“Have you heard from him?” Sarah asks.
“No,” I say, trying and failing at not feeling bitter. My chest feels heavy. “I didn’t expect to.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Tell me again what happened,” she says. “After the tattoo was finished.”
I close my eyes. I’ve replayed it so many times that the memory is worn smooth, but the pain is still sharp.
“Everything was perfect. I was so happy, and then…something changed. I asked about dinner, and he shut me down. He went from present to distant in the blink of an eye. He said he’d call me, but it was obvious he wouldn’t.” My voice cracks. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I was so happy! I thought he was special and cared for me, too.”
Sarah reaches across and covers my hand with hers. “What do you want, Daisy?”
I’ve been asking myself the same thing, cycling through anger and grief and longing until I can’t tell them apart anymore.
“I want to stop feeling like this,” I admit. “I want to stop touching the tattoo and thinking about his hands. I want to stop checking my phone.” My voice wobbles. “I want to stop caring about him. I know it’s stupid. We only knew each other for two weeks, but when I was with him, I felt like I was finally enough. Like I could just be myself without trying so hard to be what everyone else wanted. He didn’t look at me like I’m lacking.”
Sarah squeezes my hand. “Daisy. I keep telling you that you’re perfect. You have to forget everyone who’s told you otherwise, especially your dad.”
I want to, I really do. But Knight pushed me away, and I’ve never felt so not-enough in my life.
The shelter smellslike cedar chips and cat food—familiar scents that usually comfort me. Today, they just make my chest ache.
I almost didn’t come. This is where Knight came to find me, where he sat on the floor of the kitten room with a cat on his head and looked at me like I was someone worth crossing the city to find.
But I refuse to let him take this from me. The shelter was mine before he showed up, and I won’t give it up just because my heart is broken.
I’m cleaning out a cage in the cat room when Betsy appears in the doorway.
“Daisy?” Her voice is careful. “There’s someone at the front desk asking for you.”
My stomach drops. “Who?”
But I already know. I can see the curiosity and the concern on her face. She was here the day Knight came to adopt the bonded pair. She saw us leave together.
“The tattoo guy,” she confirms. “Knight.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
“He picked up his cats already,” I manage. “What does he want?”
Betsy shrugs. “He says he needs to talk to you and that it’s important.” She pauses. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. I can tell him you’re busy.”
I should say yes. Should let her send him away. But my feet are already moving toward the door.
“No,” I hear myself say. “I’ll talk to him.”
The walk to the lobby feels endless.
And then I see him.
Knight is standing by the front desk, shoulders tense, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks terrible—dark circles under his eyes, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt. When his gaze lands on me, something flickers across his face.
“Daisy.” My name comes out heavy, and I hate how much I love the sound.
“Knight.” I stop a few feet away, arms crossed over my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
