Chapter 10: The Breaking Point

A reception in Milan. Soft jazz, glass walls, and that kind of curated hush that only the truly wealthy can afford.

I saw her.

Elise.

Across the room, framed in light. Black dress, no jewellery. Her presence did not need enhancement. She did not wave. Did not smile. Just looked at me.

Long enough to be noticed, short enough to stay unforgettable.

I did not approach.

Maybe I was afraid she would see through it all.

The next morning, a message:

“You still have the door.”

That line undid me.

I replied. Not like the man they thought I was but like the man I had almost forgotten I could be.

I told her everything. No performance. No posture.

That I did not know when the mask had stopped being a disguise and started being skin.

That somewhere in the ascent, I had stopped climbing and started floating and I no longer knew what held me up.

I did not know if she would answer.

But she did.

---

We met somewhere quiet, just outside Lausanne, by the lake. Windless, quiet, too still for anything but honesty.

I told her everything again, in person this time.

And when I finished, she just looked at me the way she did the first time we met, like I had not changed, like she was still waiting to see if I would show up.

Then she leaned across the table, tucked her fingers into mine, and pulled my hand close not gently, not timidly.

Just deliberately.

She held it there, between us.

“I never cared about the costume,” she said.

“I only wanted to see who came home in it.”

I looked at her, and for once I really looked.

She had not come to rescue me.

She had come to see if I remembered how to return.

And I had.

Not fully. Not yet. But enough.

She reached for my face just once, lightly, like she was brushing away the man I had been pretending to be.

And when she kissed me, it was not about romance. It was about recognition.

Like something misplaced had finally been restored.

For the first time in months, maybe longer, I felt like someone had seen me.

Not the silhouette. Not the projection.

Me.

And she stayed.

Not because of what I had become.

But because I remembered how to come back.