Split at the Heart

City Chloe

Chloe woke up before her alarm. Her apartment felt colder than usual. She rolled out of bed, stretched once, then went straight to the kitchen without turning on any lights. The cat was already there, weaving between her legs, meowing like he hadn’t eaten in days. She filled his bowl and started the coffee, letting the familiar sounds settle around her. Pipes rattled in the walls. Someone slammed a door down the hall. She wondered if it was the guy with the loud girlfriend or the woman with the boxer. Either way, it was always noisy at this hour.

She poured coffee, fixed it the way she always did, and leaned against the counter while she waited for the city to wake up. Through the window, the alley was empty except for a dented trash can and a stray shopping cart.

Her neighbor’s kitchen light came on across the way. Chloe watched her shadow move back and forth, making toast or looking for her keys. Chloe wondered about her sometimes—if she had someone waiting for her, or if she ever felt as lonely as Chloe did some mornings. She didn’t know her name. She wasn’t sure she ever would.

She turned away, phone already in hand. Bill reminder, junk email, a calendar alert she’d forgotten to turn off. She scrolled past all of it. She almost missed the last message.

Ms. Easton’s funeral. Friday at noon.

It didn’t feel real. She stared at the message, searching for something to say, but nothing came. She set the phone down, pressing her thumb against the countertop to ground herself.

The words settled in her chest, heavier than she wanted to admit. She’d meant to call Ms. Easton after she moved. She never did. She had always seen more in her than Chloe saw in herself.

Ms. Easton had given her a pep talk one week after graduation, telling her to follow her heart, not just anyone else’s plans. Chloe had taken it seriously—said no to the ring, yes to the city. She wondered sometimes if Ms. Easton would’ve been proud. She wondered, some mornings, if she was.

The city outside was waking up, but Chloe felt like she was still waiting for her own day to start. For something to click or make sense. For a reason to go home that didn’t feel like giving up. She tried to remember if this was what she always wanted.

She took another sip of coffee. The cat jumped onto the counter, nudging her hand, and Chloe let herself linger in the moment, just a few seconds longer, before moving on.

Hometown Chloe

Chloe woke to the sound of her youngest climbing into bed, cold feet pressing against her calf. The room was already full of morning light, the kind that always made her think of summers before everything got busy. She kept her eyes closed, listening to the muffled voices down the hall—her husband calling for their older daughter to hurry, cartoons flickering from the living room, a spoon clattering in the sink.

She got up, careful not to jostle the little one dozing beside her, and padded to the kitchen. Her husband was standing by the coffee pot, shirt wrinkled, hair still damp from the shower. He handed her a mug without saying anything. They moved around each other easily, bumping elbows and sharing small, tired smiles.

Chloe sometimes wondered if everyone married their high school sweetheart around here, or if she was just the one who didn’t think twice. The wedding happened a few weeks after graduation—no big plans, just family and a backyard tent, her dress borrowed from an aunt. Some days, the memory made her smile. Other days, it felt impossibly far away, like she was remembering someone else’s life.

The kids argued over cereal. Someone had eaten the last of the good kind and tried to hide the box at the bottom of the trash. Chloe settled the fight, poured milk, wiped jelly from her daughter’s cheek, and checked the clock. She still had time—barely.

She packed lunchboxes, double-checked backpacks for missing permission slips, tied shoes, and hunted down a missing sock. Every part of the morning felt familiar and chaotic, a rhythm she could keep with her eyes closed.

Her phone buzzed on the countertop. She almost ignored it, thinking it was another school update, but the preview caught her eye.

Ms. Easton’s funeral. Friday at noon.

She stopped, one hand still on her son’s shoulder. It didn’t feel possible. She remembered Ms. Easton’s handwriting, the way she always remembered birthdays, how she’d pressed a worn paperback into Chloe’s hands the week after graduation. Ms. Easton was the reason she married her husband. She told her to follow her heart, and that is exactly what she did.

She had tried to stay in touch with her when she went to the nursing home, but only managed a Christmas card with her family photo and a small update. Chloe regretted not making more of an effort to see her.

The kids were already asking what was wrong, tugging at her sleeve. Chloe shook her head, smiled, and promised it was nothing. She tucked the phone away and finished tying her daughter’s shoes.

Outside, her husband was already loading the kids into the van. The neighbor across the street waved, coffee in hand, and Chloe waved back. She looked at her family—her whole world packed into a minivan—and tried to remember if this was what she’d always wanted.

She kissed her husband as they went to separate vehicles, him to work and her to the parent drop-off. She closed the door, took a breath, and let the morning carry her.

City Chloe

By late morning, Chloe was at her desk, sunlight creeping in along the floorboards. She answered emails, sorted files, and tried not to notice the two empty desks since the last round of layoffs. The office was quiet except for the buzz of the copy machine and someone humming down the hall.

