ME:It's not theft.It's a last-ditch effort
DANIELLA:Judge won't see it that way.
I pocket my phone and grab the bag of supplies from the passenger seat.
According to my research—because yes, I researched goat acquisition—I have alfalfa pellets, a lead rope, and what the pet store clerk assured me was "irresistible to goats."
It looks like granola and smells like feet.
The apartment building's front door requires a code.I'm contemplating the fire escape when a pizza delivery guy appears.
"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual."I'm here to see Melody in 4B.About...yoga."
He looks at me—rain-soaked, holding a bag of goat treats, clearly lying—and shrugs."Cool, man.Follow me."
Gotta love Seattle.
A place where even pizza guys don't judge your weird life choices.
The elevator ride to the fourth floor feels eternal.
What the hell am I even doing?
That question’s been echoing in my head all day.
Not just because I’m standing outside a goat yoga instructor’s apartment in the middle of a rainstorm with alfalfa in my bag.
But because not even six hours ago, I stood in a cemetery, trying to say goodbye to someone I never really forgave.
Not until now.
Veronica’s grave is tucked in a quiet corner of Lakeview Cemetery, shaded by a cedar tree that’s grown just enough to block out the skyline.
And I hadn’t even been back since the funeral.
Not once.
I told myself it was because of work.Or timing.Or traffic
But the truth?
I didn’t want to face her.Didn’t want to face me.
No.Not the version of me who loved a woman and lost her in every way that counts.
But today, I did.
I brought coffee.Because that’s what we used to do.
Sunday mornings.Back before everything fractured.
I stood there like an idiot, in front of her grave, holding that second cup until the rain soaked it through.
And then I finally said what I should’ve said years ago.
“I hated you for what you did.”
The words were sharp in the wet air, like they’d been waiting.
