Liam gives me a look. Not angry. Not soft, either. Just tired.
“Then maybe start acting like it,” he says, and shuts the door.
31
OLIVE
Writing Frenzy
By the time I get to Nina’s, my limbs feel like they’re moving through water.
Everything is dull.
Muted.
Like someone turned the contrast down on the world and forgot to turn it back up.
I climb the stairs slowly, dragging my suitcase behind me. Each step feels heavier than the last, not because of the weight of the bag, but becauseI’mheavier. Like heartbreak adds mass.
I don’t knock. Nina buzzed me in the second I texted her. I barely remember typing it—just a few words that probably looked more like keyboard smash than coherent English.
She opens the door before I even raise my hand to knock.
And the moment she sees me, her whole face softens.
“Hey,” she says gently.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I just… stand there.
Blank. Silent. A hollow version of myself.
Then she wraps her arms around me, and I finally exhale for the first time all day—a slow, shuddering breath as I press my forehead to her shoulder and clutch the fabric of her hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
She holds on tighter.
After a minute, I pull back, eyes glazed and dry from holding too much in.
“He didn’t want me,” I whisper.
Nina’s face doesn’t flinch, but her jaw tenses just enough that I notice.
She nods once, stepping aside so I can come in. “Spare room’s made up. You remember where the mugs are. I’ll make tea.”
I nod too, but it feels like my head isn’t attached to my body.
I wheel my suitcase down the short hallway into the guest room—the same one I’ve crashed in a dozen times over the years. Back when Nina and I hosted movie marathons. Or that night I had a little too much to drink and couldn’t face my grandma seeing me like that.
I know this room.
It knows me.
But this time, it brings no comfort.
Nina comes in, holding a mug.
“Chamomile,” she says. “Didn’t have anything stronger, but I figured we’ll escalate to wine later.”
