She scoffed. “We’d probably have run and never looked back.”
“Do you remember the first year of college?” I asked, glancing at her profile. “When we were absolutely convinced we’d have everything figured out by thirty?”
Violet groaned. “We were never more wrong.” Violet tapped the railing, her fingernails echoing between us. She was anxious, I realized. “Turns out life doesn’t care about bullet points.”
I blew a raspberry. “I thought I’d be fearless and own every room I walked into.”
The wind lifted a strand of my hair, brushing it across my cheek.
“You kind of do,” Violet pointed out. “You’re a freaking badass in those delivery rooms.”
“So are you,” I replied. “Just think of how much you’ve helped. Maybe not in delivery rooms, but people have walked out your door stronger than when they entered through it.”
Violet let out a soft breath. “If you say so.”
I sighed. “I miss those days, or rather that feeling of invincibility.”
Violet considered my words, her head tilted slightly while the wind kicked up around us.
“I miss who I thought I was going to be,” she said finally. “It’s funny though…”
“What is?” I asked.
“We learned so much about bodies and psyches, but nothing about how to live with the choices we make.”
I bumped my shoulder lightly against hers. “We can still figure it out.”
Those might’ve been the most positive words and thoughts I’d had in a long time, but funny enough, at this moment, I meant them. For her sake and my own.
I closed my eyes for a second, letting our shared memories fill the space where expectations used to be.
Chapter 4
Sophie
Four Months Later
The weather in Croatia had been perfect since my feet touched the ground back in late March—warm days softened by a coastal breeze accompanied the most beautiful scenery. Sunlight spilled across terracotta roofs and ancient stone streets, making every stroll out of my apartment feel like I was on the set of some summer romance blockbuster.
At first, I let myself believe that was all it was: a break from everything, a pause.
Then something shifted.
Paranoia—or maybe caution—crept in, growing with each passing day. I couldn’t point to a moment when it began, only that it did. I became certain someone was following me, even though I never caught a glimpse of them. It was in the instinct of that subtle tingling of awareness at the back of your neck.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore that prickling sensation. Or maybe I was losing my mind. That was definitely a possibility.
Whatever the truth was, I couldn’t sit still anymore.
So, I abandoned the little coastal Croatian town and moved. However, wherever I went, a shadow followed.
I told myself I was chasing beauty, history, and coastline. Anything and everything but fear. I left Pula, Rovinj, and Porec, drifting through both small towns and larger cities, stopping briefly but never long enough to settle. Never long enough to get to know anyone but definitely long enough to try out every ice cream shop in town.
I followed the glittering Adriatic south, but the feeling of being followed never loosened its grip. It surged again—gaining momentum—and once I reached the very south of the country, I crossed the border into Montenegro. I stayed on the move there too, changing locations just often enough to feel like I was one step ahead of something I couldn’t name.
But even that wasn’t far enough.
By the first week of June, I’d slipped into Albania, carrying the same unease with me, but after a few days, it felt like the shadow had fallen behind, so I decided this was where I’d stay. Clearly, my dart landed in the wrong country, but thankfully, I’d remedied that.
