Too quiet, once.
Now it just feels accurate.
I don’t go out. I don’t drink. I don’t distract myself with noise or bodies or motion. I make something simple to eat and don’t finish it.
Later, I open the document again.
I don’t add to it.
I read it and ask myself one question:
If she never reads this, am I still willing to live by it?
The answer comes quickly.
Yes.
That’s new too.
Somewhere out of state, she’s resting.
Unreachable by design.
Safe from my explanations.
The thought doesn’t hurt.
It steadies me.
I close the file and turn off the light.
Tomorrow will come whether I deserve it or not.
If I ever earn the right to speak to her again, it won’t be because I reached first.
It will be because I learned how not to.
Chapter Thirty-Four
AUDRA
The spa is quiet.
Not silence—never that—but softened sound. Small rock waterfalls built into the walls as you walk to whatever room you’re headed to. Fabric whispering when people pass. Even my own breathing feels moderated, like the room expects calm and I’m willing to meet it halfway.
After my mud bath, I’m wrapped in a robe that smells faintly of eucalyptus and something floral I can’t name. My phone is off. Not silenced. Off.
That distinction matters.
I sink lower into the lounge chair and close my eyes as they begin my intensive facial.
And suddenly I’m back in my office, standing at Alex’s desk with a clipboard in my hands.
I laugh out loud.
The sound surprises me—sharp and uncontained against the hush of the room—but no one minds. No one intrudes.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
