ChromedOutCortex

I left my place and drove over to Mom’s. When I got to the door, I knocked but there was no answer. I rang the doorbell a few times — still nothing. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Where could she have gone? She knew I was coming. “James? Is that you?” I turned toward the voice. “Yeah… oh, Mrs. Wong! I almost didn’t recognize you,” I said, walking toward her. Mrs. Wong had lived in this neighborhood for as long as I could remember. She and her husband

Months went by, and during that time Evan and I got closer. We were already spending a lot of time together, and my work was keeping me busy. As my boss promised, I was travelling regularly now, and Evan was always there, stepping up. He was also spending more time at my apartment… or should I call it our apartment? He was still worried about moving in, so I left it up to him to decide when he was ready for that step. It was on a trip to Saskatchewan that my mom called me. Dad had

Four months passed faster than I would have believed. Somewhere between morning check-ins, late nights at the site, and endless calls with the client, time slipped away. Toronto became routine. Evan was part of that routine. I gave him a set of keys to my place in Vancouver so he could check in when I wasn’t around. Every few weeks, he’d fly out to see me in Toronto. We didn’t rush anything, no ultimatums, no expectations. Just weekends together, dinners, long walks, conversations tha

The client’s offices were sleek and intimidating—glass, steel, and a boardroom table that looked like it could seat twenty. I sat at one end, laptop ready, notes stacked neatly. Jeremy was beside me, but this time, the spotlight was squarely on me. The client entered– two executives and a lawyer, all business. They didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “All right, let’s get started,” the senior executive said, flipping open a folder. “We’ve reviewed the outline you sent. And to be

After clearing security, the receptionist led me to a small meeting room. I parked my suitcase in the corner, pulled out my laptop, and tried to shake off the stiffness from the flight. Just as I opened the lid, my phone buzzed. Evan: Hey, how was your flight? Me: Long. In the office now. Just waiting… oh, I hear them. I’ll call you later. Evan: OK. ♥️ I slid the phone away as the project team filed in. Smaller than I expected, maybe a few ducked out early to beat traffi

Saturday came and went. We spent most of the day together and I dropped him off just after dinner. Nothing messy: one quick kiss and he was gone. Back at the apartment, the silence felt strange after a day with him. Maybe he could move in sooner? No. Comfortable wasn’t the goal. I wanted him to work for it. I wanted to see that this was what he truly wanted. We’d agreed to do our own thing on Sunday. I didn’t need to meal-prep because I’d be out of town most of the week, so I fi

Growing up, I never really enjoyed heavy metal - more into the alternative scene (local bands) or stuff like Slayer but as I got older, I started listening to Ozzy, Black Sabbath and others and actually liked most of their music. Whenever my kids come with me and we're out, and I play something I definitely get the look ... like, WTF are you listening to??? LOL!

Wasn't expecting something so polished! But brings back memories.

Totally! Every relationship thrives on ground rules - or understanding each other. Both have to be invested, otherwise one is doing all the work which can get exhausting.

It's too easy to fall into old habits. You really have to want to change. 🤞

Sunday: prep day for the next week. Except I wasn’t in the headspace for anything. If I skipped it, the produce would wilt and the meat would go gray at the edges by midweek, and weeknight prep was a non-starter. Either do it now, or freeze everything and live off delivery. Practicality won. I pulled the meat, chicken and veggies from the fridge and set everything out in rows: fruit to rinse, veg to chop, chicken to portion, beef to trim, salmon for tonight. I lined the counter with two

Sorry... 💕

@Modified Cub - Thank You and everyone else for reading!

I was reading a post here: https://inventingrealityediting.com/2016/01/24/i-dont-need-permission-to-be-called-an-author/ which was really interesting. The first paragraph: Authors who haven’t published often like to think of themselves as an “aspiring author,” an “aspiring novelist,” or an “aspiring writer.” They act as if by not being published they are somehow lesser than someone who actually is. What about you? If you've posted your stories here, or other similar platforms. Do you consider yourself an author or a writer of words? Maybe they are the same thing? Admittedly, I don't consider myself an author. In my mind, Published (traditionally) = Author even though Rob Bigness says otherwise.

James reunites with his ex, Evan, now a determined law student, and they slowly rebuild their relationship with new boundaries. While James is sent out of town to rescue a failing engineering project, his homophobic family crises erupt: his father’s cancer and death, and his brother Sam’s years of manipulation and financial abuse. Supported by Evan, James protects his mother, pursues justice, and begins to imagine a shared, hard-won future where love, not fear, defines the rest of his life, one cautious step at a time, finally choosing himself.