He looked at me like that was the dumbest question in the world. “I’m not fucking leaving you.”
“I know. Just… needed to hear it.”
He leaned in and kissed my temple. “I just need to think. To feel like I’m choosing this… not clinging to it like a life raft.”
I nodded. “I get it.” And I did. I’d put him through so much over the last few months and now it appeared I’d done a complete one-eighty in the last twenty-four hours. I understood him needing time and space to process.
My gaze followed him out of the room, up the stairs to my room. The soft thudding sound of his steps above me as he slipped back into the clothes he wore last night.
Winston was curled up on my chest, sleeping by the time he made it back downstairs, so I gently placed him where I’d been sitting and trailed Sin to the door. His lips brushed mine in a soft fleeting kiss.
“I’ll call you later.”
He made a phone gesture out of his hands and slipped into his unlocked car. The engine roared to life, music blared. Sin saluted me, then left in a cloud of dust as he spun the wheels in the gravel.
I watched him go; the door clicking shut behind him. The space around me went cold faster than I was ready for. All the life he’d brought to my house was gone in an instant. Collapsing on my armchair, my eyes felt heavy, exhaustion weighing my lids down.
I didn’t move. Not for a while. Just dozed on and off until eventually, I pulled out my phone and stared at Rosalie’s name. My thumb hovered. Then I tappedCall.
Because we deserved that conversation. Not out of obligation or because it was expected. But because after everything, she’d become my friend, and I wanted to know if she was alright.
Rosalie picked up on the third ring, her voice quiet but steady. “Hey.”
I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, like her voice alone loosened something wound too tight in my chest. “Hey… I just wanted to check in. After last night. I didn’t make it back—are you okay?”
A pause. Then a sigh that sounded like it had scraped its way up from somewhere deep. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
I sank into the armchair, pulling the blanket tighter, trying to hold myself together. “Want to talk about it?”
There was a brittle inhale, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Your dad and mine treated me like I was something that got dragged in on the bottom of their shoe. Like I didn’t belong in that room. My father barely even looked at me. And when he did…” Her voice cracked, then sharpened. “It was like I was some broken thing he’d given up on fixing a long time ago.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, but her voice was thinner now. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Worse than I thought it would. And my mom? Just sat there. Silent. She looked through me like I wasn’t even worth the fight.” Her words hit like glass—shards of something once whole. “Guess she finally picked a side. And it wasn’t mine.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. We both knew this was always the likeliest outcome—for both of us. But the silence wasn’t empty between us. It was permission. A place where the things she couldn’t say out loud still belonged.
“But your mom…” her voice softened unexpectedly, like she was still trying to believe it. “She stood up for me. Said what no one else would. It’s been a long time since someone made me feel like I mattered.”
A sharp ache pulled through my chest. “She sees you. Like I do. Maybe because she knows what it’s like to be the one no one fights for.”
There was a beat of silence—quiet, but so loud.
“People change,” she said finally. “Or maybe we just stop hoping they will. Either way, I’m done letting them define me.From now on, I’m the one making the decisions in my life and if that means I have to scrub toilets, then so be it.”
I let a ghost of a smile pull at my mouth. “You’re stronger than you look.”
She let out a tired laugh. “Working on it.” Another pause—lighter this time. Then, the teasing started: “So... how’s it going with Sinclair?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You know,” she said with a smirk I could practically hear. “Sinclair. Your... whatever-he-is. You’re different when you talk about him. Less... armored.”
I groaned and dropped my head back. “Oh my God, can we not?—”
She cut in, giddy now. “And wait—Sinclair? As in Sinclair Soul?”
I groaned again. “Unfortunately.”
