Just for air.
Just to breathe.
And that’s when I see them.
Will and Missy.
Walking down the corridor, hand in hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they belong here. Likeshebelongs here.
Will stops when he sees me.
Missy doesn’t.
She smiles like someone who doesn’t know what she took. “Phern! Isn’t this incredible? I can’t wait to see the babies!”
I try to nod. Try to smile. Try to not let the room tilt.
Will’s gaze flicks over me. Concern. Guilt. A dozen unsaid things. I don't want his pity. I don't want her voice in my ears. I don't want any of this.
But I manage to whisper, “Yeah. They’re beautiful.”
Then I turn.
And walk away.
Down the hallway. Around the corner. Past the vending machines. Past the chairs full of strangers.
I find the stairwell and close the door behind me before the tears come.
Because seeing Will holding her hand?
Seeing her beam like she belongs in his life?
That cracked something open that I had carefully, painstakingly buried.
And now I’m bleeding all over again.
Quiet.
Alone.
In a stairwell.
While the world upstairs welcomes new life, I grieve what’s been dying inside me for months.
18
Time doesn’t slow down just because you’re falling apart.
It barrels forward, dragging you with it.
Olive’s twins are home, healthy, wide-eyed and impossibly loved. Her days are a blur of diapers and soft lullabies, of whispered vows still waiting to be spoken under the cottonwood tree.
And me? I’m unraveling in silence.
The wedding is less than a month away now. I know the date by heart. I circled it in my planner in pink ink weeks ago. Back when I thought maybe helping Olive plan something beautiful might ease the ache in my chest.
It didn’t.
