“Baby, I’m not sure if I want a relationship right now.”

Imani stood up, the chair scraping lightly against the floor. Her eyes drifted toward the pack of cigarettes on the counter, fingers itching to grab them, to have something to hold besides this moment. The room felt tight, heavy with words that didn’t know where to go.

They’d been together for a year. And this year had been no different — late-night talks, shared laughs, quiet mornings tangled together. Nothing had seemed wrong. So the words hit like cold water, leaving them confused, searching her face for an explanation.

But Imani didn’t offer one. She wasn’t up to listening, wasn’t up to fixing anything. Her hand hovered over the cigarettes as if making a choice.