Page 174 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I sat there on the edge of the couch, tears falling before I could stop them, because I finally understood something terrifying.

I thought leaving Southside would cure me.

But Southside wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I loved someone so deeply that I attached him to the entire city.

It felt like a prison made entirely out of memories.

And I finally understood something.

Victor didn’t just break my heart.

He made me feel homeless in a city I love.

CHAPTER 19

NON-NEGOTIABLE

Saturday evening settled over Southside in that soft, expensive way the city did best.

Warm lights flickered against glass buildings. Cars slid through the streets below in slow streams of yellow and red. Somewhere outside, music drifted faintly from a nearby bar, blending with the distant noise of people trying to make their weekends feel meaningful.

Victor and I were having dinner at Lynn Café.

Inside, the restaurant felt like a greenhouse designed by someone with heartbreak and money. Thin trees curled between tables like they had been allowed to grow wherever they wanted. White fabric draped from the ceiling in loose folds, softening the entire room, while oversized abstract panels hovered above us like clouds suspended mid-collapse. Gold-trimmed chairs reflected the warm light just enough to make everything glow.

The place looked unreal—like some medieval fantasy stripped of its kings and queens and noblemen, leaving only the remnants of beauty behind.

And yet, beneath all of that softness, there was something strange about the space too.

The branches of the thin trees were bare.

The ceiling looked fractured if you stared at it long enough.

Even the mirrors along the walls reflected people in pieces instead of whole.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t stop looking around, because somehow, the place felt exactly like us: pretty from a distance, but up close, cracks were everywhere.

Victor sat across from me, cutting cleanly into his steak while soft jazz drifted through the restaurant speakers.

He looked good in that dark blue polo shirt.

Of course he did.

I was so in love with him.

My eyes lingered on him longer than they should have, tracing the familiar calm in his face—the kind of man who seemed effortless no matter what room he stepped into.

And for a moment, looking at him there beneath the soft gold lighting, it almost became easy to pretend none of the past months had happened.

That maybe we were simply two people having dinner.

That maybe love hadn’t already broken itself open between us.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Victor asked suddenly, glancing up from his plate.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring.