My heart leaps, but it’s not him—it’s Paige, already half-dressed for school and rummaging through the fridge like she hasn’t eaten in days. She’s getting a ride with a few friends, and my house is closer for pickup.
“Morning.” She grabs a yogurt.
“Morning.” I hand her a spoon.
She studies me for a second, brow furrowing. “You okay, Mom?”
No. Not even close.
But I manage a small smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
She shrugs, unconvinced, but doesn’t press. And for that, I’m grateful.
When she leaves, I sit at the table long after her carpool disappears down the street. I stare at the empty chair across from me, imagining Sam sitting there barefoot, coffee in hand, his lazy smile lighting up the room.
The ache in my chest tightens.
We’ve both lost too much this year. I can’t lose him too.
Not able to sit here with my thoughts, especially with a ton of things to do, I head up to my office to work.
A few hours pass until there’s a knock at the front door. I bound down the stairs, my pulse quickening. Maybe—God, maybe it’s Sam.
But when I open the door, my stomach plummets.Shit.
It’s the last person I want to see. Erin stands on my porch, immaculate as ever, dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my mortgage. She looks every bit the confident lawyer she’s always been—polished, poised, and unbothered.
Meanwhile, I’m anything but.
I haven’t had time to process what happened—her, Pete, the mess I walked into.
Sam leaving. And still no word.
When I met Sam, I didn’t even want a relationship. And now here I am—tied up in knots over a man again. It’s not the same thing, not even close, but familiar. That ache of wanting to fix something before it slips away.
And now Erin.
My voice is sharp, brittle. “What do you want?”
“Liv, can I come in?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
It’s the truth.
Pete’s been trying to talk to me too, but I’m not ready for that either. At least with him, it’s easier. I don’t care that he slept with her. What hurts isshedid.
“Please,” she says, softer. “I’ll keep it short, but I really want to talk.”
Against my better judgment, I turn my back, and she follows me into the foyer. I stop there. She’s not welcome any farther.
“Talk.” My arms cross over my chest.
“I’m sorry.” There’s contrition in her voice, but also trademark edge—defensive, controlled. “To be clear, I won’t apologize for pursuing Pete. You were divorced. But I am sorry for not being open with you.”
A laugh bursts from me, short, incredulous. “You’re unbelievable.”
And she is. God, she is.
