No magic. No midnight. Just me, finally stepping into my own life.
The glass slipper was never the point.
The girl who wore it was.
I pull his T-shirt from my carry-on—the one I stole from the bathroom floor while he was loading the car—and press it to my face. It still smells like him. Clean linen and something woodsy.
"Is that his shirt?" Grace asks.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're literally inhaling it."
"It's a breathing exercise."
Chapter 19
Room to Breathe
February 4–20 | Boston
Jane
My phone buzzes. I glance down.
WEST:My housekeeper reorganized my kitchen. I can't find anything.
ME:Says the NHL center who tracks everything. Why are you really texting?
WEST:Thought I’d try something new instead of “I miss you.”
ME:West.
WEST:Jane.
I laugh and pick up my coffee. Take a sip and grimace. Cold again.
Anguilla spoiled me.
ME:I miss you too.
I set my phone down, and my brain immediately pivots to work.
Some days I swear Jane of All Services LLC is Bigfoot.
I’m out here hauling projects, leaving giant footprints across client deliverables, and people still act shocked when I show up in broad daylight asking to be paid.
So imagine my surprise when two invoices creeping toward thirty days past due clear withouta single reminder email.
No passive-aggressiveper my last message.No smoke signal. No carrier pigeon.
Just… money.
I briefly consider checking the sky for falling frogs.
Here’s the thing about running a business—a lesson I earned the expensive way:
Business solvency and personal survival are two different sports.
