“My marriage to Khalifa.” I stared at the cracked photo frame on my desk. “We weren’t...in love. It was all fake. He wanted his mom to see him married before she died, and I wanted to move out.” Her mouth fell open, but I quickly rushed on. “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be, but can we save that part for later? I really need—”
“You lied?” she snapped, her voice cutting through mine. “To myface? After I asked you, over and over, to tell me what was going on—you just kept lying?”
I opened my mouth, but she didn’t give me the chance to speak.
“I told you that I wanted what you and Khalifa had,” she said, voice rising, “and you just stood there and nodded, like your marriage wasn’t some tacky, overdone trope in a romance novel.”
“Yes, okay, but things changed—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She shook her head, blinking fast. “God, Lilly, you always made me feel like I was some stupid airhead for wanting to get married, for wanting to be in love, to have a family—but you know what I think?”
My pulse stuttered. “Sarah—”
“I think youdowant what I want,” she said, voice breaking. “What every girl wants. You’re just too much of a coward to open up and love anyone other than yourself.”
Her words landed like a slap. “Excuse me? Where is this coming from?”
“It’s been a long time coming,” she said. “Let me guess—Khalifa made a mistake, right? He messed up like any normal person does sometimes, and instead of giving him a chance, you trashed your office and called me to what? Coddle you? Tell you that you’re right and he’s wrong and men suck and blah,feminist, blah?” She laughed once, bitter and low. “I love you, Lilly, but you need a reality check.”
I stared at her, my vocal cords suddenly too stunned to work.
“You need to get over yourself,” she said softly. “Or you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone.” She looked at me for a long moment—hurt, angry, maybe even disappointed—and then added, quieter still, “And maybe that’s secretly what you want. To be alone.”
Before I could find my voice, she turned and walked out, the door clicking shut with a gentle finality that sounded louder than any of our shouting. The silence that followed pressed against my chest until breathing felt like a chore I no longer wanted to perform.
I sagged in my chair, surrounded by the destruction of my own making—shards of ceramic, torn paper, soil scattered like ash. The smell of coffee and dust clung to the air. It looked like grief had lived here for years and only now decided to make itself visible. Sarah’s words replayed in my ears, each one carving its own wound.
Coward.
Alone.
Was she right? Had I built my entire life around keeping people at arm’s length and calling it independence? Around pretending that solitude was a choice, not a consequence? Maybe I’d been confusing strength with fear, disguising self-protection as self-respect, mistaking numbness for peace.
I thought of Khalifa’s face when he said my name, how there’d been something raw in it, something that had terrified me because it asked for trust. And I’d run from it, as I always did—from love, from vulnerability, from anyone who made me feel too much.
His voice echoed in my head—You always do this. You form a story in your head before you hear people out.
The accusation burrowed deep, refusing to let go. Did I always assume the worst before giving people a chance to prove me wrong? Before giving them thegraceI so desperately wanted for myself?
Maybe that was her—my mother—still pulling the strings. Maybe I’d learned mercy was a currency best withheld because she’d never spent a dime of it on me. Maybe mistrust was her inheritance, and I’d been dutifully cashing it ever since.
Now, sitting in the ruins of my office and my pride, I realized Sarah might not have been cruel. She might have been honest.
And honesty, I was learning, hurt worse than heartbreak ever could.
Chapter Forty
HOURS LATER, WHEN Ifinally made it home, the sun had already folded itself beneath the horizon. The city was loud, the world unaware that mine had fallen apart somewhere between my office floor and Sarah’s leaving.
My body felt hollowed out, scraped clean of anger. I’d left it all in that wrecked room—splintered across walls, soaked into carpet fibers, hidden in the shards of what used to be my favorite mug. All that remained now was sadness and love—both untamed, both unwilling to die. They pulsed in me like something alive, ancient and stubborn.
Khalifa was pacing the living room when I opened the door. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and there was a wildness in his eyes that almost broke me. He stopped mid-step when he saw me, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“Lillian,” he said in relief. “You’re here. You came back.”
I didn’t reply. Words felt too heavy, too expensive. I brushed past him and slumped onto the couch, my limbs surrendering to exhaustion. The cushions caught me softly, like they knew I couldn’t take one more hard landing today.
He dropped to his knees in front of me. His hands trembled as he reached for me, then stopped, unsure if he still had permission to touch. He bowed his head into my lap, his breath shaking.
