“I don’t want to pretend.”
“Nora,” Marcus says quietly, leaning against the doorframe, “whatever this is… staying in here isn’t helping.”
“Two hours max,” Camilla adds.“Then you can come back and wallow until tomorrow.”
Camilla does the hauling, Marcus picks clothes, and Mia brushes my hair with saintly patience.I let them—because fighting feels impossible, and because some small part of me knows they’re right.This is a battle I’m not winning.
The pier is exactlyas awful as promised—the wind slaps my face, seagulls scream like they’re auditioning for hell, and everything tastes like salt and sadness.
We sit on a bench overlooking the water.Camilla steals one of my fries without asking.“You know,” she says, chewing thoughtfully, “this is how you know you really love someone.”
“How’s that?”My voice sounds scraped thin.
“When you don’t hate them for breaking your heart.”
The words land like a knife twisting slow.Because she’s right.I should hate him—for the fear, for the pain, for leaving me in this limbo where grief and love blur together.
But I don’t, I just feel is hollowed out.
The outing exhausts me more than it helps, but at least the world looks slightly less grey when Camilla drops me home.I’m not sure where everyone is because it looks like no one is home.Did I miss something?Did we plan to be somewhere?I’m fumbling for my keys when my phone rings.
Liam.
I’ve ignored his calls the past few weeks, but something about his insistence slices through my numbness so I answer.
“Well hello stranger.And here I thought you’d deleted my number.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning back against the door.
“Hey.No, sorry.It’s been—” My voice sounds wrong.Hollow.“It’s just been a rough couple of weeks.”
“Oh.”His tone softens immediately, dropping the playful edge.“Shit, I’m sorry.I… didn’t know.”
Liam pauses momentarily.
“Well, I actually have news.Good news.And I’m hoping—maybe—it makes even one thing in your day suck a little less?”
“Sure,” I say, shifting the phone to my other ear.“Hit me.”
He exhales, a shaky breath like he’s been sitting on this for hours.
“Your manuscript—they want it.They want to publish it.”
The words should spark something in me—joy, pride, something warm in my ribs—but instead they glide past like I’m underwater, muffled and far away.
“That’s… amazing,” I manage but even I can hear the emptiness.
“Uhh,” he says carefully, “you don’t sound amazed.Is everything… actually okay?”
I rub at a tear I didn’t realise slipped loose.
“No—I am happy about it.I am.I’m just… there’s a lot going on.My life feels like a bit of a dumpster fire right now, if I’m being completely honest.”
He’s quiet.
Not long enough to be awkward—just long enough to understand I’m lying by omission.
“Right,” he says softly.“Well… I’m here if you want to talk about anything.You can call me or not.No pressure.”He lets out a small, nervous laugh.“I was just excited for you.And selfishly wanted to be the one to tell you.”
