The laughter dies as I open the door.
“What is it?” Liam asks.
I force my voice into something flat and numb. “Apparently, this is my life now.”
“Phern,” he snaps, as if he’s warning me.
I straighten my spine, choking down the heat rising in my throat. “Olive would like a word.”
He mutters something under his breath and pushes past me without another word.I don’t follow.I just stand there in that goddamn blue dress, surrounded by other people’s joy, with the echoes of their laughter still ringing in my ears.And for the first time in a long time I don’t just feel invisible.I feel erased.
Will comes to a stop in front of me, blocking the hallway like it’s no big deal. Like we haven’t been orbiting around each other for months like two stars too stubborn to burn out.
He glances around, like he’s making sure we’re alone, then pulls something from his jacket pocket.
“Found something you left at the bar the other night.”
“What did I leave?”
He holds it out. Crumpled. Flattened. Familiar. My heart sinks. The list. I stare at it, frozen. My mouth opens, but the words stick.
“It was trash,” I say finally, trying to sound dismissive. Distant. Untouched.
His eyes stay on mine, calm but unreadable. “Didn’t look like trash.”
“Then you clearly haven’t seen my garbage can,” I mutter.
“It looked like something you’ve put a lot of thought into,” he says.
The air thickens between us. My cheeks burn. Not with embarrassment but exposure. Like I’m standing here stripped bare in a dress that doesn’t belong to me, in a wedding that isn’t mine, facing the man who undid me without ever meaning to.
“I wrote it a long time ago,” I say, voice thin. “Back when I still thought the universe might throw me a bone.”
Will folds the paper once, carefully like it matters.
“You still could do all of these things,” he says quietly.
My laugh is sharp and humorless. “Will, I can’t even get through this wedding without falling apart. I don’t need a list of impossible hopes haunting me too.”
He hesitates, then slides the list back into his pocket. “Still didn’t look like trash to me.”
Then he turns and walks away. Just like he always does.
Leaving me with a heart that won’t stop screamingThen why did you treat me like I was?
19
Something snaps in me as I walk away from Will and that damn list.
Not a breakdown.
Not a scream.
Just this quiet, burning click inside my chest like something unhooked and finally gave up pretending to hold on.
My feet move without thinking, but my hands are already digging into my dress, reaching between skin and satin to pull my phone from the curve of my bra. My fingers are trembling. Or maybe I’m just coming back to life.
I scroll until I find the thread.
