Feeling sad and wallowing over Paul is just... a huge waste of time.
Andtimeis something I might be running out of.
The tarot cards invade my thoughts, Maeve's gentle but confident voice telling me about already possessing the strength needed. About healing from this heartbreak, from this sickness. The Tower card and her words about needing things to break, theremoval of waste.
So, perhaps this breaking was necessary. Maybe the demolition of my life wasn't cruelty, but a clearing.
But even more than Maeve’s words, there was Callum and the way he made me just forget for a moment.
Just thinking his name makes me feel warm and strange.
Callum Rhodes.
I close my eyes and think of the gentle giant.
God, where do I start?
He’s handsome, definitely—that was the first thing I noticed. He's tall—likereallytall—the kind of tall that makes me tilt my head all the way back to look him in the eye.
His shoulders are broad, not the sculpted kind built in a weight room, but the kind earned through years of physical work. Not shredded, he’s solid, thick, and sturdy in a way that makes him seem immovable and safe.
His short hair is dark, a couple of shades deeper than mine and he has a neatly trimmed beard that frames a mouth that was curved into the kindest smile.
And his eyes.
The warmest chocolate brown I've ever seen. When they landed on me, it was like he was actuallyseeingme, not just looking.
He was just a good man, being decent and kind to me, actually hearing what I asked for like it mattered—like I mattered—and making me laugh in a way I haven't in...
Huh, I honestly can't remember the last time I laughed like that..
Then he talked about the book club—a happy-ending book club that he invited me into.
The way he described it made it sound heavenly. Not to mention, the thought of having an excuse to go back to the store—hisstore—is so tempting, dangerously so.
But...
I'm worried about the coming months, the inevitable changes to my body. I'm worried about my reflection shifting into a person I don't know. I'm terrified this will alter who I am—not just on the outside, but on the inside too.
What if I attach myself to these people and they drop me? What if I allow myself to hope and it all falls apart? What would I do then?
What if, Sophie? Are you going to sink your limited time on'what ifs' or are you actually going to live?
That sharp, no-nonsense voice in my head sounds a lot like Tess, and that's what causes motivation to flood my entire body.
I look at the clock in the corner of the screen and see that I have time—I can still go.
"Get up and move," I order myself out loud, and somehow, my feet listen, taking me to the bedroom.
I pull open my closet and ignore how empty it feels now, forcing my mind to focus on the bright side—I have a lot more space in here now for new clothes.
New memories. A new version of myself.
Optimism buzzes under my skin. Maybe it's the bookstore or the owner, or maybe it's the idea of people who might smile when they see me.
What if I do change, but for thebetter?What if I come out on the other side of this stronger than ever, a new version of me? What if I develop a brand new outlook on life—to seize the day—because tomorrow you could find a lump in your breast that derails your entire planned life?
What if I learn to stop waiting for permission to be happy?
