Welcome Back, Elliot Grey

The next morning, the city looked ordinary.

But something inside Elliot wasn't.

At his desk, fingers hovering over his keyboard, he wasn't typing. He wasn't working.

He was thinking.

Not about deadlines. Not about numbers.

About her.

June.

Her voice. Her hands. Her offer.

"When you're ready to answer… I'll hear it."

But what if he didn't know how to answer?

What if the answer he gave just ended up hurting her?

He stared at the blinking cursor.

Then—

The air shifted. Stilled.

A familiar weight returned.

The first voice — who introduced himself as the God. Male. Calm. Present.

"You think too much, Elliot."

He didn't respond. Just listened.

"You want guarantees. Signs. You want someone to tell you it's safe. But life doesn't wait. You don't find meaning — you build it.

Out of scraps, and scars, and maybe… someone kind enough to sit with you while you try. Accept what life gives. Even the messy things. Remember, true happiness is a fleeting thing… So you're meant to go out and enjoy it while you can."

And just like that — the voice faded.

The clock resumed its ticking.

The office returned to its gray hum.

But Elliot felt something shift.

That evening, he returned home.

The hallway was dark. His keys scraped the lock louder than usual.

The apartment greeted him like a shadow.

He tossed his bag down. Removed his coat. Sat on the edge of the sofa.

Silence.

Until—

"Back so soon, Ellie?"

Her voice.

Claire.

But not the Claire from the letter.

This Claire was colder.

Sharper. A mirror turned cruel.

"Still pretending someone like her wants someone like you? How poetic."

She laughed — a brittle, mocking laugh that echoed from the walls, though no one was there.

"You couldn't even hold onto a marriage.

You couldn't even save a girl from your childhood. What makes you think you're worth anything now?"

He shut his eyes.

"A person like you — without joy, without confidence — is just a placeholder in other people's stories. She doesn't want you, Elliot.

She pities you."

Her voice pressed into him like ice.

He gripped his knees.

His breath trembled.

His head ached, like something inside was tearing in two.

He didn't know what to do.

He didn't know if he should believe the quiet hope from earlier…

Or this bitter voice that knew all the worst parts of him.

Then—

A memory.

Warm. Gentle.

June's voice.

"That wasn't your fault."

It surfaced like light beneath dark water.

And for a moment — a flicker — it stayed.

He held onto it.

Like someone reaching for the edge of a cliff.

End of Chapter 9