*CHAPTER THREE* Tamar didn’t leave her bed that morning. The sun filtered softly through the curtains, filling her small apartment with a warm glow, but she didn’t feel any of it. She lay there still, eyes open, chest heavy. Her world felt muted. She hadn’t worked the night before. She couldn’t. The dreams had returned. Her mother’s voice, her soft singing, the prayers whispered over Tamar when she was still a little girl clutching a Bible and wearing mismatched socks to church. In the dream, her mother had touched her cheek and said, “Sleep, baby. Sleep.” She woke up gasping. And now here she was, wrapped in a silk robe, curled into herself on the couch, flipping through an old photo album she didn’t even remember packing. Her fingers trembled as she traced the edges of a picture of her younger self, beaming with joy, standing beside her mother outside their old church. Back then, Tamar had believed in things: hope, goodness, even God. She had wanted to become a nurse. She had laughed easily. She had worn her heart on her sleeve. Where was that girl now? The doorbell startled her. She considered ignoring it, but curiosity didn’t let her. She barely knew anyone in the neighborhood, so who could that be? When she opened it, her breath stopped. It was him. The man from the hotel. Same tailored suit. Same calm demeanor. But this time, he wasn’t holding a drink or standing in some expensive suite. He was just… there. Before her. Real and present. “Mind if I come in?” he asked. She hesitated. “How do you know where I live?.” “I have my way.” His voice was gentle. She stepped aside. He walked in slowly, looking around. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” “Every time is a bad time,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sat across from her, watching her closely, like he could see the storm behind her eyes. “You look different,” he said after a moment. Tamar looked away. “I’m not working today.” “I didn’t come for that.” She met his gaze then. “Then why are you here?” “I couldn’t get my mind off you.” His words hung in the air like smoke. Soft, curling, suffocating. Tamar blinked slowly. It wasn’t the first time a man had said that. But somehow, coming from him, it didn’t sound like a line. It felt… inconveniently real. She leaned back into the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. “That’s dangerous,” she muttered. He chuckled lightly, but his gaze stayed on her. “Maybe. But I meant it.” Silence settled again, but not the heavy kind. Just thick enough to make her heart feel things she didn’t want to name. “I was going to ask if you’d like to grab dinner,” he said. “Nothing formal. Just… something to eat. You look like you haven’t in a while.” Tamar narrowed her eyes, unsure if it was concern or pity that colored his tone. “Are you asking me out? On a date?” “Not a date,” he replied. “Just two people sharing a meal. No pressure. No roles.” She let out a breath. A sharp, humorless laugh followed. “That’s rich.” But then she looked at him. Really looked. His eyes weren’t wandering. He wasn’t scanning her legs or imagining how fast he could undress her. He was… waiting. For something deeper. For a yes she hadn’t planned to give. “I have nothing to offer,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “You don’t have to offer anything,” he said. “You just have to show up.” Tamar hesitated. Everything in her screamed to say no. To shut the door. To go back to the silence, the numbness, the nothingness she understood. But something else wouldn’t let her… Maybe it was hunger. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion of running from herself. She stood up. “Give me ten minutes.” He smiled, rising from the chair. “Take your time.” _ Dinner was quiet. He took her to a rooftop bistro that overlooked the city. Candlelight. Soft jazz. A view that made the world seem slower. Tamar barely ate, but she drank. Red wine that burned her throat and dulled her fear. She listened as he spoke, but didn’t say much in return. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t ask questions that dug too deep. Didn’t try to fix her. He just… stayed. Afterward, he drove her home, walked her up the stairs, and stood at her door like he didn’t want to leave. She should’ve said goodnight. She should’ve walked inside and shut him out. But instead, she turned the key, opened the door, and stepped aside. He followed. They didn’t speak. Not until his hand brushed hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for the sash of her robe. His fingers brushed her skin as he pulled it loose, the silk falling down her shoulders, pooling silently to the floor. Tamar didn’t flinch. She didn’t tremble. She didn’t feel. He was gentle. Almost careful. But it didn’t matter. Her body moved with his out of habit, not desire. Out of numbness, not need. She responded, not because she wanted to, but because it was what she knew how to do. It was easier than silence. Easier than remembering. Easier than crying. He whispered a name, unclear at first. But not the second time. It wasn’t her name. “Leah…” Tamar heard it. Felt it. And yet, she didn’t stop. She didn’t ask who Leah was. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes tighter and let herself disappear into the moment. Into the weight of his body. Into the ache that dulled everything else. She was repaying him for dinner. That was all. A transaction. Her default. She had nothing else to give, anyway. When it was over, he lay beside her, eyes closed, breathing steady. Tamar turned away from him, pulling the sheets to her chest, her gaze locked on the empty wall ahead. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the tears came. Slow, silent and stubborn. She wiped them quickly, angrily. But they kept coming. Because now… she wasn’t just far gone. She was farther. She thought he was here to draw her back. To help her, to love her. But he had called her by someone else’s name. She was used to being mistaken. Forgotten. Used. Bold of her to hope she could be loved u chosen. A girl who had once believed in God and herself… now reduced to quiet moans in strangers’ arms and red wine to dull the ache of memory. She had nothing left. Not even her name. *_I apologize for the late post. Had a very long meeting this evening._*