You weren’t even sure how the fight started or even why it started. The two of you had been arguing and one another’s throats for weeks and you were exhausted, emotionally and physically. You were shouting at Peter, he was yelling back. Both of you saying things you didn’t mean. “I’m done. I’m moving back in with my parents.”

Peter stepped back, his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. “No. You-you…don’t leave me please.” Peter choked back a sob.

You were already crying but now the tears were uncontrollable. “Maybe we need this. A break. Figure out what we really want.”

Peter dashed the tears from his eyes. “I already know what I want and what I need. And that’s you.” He pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You wrapped your arms around his middle. Both of you crying.

“Earth to Y/N?” Brice said and snapped his fingers.

“Sorry. Spaced out there for a second. What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to get a drink after work.”

It had been about six weeks since you had broke things off with Peter. You were still living with your parents and was tired of sitting at home every night. “A drink would be nice.”

To your own surprise, you were enjoying yourself. Brice leaned in and kissed you. It felt nice, so you didn’t stop him. You were smiling when you broke away. When you saw Peter at the other end of the bar your smile faltered. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Peter was leaving the restaurant when you finally caught up to him. “Peter. Hey. Wait.”

“How long you been seeing him?”

“Well not that’s it’s your business but we are just out for a drink,” you answered.

“Is that how you say thank you now? Hate to see how you’re going to say thank you for dinner,” Peter snarked. He looked like hell. His hair was long, he was growing a beard.

“Screw you, Peter.” You brushed your hair from your face and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I came out because I was worried about you. But you never fail to disappoint me. You have a great night, Peter.” You turned on your heel and left Peter standing in the cold.

“I’m sorry about that, Brice,” you apologized as you returned to your date.

“I get it exes can be…complicated. Our table is ready.” He put his arm around your shoulders.

Peter had met Joan at a recent charity event. She wasn’t exactly his type, she wasn’t you after all. But she showed interest, lots of interest. And after the way he acted after seeing you with another man…he pushed the thought out of his head. He invited her to get a room.

She leaned in to kiss him but he stopped her. “No. No kissing,” he told her.

She gave him a quizzical look but respected his request.

“Who’s Y/N?” Joan asked Sunday morning as she was getting dressed.

Peter scrambled for his phone. “Why did she call?”

“No you kept mumbling her name in your sleep all night,” she informed him.

“Oh, she’s just-” Peter sighed.

“That’s what I thought. Fight for her. Wish my husband would have done the same for me.” She kissed his cheek and left the room.

When Sunday afternoon rolled around Peter walked into the apartment that the two of you once shared. He poured bourbon into a glass and tossed it back. It burned as it slid down his throat. He hadn’t slept with or even wanted to sleep with anyone since the night he met you. So why did he spend the night with another woman?

Easy. He was hurting, lonely and Joan just happened to be there and show him a little attention. She was nothing more than a distraction. He would’ve felt bad but she told him the same. Grabbing the bottle he decided to forgo and glass.

“I’ll be back out in just a few minutes,” you said to your best friend Monica. You hadn’t completely moved out of the apartment you and Peter shared. And of course, the shoes you needed had been one of the items you left.

You pulled your key from your pocket and entered the apartment. It was quiet, Peter must be out. You breathed a sigh of relief. Making a beeline for the bedroom, you heard a voice from Peter’s office. It was Peter and he was mad and his speech was slurred.

“Harold. I know you’re lying to me. She won’t answer my calls. I-I just want to know she’s okay. Why won’t you let me talk to her? Hello?” He threw the phone so hard it bounced off the wall then tumbled across the floor. “Son of a bitch!”

When he turned you were standing in the doorway to his office speechless.

“Y/N,” he said in surprise.

“Peter,” you said back, crossing your arms over your chest.

It was like both of you were cemented to the spot you were standing. So, you just stood there staring at one another.

“How are you?” Peter finally broke the trance. He staggered a bit walking to you.

“I’m fine. I’m just grabbing a pair of shoes. I won’t be long,” you informed him. He looked worse than when you saw him a couple weeks ago. He was skinnier, bags under his eyes, hair too long and in badly in need of a shave. Still handsome. Still, the man you loved.

