I folded it before the words could keep echoing.
Then I looked at his.
His handwriting was neater, slower, like he’d taken his time. The comparison to Archie was right there, Archie might think fast on his feet and talk a swifter game, but he always took the time to dot his i’s deliberately.
He said he was sorry. That he hadn’t meant for things to happen that way. That Maddy could be impulsive — his word, not mine — and that she’d meant well, even if her way of showing it had been... off.
He wrote that he should’ve given me time. That he wanted to be part of my life but would wait as long as I needed. That none of this was supposed to feel like an ambush.
And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the morning light, or the fact that his words were actually kind, but I didn’t know what to do with any of them.
How do you process kindness from someone who’s also the reason your chest feels cracked open? I leaned against the counter, staring at the purple reflection in the toaster like it might have answers.
Somewhere in the middle of my foggy brain, a memory of Archie surfaced, his sly grin, the way he’d tossed me that half-wink at lunch, the sound of his voice when he told me I had “that look” again, like I needed to do something reckless.
If Maddy had ambushed me, she could do the same to him.
God, shewoulddo the same to him. The realization hit like cold water down my back.
I needed to tell him. Before she did. Before Mr. Standish tried to “fix things” in his too-gentle, too-charming way—not that Archie ever referred to his father as possessing either characteristic.
I pushed off the counter, heart already drumming faster than it should’ve been for before six in the morning. I started the coffee, then detoured in to grab clothes so I could throw myself through a swift shower, after I tied my hair up, before I got dressed.
Rachel was still asleep, a faint snore escaping her open mouth. I would have laughed at her but I’d woken up with a bit of dried drool on the side of my mouth. Let her sleep without judgment, she’d more than earned it after coming to my rescue and sticking it out.
Me, though? I was already in motion.
Because if there was one thing I’d learned in the last forty-eight hours: silence didn’t protect you. It just allowed other people to write your story for you.
No way in hell would I let Maddy write any more of mine. Not again. Once I was dressed, I poured myself a coffee and opened my phone. It was still early for Arch, but I couldn’t push it off any later.
For a second, I just stared at the open message with his name at the top. There were a couple of messages already there from the weekend.
Frankie?
That was from Saturday morning.
I know you're mad. You have every right to be.
Just... check in, okay?
Even if it's just one word.
I need to know you’re okay.
And if you’re not?
I’ll fix it. Whatever you need—I’ll do it.
Just say the word.
Another from the afternoon. Then one from the day before.
I get it. You’re pissed. Call me.
Five minutes later, he added:
Please.
