Self Sabotage…. Part 1
April blinked, then leaned back against the couch and studied Soho’s face. The laugh had slipped out on instinct, but when she saw the way Soho kept twisting her fingers together, she knew this wasn’t a joke.
“Girl… what?” April repeated, softer this time.
Soho swallowed hard, her throat tight.
“I’m serious,” she muttered. “You over there working at that big law firm, all polished, all put together. You got your life mapped out. Me? I’m in a restaurant all day, smelling like grease and stress, arguing with vendors, making sure employees show up on time. I just…” She looked away. “I ain’t hard to leave, April.”
April’s expression shifted immediately.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
Soho gave a bitter little laugh. “Life.”
The room got quiet.
April sat her wine glass down on the coffee table and moved closer, knees touching Soho’s. She gently reached for Soho’s hands, stilling them.
“Look at me.”
Soho hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes.
“I do not care that I work at a firm and you own a restaurant,” April said firmly. “If anything, that makes me admire you more. You built something from the ground up. You know how hard that is? People in my office sit behind desks all day talking about contracts. You created something real. Something people walk into, eat in, celebrate in. You make a place feel like home for folks.”
Soho’s lips parted, but no words came out.
April squeezed her hands.
“And for the record,” she added, “just because somebody looks polished don’t mean they got less mess. Baby, I’m one late email away from cussing a senior partner out and quitting.”
That pulled a small laugh out of Soho.
“There she go,” April smiled. “That’s the Soho I like.”
But the smile on Soho’s face faded just as fast.
“It ain’t just that,” Soho admitted. “Every time stuff start feeling good with somebody, I get nervous. Like… too nervous. I start thinking maybe I should back away before they do it first.”
April’s brows furrowed.
“So you run?”
Soho looked down again.
“…Sometimes.”
April let out a slow breath, not angry—just understanding.
“So that’s what this is,” she murmured. “You scared of me leaving, so part of you already trying to leave me first.”
Soho didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
April leaned back a little, crossing her arms, but her voice stayed calm.
“Lemme tell you something, Soho. I don’t do games. I don’t do halfway. If I’m here, I’m here because I want to be. But if you keep letting fear talk for you, you gon’ ruin something before it even gets a chance to grow.”
That hit Soho square in the chest.
She blinked fast, her eyes starting to gloss over.
“I’m trying,” Soho whispered. “I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling like that.”
April’s face softened again.
“You don’t gotta be perfect with me,” she said. “You just gotta be honest. If you feeling insecure, say that. If you scared, say that. Don’t shut down. Don’t start acting funny. Don’t push me away and then expect me to read your mind.”
Soho nodded slowly, tears threatening now.
“I ain’t used to somebody staying when it get real.”
April reached up and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Then get used to it,” she said quietly.
Soho let out a shaky laugh, trying not to cry.
April smirked. “And stop acting like owning a whole restaurant is some little thing. Do you know how sexy that is?”
That made Soho laugh for real this time, shoulders finally relaxing.
“Sexy, huh?”
“Very,” April said, her eyes dropping to Soho’s lips. “Bossed up, smells like good food, and got a smart mouth? Dangerous combination.”
Soho shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“But,” April added, her tone dipping serious again, “if you ever start spiraling like this, talk to me. Don’t create distance because you scared of distance. That’s backwards.”
Soho exhaled deeply, like she’d been holding her breath for weeks.
“Aight,” she murmured. “I can do that.”
April tilted her head.
“You promise?”
Soho looked at her, really looked at her this time.
“I promise.”
April smiled, then leaned in and kissed her slow—steady, intentional, like she was sealing a vow without needing fancy words.
And for the first time in a long time, Soho let herself believe maybe everybody wasn’t meant to leave.
But later that night…
After April fell asleep in Soho’s bed, her phone lit up on the nightstand.
UNKNOWN CALLER
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Soho frowned, careful not to wake April. She slipped out of bed, grabbed the phone, and stepped into the hallway.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice came through, low and sharp enough to freeze her blood.
“You should ask April why she really left Chicago.”
