“I know you’ve carried everything on your own for a long time,” he continues. “But you deserve to have someone in your corner. Someone who fights beside you, not against you.”
I nod because right now, I can’t seem to make words come out of my mouth.
He smiles. “Just think about it.”
I nod as he presses a kiss to my temple—devastating in its simplicity—and walks toward the door.
I follow him down the short hallway, each step heavier than the last. He pauses at the doorway, glancing back once. The look in his eyes isn’t pity or obligation. It’s something deeper.
“I’m here if you need me.”
And then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut, and I stand there, hand still resting on the knob. When I finally let go, I lean back against the door, heart hammering in my chest.
The house feels too quiet, the air too still.
It’s always been me and Evie. I’ve always done it all on my own. Every sleepless night, every bill, every holiday, every doctor’s visit. It’s been me.
And the thought of someone wanting to help scares the shit out of me.
Sunday brunch at Penny’s is filled with coffee, syrup, and cinnamon rolls the size of my head. It’s cozy, every table filled with familiar faces. Haddie Carmichael waves from a seat at the counter like we’re her morning entertainment—which, honestly, we probably are.
Brynn slides into the booth first, still wearing that newlywed glow that makes her look like she has a permanent Instagram filter. “God, it feels good to be back. I missed this.”
Kinsey plops down beside her, dropping her sunglasses on the table. “You were gone for two weeks. Besides, you missed bacon, not us.”
Brynn smirks. “Both can be true.”
Evie sits beside me, swinging her little legs under the table, coloring a kids’ menu with a pink crayon that’s seen better days. She’s humming quietly, already halfway through her orange juice.
“So,” I say, eyeing Kinsey’s hair. “I see you got your hair done. Black looks good on you. It brings out your eyes.”
“I haven’t had it this dark since college. My rugby teammates and I would dye our hair every season,” she says, grinning. “It’s my power color.”
Evie looks up, curious. “What’s rugby?”
Kinsey leans closer, whispering like it’s classified information. “It’s like football but tougher. We didn’t wear helmets.”
Evie gasps. “Did you die?”
“Almost,” Kinsey says, deadpan. “Three times.”
Brynn shakes her head, laughing. “Please don’t tell her that.”
“What? It’s the truth,” Kinsey replies. “The kid’s got grit, she’ll understand.”
Evie beams, clearly pleased to be part of the conversation. “I do have grit!”
“Sure do, kiddo,” I say, trying not to laugh.
When the waitress brings our plates—pancakes for Evie, omelets for the rest of us—the conversation turns easy and familiar. Brynn talks about the new house Knox is having built out by the old Magnolia Hotel, how she’s already picking paint colors and pretending she knows the difference between “linen white” and “ivory lace.”
Kinsey teases her about becoming “a Stepford wife with a Pinterest addiction,” and Brynn just rolls her eyes, happy in that way people are when they’ve found exactly where they belong.
For a little while, I forget the knot in my stomach. It’s nice to laugh. Nice to be around people who don’t need me to be anything but myself.
“Mommy,” Evie says suddenly, pointing across the restaurant. “That’s Lily from my class!”
