten so used to the chaos of being her mother that peace felt lonely.
I found myself listening for sounds that weren’t there. The creak of her bedroom door when she snuck out for water at night. The sound of her cartoons playing too loud in the living room. Her voice singing made–up songs while she played with her dolls.
The house felt too big and too small at the same time. Too big for just me, too small for all the feelings I couldn’t
escape.
On Saturday morning, I booked a flight back to Washington.
My hands shook as I typed in my credit card information. Part of me didn’t want to call Darius to tell him I was coming but I knew I had to, so I did.
Another part of me was afraid he’d try to talk me out of leaving again. That he’d find some way to make me feel guilty for wanting space. Still, I got on the road.
Johnson drove me to the airport. We didn’t talk much on the way, but his presence felt steady beside me. Comforting in a way I wasn’t used to.
“Call me when you land,” he said as I got out of the car. “And Sera? Don’t let him make you feel small again.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. As the plane lifted off, I pressed my face to the window and watched New York get smaller below me.
I was going home. Not to stay, not to give in, but to face whatever came next.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt ready.
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