Maggie’s throat tightened. She let her head fall back against the cushion, staring at the soft glow of the ceiling lights, willing her face to stay smooth under the mask.
Because the truth was too messy, too jagged for this quiet spa. And lying — well, she’d been lying about Gwen for months now. What was one more?
Maggie was still staring at the ceiling, rehearsing the fine art of pretending, when Kiera shifted beside her. She reached across the narrow space between their lounge chairs and gently closed her hand over Maggie’s.
“You know,” Kiera said softly, her voice steady in the hush of the spa, “after my divorce, therapy really helped me work things out. Have you… have you tried therapy since your mom passed away?”
The question landed like a strike to the chest.
Maggie’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Shock hit first — like,what? here? now?— and then something in her just… gave. The mask on her skin felt suddenly too tight, the room too warm, her chest too heavy.
Before she could stop herself, her eyes blurred. Tears spilled fast and hot down her temples, cutting clean tracks through the expensive serum.
“Oh—” Kiera squeezed her hand tighter, alarmed but gentle. “Maggie — hey, oh god, did I say something?”
Danica sat up halfway, wide-eyed.
Maggie shook her head, the laugh that tried to escape breaking halfway into a sob. “No — it’s not you — it’s just—” Her breath caught, hitching hard. She dragged herfree hand over her face, smearing tears and spa mask alike. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
But she did know. She knew exactly why.
Because she hadn’t tried therapy. Because she hadn’t done anything except run away. Because she was so tired of pretending, she was fine when everything under her skin still hurt.
Danica leaned closer, voice soft, steady. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
Kiera gave her hand another squeeze. “You don’t have to hold it together all the time, Maggie.”
Maggie closed her eyes, more tears slipping free, her breath shaking. For once, she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Maggie swiped at her face with the edge of the towel, but more tears just kept coming, hot and humiliating. “God,” she choked out, half a laugh, half a sob. “This isn’t… this isn’t supposed to happen. We’re on a spa day. A bachelorette trip. We literally just said this was a no-crying zone.”
Danica’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push. “Maggie…”
“I mean it,” Maggie barreled on, her voice cracking as she tried to wrestle it back under control. “This is supposed to be facials and cucumber water and stupid gossip about Pete. Not me…” She waved her hand at her wet face, the streaks running through her mask. “Not me being thedowner.”
Kiera shook her head, gentle but firm, still holding Maggie’s hand tight. “You’re not a downer. You’re our friend. And if you need to cry, then that’s part of this too.”
Maggie’s chest squeezed so hard she thought she might crack open. She wanted to believe her, but guilt sat like a stone in her throat — guilt for ruining the lightness, guilt for crying when she was supposed to be celebrating, guilt for feeling too much, always too much.
She laughed again, broken and wet. “I’m a cucumber mask disaster.”
Danica reached for her other hand, her grip warm and steady. “You’re not a disaster. You’re human.”
Maggie shut her eyes tight, trying to breathe, trying to stuff the tears back where they belonged. But they kept slipping free, traitorous and hot, as her friends held her hands like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And for one terrifying, relieving moment, Maggie let herself feel all of it — the grief, the guilt, the impossible relief of not being alone in it, even if her friends didn’t know all of it just yet.
Maggie sniffed hard, dragging the towel under her eyes, smearing her mask. “Okay,” she said, voice still wrecked but trying for light. “This is officially too much vulnerability for one spa day.”
Kiera squeezed her hand again, steady. Danica gave her a look that was equal parts concern and tenderness.
Maggie exhaled a shaky laugh, forcing her mouth into a crooked grin. “Danica, don’t you want to add some trauma to even the score? Really balance the energy in here?”
Danica blinked, startled, then let out an incredulous laugh. “What, like… ‘Surprise, I once shoplifted lip gloss in high school’?”
“That doesn’t count,” Maggie said, managing a smile. “Trauma minimum is at least a dead relative or failed relationship.”
Kiera groaned into her towel. “You’re impossible.”