The line went dead.
Soho stared at the screen, heart pounding.
Behind her, the bedroom door creaked open.
April stood there in one of Soho’s oversized T-shirts, sleep still in her eyes.
“Who was that?” she asked.
Soho slowly lowered the phone.
Her face had gone pale.
“…Somebody who knows you.”
April’s entire expression changed.
The next morning, April sat behind the glass walls of her office at Wexler & Dane, her silk blouse crisp, her hair tucked neatly behind one ear, but her mind was nowhere near the stack of case files in front of her.
It was still on Soho.
That phone call.
That strange woman’s voice.
That look on Soho’s face when she said, “Somebody who knows you.”
April had barely slept after that.
And Soho?
She’d gone quiet.
Not cold. Not rude. Just… watchful.
Like she was trying to decide whether to trust the woman laying next to her, or the ghost that had called in the middle of the night.
A knock hit April’s office door.
Her assistant cracked it open. “Your ten o’clock is here.”
April straightened in her chair, professional mode slipping over her like armor.
“Send her in.”
The woman who stepped inside looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.
Brown skin. Mid-thirties. Expensive coat thrown over wrinkled clothes. Mascara smudged under her eyes. Her wedding ring still sat on her finger, though she kept twisting it like it burned.
April immediately clocked the pain in her face.
“Good morning,” April said gently, standing. “I’m April Monroe. Please, have a seat.”
The woman sat down, but her hands trembled so badly she had to clutch her purse in her lap to steady them.
“I…” She swallowed. “I don’t even know where to start.”
April sat across from her, legal pad in hand, voice calm and practiced.
“Start wherever you can.”
The woman let out a broken laugh that turned into a sob. She quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just—” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d be here. Not for this.”
April slid the tissue box toward her.
“Take your time.”
The woman grabbed two tissues, pressing them to her eyes.
“My wife moved out three months ago,” she said, her voice cracking. “No warning. No real explanation. She said she needed space. Said she felt suffocated. Said she didn’t know who she was anymore.”
April’s pen stilled for half a second before she kept writing.
“How long were you married?”
“Four years. Together for eight.”
April nodded. “And since she moved out… has there been any communication?”
The woman laughed bitterly through her tears.
“She texts when it’s convenient. She’ll ask if the dog’s okay. Ask if the rent got paid. But every time I ask her if she’s coming home…” Her voice broke again. “Nothing. Or she changes the subject.”
April’s expression softened despite herself.
“That’s difficult,” she said quietly.
The woman wiped her nose, breathing hard.
“I know people fall out of love,” she whispered. “I know that. I’m not stupid. But I can feel it. There’s something she’s not telling me.”
April looked up.
“What makes you say that?”
The woman leaned forward, pain flashing in her eyes.
“Because she stopped looking at me before she left. Like… like she had already made peace with losing me. Like she was grieving the marriage while I was still living in it.”
That line hit April harder than it should have.
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
She knew that look.
She’d worn that look.
The woman kept talking, unaware of the storm beginning to move behind April’s eyes.
“She’s been different for months. Secretive. Distant. On her phone all the time. Smiling at texts she’d turn away from me. I kept asking if there was someone else, and she swore there wasn’t.”
April carefully kept her face neutral.
“Do you believe there is?”
The woman stared at her.
“Yes.”
Silence sat heavy between them.
April finally asked the standard question.
“What is your wife’s name?”
The woman’s entire body stiffened.
Her lips parted… then closed.
Tears welled up again, but this time there was something else in her face.
Fear.
“No,” she whispered.
April blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I can’t say her name.”
April leaned back slightly.
“If you want legal counsel, I do need some identifying information.”
“I know.” The woman’s breathing turned shallow. “I know, I know, but if I say her name out loud…” She shook her head rapidly. “It makes it real. It means I’m really doing this.”
April’s tone softened again.
“You’re not alone in this. We can go one step at a time.”
The woman squeezed her eyes shut, as if bracing herself against a blow.
“She left me for somebody else,” she whispered.