Her coworker Rachel stopped by, phone in hand. “Look at this little monster,” she said, swiping to a picture of her toddler covered in spaghetti. Chloe smiled, genuinely enough, and asked how old he was now. She barely listened to the answer. The conversation drifted back to work.

At lunch, Chloe ate alone in the break room, scrolling through photos on her phone. Mostly old ones—her and her friends at graduation, a blurry shot of her ex at senior prom, Ms. Easton smiling in a group photo, eyes crinkling behind thick glasses. She wondered where those friends were now. If any of them still lived in town and were going to the funeral. If they’d remember her.

On the way home, Chloe walked past a playground. The shouts of children cut through the city noise, sharp and unexpected. She stopped for a second, watching a little girl in a yellow coat push her brother on a swing. Their mother laughed, steady and sure. Chloe felt it then, a slight ache, low and familiar, before she kept walking.

By the time she got home, the apartment was just as she’d left it. She let the cat out onto the fire escape, started the kettle, and tried not to look at her phone.

Hometown Chloe

Chloe was at the bakery by nine, hair pulled back, apron dusted with flour. The place smelled like cinnamon and yeast, and the line by the register never really let up. Her mother stopped in before lunch, asking about the kids and if Chloe needed help with the Saturday bake sale.

The regulars came and went. Mrs. Carter wanted an extra loaf “for the grandkids.” Mr. Harper asked about her husband’s softball team. Chloe smiled, took the cash, gave back change, and wiped the counter down for the hundredth time.

During a lull, Chloe scrolled through her phone behind the counter, pausing at the funeral announcement again. She thought about Ms. Easton and the old days—how she’d promised to keep in touch, how easy it had been to let time get away. Her own high school friends were mostly still nearby, though it felt like they lived on opposite sides of something she couldn’t name. She wondered if they’d all see each other at the funeral, if anyone would talk about what they’d wanted back then.

In the afternoon, her husband texted:

Can you pick up the kids? Mom’s running late.

Chloe texted back a thumbs-up, washed her hands, and went to the school. The parking lot was crowded with parents. A group of little girls waved at her daughter, and Chloe watched her run to join them, laughing.

She waited by the van, alone for a moment, and tried to picture the life she’d left behind—the one where she’d gone away, lived somewhere else, never come back. The thought barely settled before she was pulled back into the noise of after-school.

City Chloe

The sun was already fading by the time Chloe got back from the corner store. She put away milk, coffee, and a box of cereal she never used to buy—impulse, maybe. She fed the cat, tossed her shoes by the door, and stared at the pile of unopened mail. Nothing urgent. Nothing from home.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV, something half-watched and already forgotten. Her phone sat silent next to her, the funeral message still unread, marked as new. She thought about calling her mother, about what she’d say if she did. Would she even answer? Chloe picked up the phone, thumb hovering, then set it down.

Outside, the city glowed—headlights sliding across the alley, voices rising from the bar downstairs. Chloe moved to the window, pressing her forehead to the glass, breathing in the blur of neon and taillights. She wondered if anyone was thinking of her right now. If she’d made any real mark at all.

She grabbed the new box of cereal, poured a handful into her palm, and ate it dry. It tasted like something from childhood, sweet and distant. She thought of Ms. Easton then, and the promise she’d made to herself never to look back. It didn’t feel like enough.

Later, she brushed her teeth, left the bathroom light on for the cat, and lay awake, waiting for sleep, or something like it.

Hometown Chloe

After dinner, Chloe loaded the dishwasher while the kids finished their homework at the kitchen table. Her husband swept crumbs from the floor, radio tuned to a country station low in the background. The evening settled into its usual routine—baths, pajamas, bedtime stories about bears and faraway places.

When the house finally quieted, Chloe stood in the hallway, listening to the hush. She wandered into the living room, picked up a book she’d been meaning to read, and set it down again. Her phone buzzed with a message from her sister, asking about the funeral.

Are you going? Do you want to ride together?

Chloe typed back:

Yeah, I’ll be there. Not sure how I feel about it.

Her sister sent a heart emoji.

She moved to the window, looking out at the empty street. Porch lights blinked on up and down the block, her neighbor walking the dog, a teenager skateboarding past. Chloe tried to remember when she’d last done something just for herself. She pressed her hand to the glass, breathing out.

In the dark, she thought about Ms. Easton, about that summer after graduation when everything felt wide open. She wondered what her old teacher would think of the life she’d built. If she’d be proud, Chloe couldn’t be sure.

She checked on the kids one last time, turned out the lights, and slipped into bed beside her husband. His breathing was slow and steady. Chloe stared at the ceiling, waiting for morning, for everything to start again.