“Please. Don’t run off. I’d really like to talk to you,” Peter pleaded with words and his eyes.

“Monica and Connor are waiting for me downstairs. Besides, you’re drunk.”

He hung his head, looking up at through his lashes. “Yeah.” Peter leaned against the door jamb trying steady himself.

“How about breakfast tomorrow? We can talk then.”

Peter’s face brightened a bit. “I’d like that.’

“Okay. Call me in the morning when you get up. Good night Peter.” You turned to retrieve your shoes, rushing back out the door.

Peter listened as the door closed. Quiet. He used to love the quiet, now it just reminded him of your absence.

“What the hell?” you grumbled.  Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you picked up your vibrating phone. “Someone better be hurt or on fire to wake me up at 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday,” you rasped.

The caller cleared their throat. “Um, you said to call when I got up. I’m up.” Peter’s voice sounded unsure.

“Peter? It’s so early.” You hadn’t gotten back until almost 3am after being out with Monica, Connor and some other friends. You had showered then fell into bed.

“I know, uh, are we still on for breakfast?” You could hear the hope in his voice. “I could come there so-”

“Not a good idea Peter,” you interrupted him. Your father would hit the roof if Peter came by, especially after their exchange last night. “Give me 30 minutes. I’ll be at your place.”

“It’s still your place too, Y/N.” The hurt in Peter’s voice was evident.

You hung up the phone. Pulling on some clothes you then grabbed your wallet. As you were putting your sneakers on your Mom came into the foyer. “Going to see Peter?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “He wants to talk, he needs me. Don’t try to stop me. Don’t tell Daddy, please.”

She shuffled to you. “I would never try to stop you from going after what you want. He loves you, the way he looks at you like you hung the stars and command the sun to rise. You look at him the same way. Just, protect your heart, darling girl.”

“Thank you, Mom.” You kissed her cheek then ran out the door to hail a cab.

Just as you were going to knock Peter opened the door. He gestured for you to come in. “Morning,” he said and offered to help you with your coat. His fingers barely touched your neck causing your skin to tingle and your breath to hitch.

“Morning. You’ve been busy,” you commented as you surveyed the apartment.

His ears turned red with embarrassment. “I kind of let things get out of control.” That was an understatement he thought to himself.

You followed him through the apartment to the kitchen. The table was laden with food. Belgian waffles, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, maple syrup, fresh orange juice and a pot of coffee. “Wow this all looks delicious,” you praised him. Your mouth was watering. Peter filled your plate with food and you tucked in immediately.

Peter dug into his food as well. It was good to see him eat. After breakfast, you helped clean up despite Peter’s objections. Peter brought you a fresh mug of coffee. You were looking out the window as the sun was peeking over the buildings. “Thanks.”

“I need to tell you something,” Peter admitted sitting across from you on the couch. “I don’t know where our relationship is going. I pray you come back home. If you do, I want a clean slate. No secrets. And if you don’t I still feel like I should tell you.” He set his mug down. He rose from the couch and started pacing. “I slept with someone.”

You blinked your eyes and shook your head. “You-you made love with another woman? While we were together?” Your stomach sank. Cheating was a hard limit for you.

Peter came back to the couch and held your hands. “It was after you left. I was lonely, hurt. And it wasn’t making love, it was sex. It happened a couple weeks ago. I met her a charity event. Her name is Joan. It was the same weekend I saw you out with someone else. It was a mistake. And something that I’ll never be able to forgive myself for.”

You sat in silence for a few moments. Suddenly your fingers were very interesting. You couldn’t look at Peter. Imagining another woman’s hands on him made you ill. Then you thought about the date with Brice. “I almost slept with Brice. But I didn’t.” You reassured him. “It felt…wrong I guess.”  Lifting your head you looked Peter in the eye. “I felt like I was cheating on you.” Shaking your head you stood and walked to the window again.

Peter wrapped his arms around you from behind. “Where does that leave us,” Peter whispered.

Resting your hands on his arms, you answered back with a shaky voice. “I honestly don’t know.”