“Has he said anything to you?”
“No. That’s the worst part. He looks like he wants to, but then… nothing. It’s like we’re caught in this loop, and every time I think we’re about to break out of it, she pulls him right back in.”
Maya exhales, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.
I press my fingers to my temple. “He was different with me, Maya. He really was. There was something real there. And now, it’s like he’s standing on the other side of a glass wall. Close enough to see, but too far to reach.”
Maya’s voice is quiet. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” I murmur. “It’s like I’m slowly disappearing. Not because he doesn’t care. But because she’s always there, and I don’t see that changing.”
We’re quiet for a minute.
Then I whisper, “I think it’s over. Not because he walked away, but because she never did.”
Maya reaches across the console, takes my hand. “Then we move forward. One step at a time. Starting now.” I nod. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, but it settles.
“I feel stupid,” I admit. “Like I should’ve known better. Like maybe this was always going to happen. Me on the outside again, watching someone else be chosen.”
“You’re not stupid,” she says, her voice fierce now. “You’ve fallen for someone. That doesn’t make you stupid, Josie, it makes you brave. But this isn’t a one-way street, and Knox isn’t walking toward you anymore. So maybe it’s time to stop standing still.”
I swallow hard, biting back the ache in my throat. “I can’t keep this up. It’s too much.”
“Then don’t,” she says again, softer now. “Start looking. Get out. Start over. But don’t you dare let this man define your worth.”
I nod because she’s right. I am looking. For jobs. For a reset. For a way to rebuild my life without all the splinters.
I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone.
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’re almost there.”
I glance at the dashboard clock. 10:22 a.m.
The ultrasound.
For a moment, panic kicks up in my chest. The kind that whispers,What if everything’s already going wrong?
But then I feel it again, that small, growing thing inside me. That quiet sense of purpose. Of certainty.
I have to do this. I get to do this.
We pull into the clinic parking lot, and Maya kills the engine.
“You ready?” she asks.
“No,” I say honestly. “But let’s do it anyway.”
We head inside together.
And this time, I don’t feel quite so alone.
The waiting room smells like lemon cleaner and overbrewed coffee. A dated magazine rack leans against the wall, half the covers dog-eared or curling at the edges. A mom with a toddler bounces him on her knee while scrolling her phone. Someone behind the reception desk chuckles softly at something on their screen.
It’s normal here. Quiet. Like the rest of the world hasn’t collapsed.
I’m not sure how I’m breathing.
The nurse calls my name, and Maya squeezes my shoulder before we follow her down the hall. I’m given a dressing gown and told that, this early on, stomach ultrasounds aren’t as accurate.
