“That’s really sweet, but I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“No? I’m sure we could find you someone to?—”
“Nah.” I kept my voice light. “I’m kind of enjoying the quiet, honestly. Just me and William, figuring things out.”
The silence on the other end lasted half a beat too long. Trish was thinking about Craig. I’d told her enough—that I’d ended a relationship before I moved, that it hadn’t been healthy, that I was still working through some things. She’d never pushed for details, but I knew she’d drawn her own conclusions.
“Well,” she said finally, “the offer stands. No pressure. But when you’re ready, I’m here.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“So.” Trish’s voice brightened, pivoting away from the topic with practiced ease. “Did you hear about the assembly coming up?”
“The reptile guy?” I matched her energy, grateful for the redirect. “William’s been looking up snakes on my laptop every night. Did you know there are over three thousand species?”
“I did not know that, and I’m choosing to remain blissfully ignorant.” She laughed. “Theo’s already asking if he can hold one. Mrs. Patterson sent home the permission slip yesterday. Apparently, they’re bringing a boa constrictor. Aboa constrictor, Kayla. To an elementary school.”
“I’m sure they’re professionals.”
“Famous last words. I give it ten minutes before some kid tries to set it free.”
“Five if it’s William.”
“Three if it’s Theo.”
We both laughed, and for a moment, everything feltsimple. Just two moms joking about their kids, no complicated histories, no baggage.
“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work,” Trish said. “But seriously—thank you again.”
“Anytime. I mean it.”
“I know you do. That’s why you’re the front-runner for becoming my very best friend in the entire universe. Talk soon?”
I laughed. “Talk soon.”
I hung up and set the phone on the table. The golden retriever’s empty face sat on the page surrounded by eraser shavings, waiting for me to draw the proper eyes.
A ding notification sounded.
I glanced over, expecting a follow-up text from Trish. But the notification wasn’t a text. I reached up and slid my finger across the mouse pad on my laptop, bringing it to life. It was an email.
From Craig.
My stomach dropped.
I should have closed the laptop without reading. That’s what my therapist had told me to do: don’t engage, don’t respond, just move the message to the folder we’d created specifically for his emails. “Evidence.” That was the folder’s name. Not “Do Not Read,” which had been my first instinct, back when I’d thought ignoring him would make him stop. The new name was my therapist’s suggestion, because we’d started talking about a restraining order, and every message Craig sent was another line in a file I hoped I’d never need but couldn’t afford to throw away.
But this one was short. So short that the preview showed the entire message.
No man is ever going to want you. You know that, right? You’re used goods. Damaged. Any guy who looks twice at you is going to figure that out eventually. I’m just saving them the trouble.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Six months. Six months since I’d ended it, since I’d packed up my life and my son and moved hundreds of miles to get away from him. And still, he found ways to reach me—I blocked his number, and he used some sort of burner phone app to work around it.
Always sending these little poison darts, designed to lodge under my skin and fester. Why? I had no idea. It wasn’t as if I had truly meant anything to him.
I closed my laptop. My hands were shaking.