April’s stomach dropped.
“You don’t know that for sure,” she said carefully.
The woman laughed—sharp, wounded.
“I followed her.”
April froze.
“She was supposed to be at some work event in Jersey City.” The woman’s hands trembled violently now. “But she wasn’t.”
April’s throat tightened.
Instead of saying anything, she simply waited.
The woman swallowed hard.
“She was parked outside a restaurant.”
April’s pen stopped moving.
A chill crept down her spine.
“There was this woman standing outside,” the client continued, crying harder now. “Tall. Pretty. Curly hair. Confident. The kind of woman who looks like she owns the room before she even walks in.”
April’s pulse began to pound in her ears.
“She came outside laughing. My wife looked at her like…” The woman’s face crumpled. “Like she used to look at me.”
April’s mouth went dry.
“What restaurant?” she asked, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded too controlled. Too thin.
The woman looked up.
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she opened her purse with shaking hands and pulled out her phone.
“I took a picture.”
April’s blood turned to ice.
The woman slid the phone across the desk.
April looked down.
There, under the warm amber glow of Soho’s restaurant sign, was a grainy photo taken from across the street.
One woman was stepping off the curb, keys in hand, head turned slightly.
Even blurry, April recognized the side profile instantly.
It was Soho.
And standing just a few feet from her—half-hidden near the driver’s side door—was a woman in a camel coat.
The angle cut off most of her face.
But April knew that coat.
She owned that coat.
Her breathing stopped.
The client was crying so hard now she barely noticed April had gone completely still.
“She lied to me,” the woman whispered. “She lied and made me feel crazy. And I don’t even know if I want the divorce because I’m angry… or because I can’t survive watching her love somebody else.”
April slowly lifted her eyes from the phone.
The room felt smaller. Hotter.
She stared at the woman sitting across from her.
A woman whose wife had moved out.
A woman who refused to say her name.
A woman who had just placed evidence of Soho… and April… on the desk between them.
April’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Ma’am… I need you to tell me your wife’s name.”
The woman stared back at her for a long, trembling second.
Then she whispered it.
“Danielle.”
April’s face didn’t move.
But inside?
Everything cracked.
Because Danielle wasn’t just some random wife.
Danielle Brooks was a senior partner at Wexler & Dane.
April’s boss.
And the woman who had personally mentored her for the last two years.
#lgbtqcommunity #lgbtqbooks #reddit #apowellbooks #redditstories
Reading this story about Soho and April immediately took me back to a time when I, too, struggled with self-sabotage in my relationships. The feeling of wanting to protect oneself by pushing others away before they can leave is surprisingly common, yet it often leads to loneliness and missed opportunities for connection. Like Soho, I found that fear made me back away from people who cared about me, convinced that I wasn’t worthy or that I’d be abandoned eventually. What stood out to me in this narrative was April's approach—her emphasis on honesty and communication. In my experience, admitting vulnerability, even when it feels scary, is the first real step toward breaking the cycle of self-sabotage. I recall a moment when I confessed my fears to my partner, and instead of judgment, I was met with understanding and support, which only strengthened our bond. The story also highlights the unique pressures faced by entrepreneurs or those in high-stress jobs, much like Soho's restaurant ownership and April's law firm career. Balancing professional success with personal vulnerability can be incredibly challenging. For anyone feeling overwhelmed, my advice is to carve out space for self-care and open dialogues with loved ones. Additionally, the unexpected phone call and revelations serve as a dramatic reminder of how past secrets and external pressures can unsettle even the strongest relationships. Trust is hard-won and can be fragile, especially when hidden truths emerge. I experienced a similar situation years ago, where undisclosed past events created strain, but we overcame it by committing to transparency and patience. Ultimately, this story is a poignant exploration of human flaws and resilience. It encourages readers to confront fears head-on and embrace honesty to build lasting, meaningful connections. If you resonate with Soho’s insecurities or April’s steadfastness, know that you’re not alone—and that self-sabotage, while painful, can be addressed through empathy, courage, and communication.
Now this is a story 💐