“Brooke,” he cuts in gently, “you don’t need to justify it. Take the time.”
Relief hits so fast it almost makes me dizzy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says firmly. “Take all the time you need. If you need anything at all, you call me. We’ll cover whatever comes up here.”
My shoulders sag like I’ve been holding them up around my ears for a week straight. “Thank you. Seriously. I’ll make sure everything’s handed off clean.”
“I’m not worried about you,” Mark replies. “Go take care of yourself.”
We hang up, and I set my phone down on the table, staring at it for a second like it might ring back and tell me this was all a mistake.
I shut my laptop and stare at the calendar. Three showings cancelled, two meetings pushed to next week, and a long email to some clients explaining that I’m “out of the office for personal reasons,” which feels both too honest and not honest enough at the same time. My fingers hover over my mouse like I might undo it all. Book myself back into the chaos just to pretend none of this happened. That I’m fine because I’ve always been fine. Instead, I curl up on the couch with a big blanket and get lost in a book. I read all damn day shutting out reality. It feels good, it feels safe.
The next morning, sunlight slips through the blinds instead of my alarm ripping me out of sleep. For a second I lie there disoriented, heart waiting to slam into panic that never comes. My room smells like clean sheets. The ceiling fan hums steady overhead. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling longer than necessary, letting my body decide whether it trusts this moment or not. When I finally sit up, my legs feel heavy, like they’re not convinced yet.
I walk into the kitchen barefoot and make coffee without rushing, watching the steam curl up like a living thing, warming my face. I sit at the island with my hands wrapped around the mug and take a tentative sip. Sweet baby Jesus, I love my first sip of coffee in the morning. I watch as sunlight crawls across the floor in slow stripes.
Halfway through my coffee, the loneliness sneaks in and catches me off guard. It settles heavy in my chest, makes me restless, like I need something to keep my hands busy and my brain distracted from the fact that I’m here by myself. I never really thought being alone bothered me before. I’ve been too busy being a badass realtor, a super sister, the best aunt, always moving, always needed, always doing something that mattered.
I never stopped long enough to ask if anything was missing.
Sure, the idea of having a partner has always lived somewhere in the background, like a someday thought I could get to when life slowed down. Now I’m wondering if I waited too long. If I kept choosing to be busy because it was easier than being vulnerable.
At the same time, the thought of going on another date anytime soon makes my stomach roll. My palms start to sweat just thinking about it. What if I can’t do it again? What if my body never forgets what happened? What if this one night quietly rewrites the rest of my life? How does anyone come back from that?
Needing to get out of my head and do something, I lace up my sneakers and walk the neighborhood midmorning listening to my favorite true crime podcast. By the third block I’m feeling mildly better.
When I get back home, I clean because my hands need something solid to focus on. I wipe down the counters even though there’s nothing on them. Fold laundry I’d been ignoring for a week. Toss expired mail. Line shoes up by the door until they’re straight like little soldiers. There’s something calming about making the world behave when my head still feels unpredictable.
I freeze halfway through wiping the coffee table when my brain suddenly replays the way Rev sat on my couch, solid and quiet and unbothered by the chaos in my head. My phone is in my hand before I realize I picked it up.
Me:IYou good?
I stare at the message like it might bite me, then delete it.
Me:Thanks again for staying the other night.
I delete that too.
Me:Hey.
Delete. I set the phone facedown on the table and go back to scrubbing an already spotless table harder than necessary.
By Wednesday afternoon I’ve almost convinced myself I’m fine enough to run an errand alone. I need milk and a few things to make some meals since I’ve gone through everything my sisters brought over. I’m halfway through the grocery store, when a man steps too close behind me in the fruit section and my body locks up like a startled animal. My breath goes shallow and my palms go damp around the basket handle. My brain goes blank in that stupid, useless way. Instead of going to check out like a normal person, I abandon the basket and walk out without buying anything.
In the car, I sit gripping the steering wheel until my pulse slows back down, heat rising behind my eyes even though I’m annoyed at myself for reacting at all. That poor man did nothing wrong and I acted like a skittish animal. “It’s fine,” I mutter out loud to the empty car. “You’re fine.”
My phone buzzes.
Bella: I made too much food again. Come help us eat it.
I text back immediately.
Me: On my way.
At Bella’s, baby Jax climbs me like a jungle gym and smears something sticky on my cheek. Bella laughs so hard she almost drops a dish towel. Bri steals half my fries without asking and calls it “sister tax.” We argue about a reality show like it’s a moral debate. Being there makes me feel most like myself.
Now it’sThursday and I just pulled into a parking lot. I’m sitting here longer than I need to, hands resting on the steering wheel while a couple of people walk in and out of the building ahead of me. My chest feels tight, like my lungs aren’t quite getting the message that nothing bad is happening right now. After another few seconds, I shut the engine off, grab my purse, and get out before I can change my mind.