City Chloe

The church was smaller than she remembered. Chloe arrived early, clutching her phone like a lifeline. She signed the guestbook, her handwriting shaky, then slipped into a pew near the back. She spotted a few faces from school—older now, softer around the eyes. No one seemed to notice her.

She scanned the room for her mother, saw only strangers, all speaking in low voices, hands wrapped around tissues or coffee cups. The flowers at the altar were white and fading. A photo of Ms. Easton sat next to the pulpit—hair pulled back, wide smile, the same cardigan she’d worn to class every Friday.

As people filled the seats, Chloe folded her hands in her lap, picking at her thumbnail, fighting the urge to leave before it started.

Hometown Chloe

Chloe sat wedged between her husband and her sister, her youngest curled against her side, already half-asleep. The kids had asked a hundred questions on the way in. Why do people cry at funerals? Will Ms. Easton know we’re here? Chloe hadn’t had any good answers.

She greeted old classmates in the vestibule, offered half-smiles, and hugged people she hadn’t seen in years. Everyone seemed to have their own Ms. Easton story—a saved grade, a book recommendation, a note slipped into a locker on a hard day. Chloe tried to listen, but her mind drifted. She looked for her high school friends, wondering if they’d even recognize her now.

Her eyes wandered, caught for a moment on a woman alone at the back. Something familiar about the curve of her shoulders, the dark hair pulled up, the way she sat just a little apart from everyone else.

City Chloe

The service was simple. A few stories from former students, a song played too softly, a reading Chloe only half-heard. She kept thinking about the last time she’d seen Ms. Easton. How certain her teacher had been that Chloe’s life would be extraordinary.

Afterward, people milled in the aisle, hugging, trading memories, brushing away tears. Chloe hesitated, then moved to the front, pausing by the photo. She murmured a thank you, too quiet for anyone to hear.

She turned, ready to slip out, but someone touched her arm. A woman—her eyes a mirror. Chloe froze, breath caught.

~~~~~~~~~~

They faced each other for a long moment, each searching the other’s face, something shifting and familiar in their expressions. Chloe’s daughter tugged at her sleeve, and the sound brought them both back to the present.

“I’m sorry,” City Chloe said, voice quiet, almost breaking. “I just—”

Hometown Chloe shook her head, offering a small, tired smile. “No, I get it. She meant a lot to both of us, I guess.”

They stood in silence as the crowd's noise faded. It was like looking into a mirror, one that reflected choices neither of them could undo.

“Do you ever wonder?” City Chloe asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Every day,” Hometown Chloe answered, holding her daughter close.

The church doors opened, letting in a rush of sunlight and fresh air. Hometown Chloe’s husband called her name. City Chloe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stepping aside.

“Take care,” Hometown Chloe said, already gathering her family.

“You too,” City Chloe replied.

They parted, each carrying the other’s question home.

City Chloe

That night, the city felt different. Chloe dropped her keys in the dish by the door and let the quiet fill in around her. She fed the cat, set her bag on the counter, and poured herself a glass of water that she barely touched.

She thought about the other Chloe—the one with the family, the full car, the life she sometimes imagined for herself in soft, blurry outlines. She wondered if she’d looked as out of place to her as she’d felt. If she’d seemed lonely.

She found herself dialing her mother’s number, heart stuttering as it rang. Voicemail picked up, her mother’s voice chipper and distant. Chloe listened until the beep, then said, “Hey, Mom. Just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you can.”

She sat at the window, knees pulled up, watching the lights blink on and off in the building across the alley. For the first time in a while, the city didn’t feel quite so empty. She wondered what it would mean to go home—not as a failure, but as herself, with all the choices she’d made and the ones she hadn’t.

She went to bed with the window cracked open, the city sounds threading through her dreams.

Hometown Chloe

At home, Chloe helped her daughter out of the van, her husband gathering the boys and backpacks. The kids were full of questions about the funeral, Ms. Easton, and what it meant to miss someone who wasn’t coming back.

Later, when the house was quiet, Chloe sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a mug of tea gone cold. She scrolled her phone, half-tempted to message an old friend, but instead found herself searching for community college classes—creative writing, maybe, or something entirely new. She left the tab open.

She thought about the woman at the funeral, so familiar it unsettled her, like catching her own reflection in a window at night. For the first time in years, Chloe wondered what would happen if she chose something just for herself—not out of duty, not out of habit, but because she wanted to.

She kissed her kids goodnight, lingered in each doorway, and finally slipped into bed beside her husband. She lay awake, listening to his breathing, letting the quiet settle in. Maybe tomorrow she’d do something different. Or perhaps she’d just keep wondering.

But the wondering felt lighter, somehow, shared.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two windows.

One opening to a scatter of city lights and sirens, the other to porch lights blinking in the dark.

Both Chloes sit for a moment longer than usual, not quite alone, changed in ways only they will know.