A Conversation Too Late [POV: Abigail]
The moment I stepped inside Le Petit Jardin
It had been our place. Vincent and me.
Every milestone, every small victory, every moment worth celebrating—we had spent it here. Except for the one night that mattered most. The night I let him go.
Now, I was back, but nothing felt the same.
Vincent was already there, sitting at our usual table, in our usual spot, drinking his usual whiskey.
For a second, I wondered if he had been here before I agreed to meet him. If he had sat at this table alone, reminiscing, hoping.
His face lit up the second he saw me, relief and something close to happiness softening his expression. He stood, just like he always used to, reaching to pull my chair out for me.
“Hannah, I’m glad you decided to—”
A waiter appeared at our table, cutting him off.
“Would you like something to drink, miss?”
Vincent smiled. “She’ll have the Pinot Noir. It’s her favorite.”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll just have fresh juice.”
Vincent hesitated but nodded, studying me like he was trying to piece something together.
Once the waiter left, he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. “I missed you.”
I didn’t respond.
He exhaled slowly. “I ended it, Aby. Hannah is already out of the picture.”
A short, humorless chuckle slipped past my lips before I could stop it.
His brows pulled together. “What’s funny?”
I shook my head. “The way you said that.”
His frown deepened.
“Like I was the other woman
“Aby—”
“I came here to tell you two things.” My voice was steady, but inside, my chest felt tight. “For my
He leaned back slightly, sensing the shift in my tone. “I’m listening.”
I took a slow breath, gathering myself before speaking. “First, I’m dating someone else.”
Vincent stilled.
“He’s a good man,” I continued. “Decent. Romantic. He cares about me. And I want to give it a try.”
His grip on his glass tightened, his jaw clenching slightly. “Abigail…”
“I don’t want to live in the past anymore, Vincent,” I said, forcing myself to hold his gaze.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Just give me another chance. Please. I’ll do anything—anything
I cut him off before he could finish.
“Had sex with a stripper?”
He flinched. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for mine but thought better of it.
“It’s not like that,” he said, his voice low.
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “It isconscious
His brows pulled together. “What choice?”
“You chose herme.us.
His eyes darkened, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean us
The words were there. Sitting heavy on my tongue.
I could say it. I could tell him.
I could change everything.
But the truth had been buried for so long that part of me wondered if it even mattered anymore.
I clenched my hands together under the table, inhaling deeply.
