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The Past Knocks [POV: Abigail]
The rain had started slow, just a soft drizzle against the windows as I sat curled up on the couch, wrapped in the thick cardigan Nate had draped over my shoulders before heading into the kitchen.
“Chicken noodle soup,” he had said, standing at my stove with a confidence I knew he didn’t actually have. “Classic remedy for a bad day.”
I watched from the couch, letting the warmth of my home settle around me. The tension from earlier still clung to my skin, Hannah’s words looping in my mind, each one cutting deeper than I wanted to admit.
“We’re divorced now… You must be incredibly happy.”
“That’s my favorite flower too.”
I swallowed, my fingers gripping the blanket a little tighter.
Vincent had ended it.
Had he done it for me?
Did he think that breaking free from Hannah would somehow rewrite history? That he could come back, say the right things, and everything would fall back into place?
Had he gotten to know Hannah the way he had known me? Memorized the way she took her coffee, the way she ran her fingers through her hair when she was deep in thought? Had he whispered promises to her late at night, the same way he used to do with me?
The thought made my stomach churn.
“Shit,” Nate muttered from the kitchen.
I glanced up, grateful for the distraction. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I forgot to check if you had fresh thyme. The soup kind of tastes like dishwater without it.”
I smiled despite myself. “There’s no thyme?”
“No thyme for my bullshit, apparently,” he quipped, shaking his head. “I’ll run to the store real quick.”
I sat up. “Nate, it’s raining.”
He shrugged, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door. “It’s just a little drizzle. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I hesitated. “You sure?”
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. “Positive.”
I watched as he slipped out the door, leaving behind only the warmth of his presence and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
For a while, I just sat there, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows. It had picked up now, heavier than before, turning the street outside into a blur of silver and shadows.
But my mind was elsewhere.
I wasn’t thinking about the soup, or the rain, or even Nate’s ridiculous devotion to making sure I had a warm meal.
I was thinking about Vincent.
About what ifs.
What if he had fought for me instead of letting me walk away? What if he had told me the truth before I had to find out on my own? What if, despite it all, I still wanted him?
A sharp knock cut through my thoughts.
I sat up straight, my pulse skipping. Nate.
Of course. He must have forgotten something. Maybe his wallet, maybe his keys—
I pulled open the door, ready to scold him for being careless, for running out in the rain just for thyme.
But it wasn’t Nate standing there, drenched in rain.
It was Vincent.
His coat was soaked through, water dripping from his sleeves, his hair damp and falling over his forehead. He stood there in the dim porch light, his breath heavy, his eyes—God, his eyes.
Filled with something raw. Something desperate.
I gripped the doorframe, my heart pounding against my ribs. “What are you doing here?”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wet hair. “I had to see you.”
I shook my head, barely able to find my voice. “Vincent—”
“I need you to listen to me.” His voice was rough, strained, like he had spent months rehearsing what to say. “I want you back, Abigail. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just—” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tight. “I made a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life. And if I could take it back, if I could go back and do it all over again, I’d fight for you. I’d never let you go.”
My throat tightened.
This was what I had wanted to hear for so long. The apology, the regret, the realization that I had been the one thing he should have never let go.
But it was too late.
Wasn’t it?
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “Vincent, you should leave.”
He didn’t move. His eyes searched mine, pleading.
“We’re done,” I forced out, my voice barely a whisper.
The rain beat down harder against the pavement.
And then, in one swift motion, Vincent stepped forward—his fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me toward him.
And then he kissed me.
It stole the breath from my lungs, knocking me back into the past.
The way he tasted—familiar. The way he held me—like he still knew me.
For a single, reckless moment, I wanted to get lost in it.
I wanted to pretend that none of it had ever happened. That there had been no betrayal, no Hannah, no months of drowning in heartbreak.
But reality crashed back just as fast as the kiss had started.
I shoved him away, my breath ragged, my fingers trembling as I wiped at my lips like I could erase the feeling of him.
His chest rose and fell, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t even begin to untangle.
But I didn’t care.
Because this wasn’t his place anymore.
I gritted my teeth, gripping the door with shaking hands before slamming it shut in his face.
My heart pounded in my chest, my breath uneven as I pressed my back against the door.
Outside, the rain poured harder.
Vincent didn’t knock again.
But I could still feel him—his touch, his regret, his love.
And for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure which part of it I wanted to forget most.
