Thirty years of believing love was a liability.
Turns out I was right.
Just not the way I thought.
Kristen
The suitcase won't close.
I stare at it like it's personally betrayed me, this cheap piece of luggage I bought three years ago. The zipper's stuck on a corner of fabric, and my hands shake too hard to fix it.
Get it together. You've packed under worse conditions.
True. I once packed everything Lily and I owned in forty-five minutes while Jack was at work, terrified he'd come home early and catch me. This should be nothing.
But my fingers won't cooperate.
"Mommy?"
Lily stands in the doorway of her beautiful room. Her arms are full of plush bunnies, at least six of them clutched against her chest.
"Hey, baby girl." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. Small miracle. "Remember what I said? Just pick the ones you really, really want for tonight. We can get the rest later."
Lie. We won't be back for the rest.
Lily's lower lip trembles. "But I want all of them."
"I know." I abandon the stubborn suitcase and cross to her, kneeling so we're eye level. "But we're going back to our house now. Remember our apartment? Your room there?"
Her eyes go wide. "Why?"
A thousand answers crowd my throat. Because I'm an idiot who fell for a man who makes decisions about my life without asking. Because I let myself believe this could be real. Because staying here one more minute will break something in me I can't afford to lose.
"My job here was always temporary, remember? Just for a little while." I smooth her hair back from her face. "Giulia's coming back soon, and she doesn't need my help anymore."
"But I don't want to leave." Lily's voice cracks. "I like it here. I like Vittoria and Nora and the rabbits outside and Nico."
Nico.
My chest caves in.
"I know you do, sweetheart." I pull her into a hug, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. "I know."
"Can we visit? Like, come back sometimes?"
The question slices through me. "We'll see."
Another lie. The list grows longer.
Lily pulls back, her small face too serious for four years old. "You're sad."
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry in front of her.
"I'm just tired." I force a smile. "It's been a long day. Let's pick two rabbits for tonight, okay? The others will be safe here until... until we figure things out."
She considers this with devastating gravity, then slowly extracts Sir Floppington the Fourth and the purple one Vittoria bought her last week. The rest she sets carefully on her canopy bed, arranging them in a row like she's saying goodbye.
My throat closes.
