I curled into the new couch—the leather still stiff, not yet molded to anyone's shape—another gift from Damien after I'd refused to buy my own.
Couldn't.
Years of influencer money sat untouched in an account I rarely looked at—because Garrett had always insisted on paying.A man takes care of his woman.I'd thought it was romantic.
Now I recognized it for what it was. Another leash.
The money was gone. Drawn from the account the moment I'd walked out the door.
I was back where I started.
Target welcome mat. Trader Joe's wine.
I hadn't told Emma. Had lied to her about the dentures deal.
And she'd believed me.
I stared at the TV I'd finally managed to hook up. Some reality show blared across the screen: women in sequins screaming at each other over a man who wasn't worth the mascara they were crying off.
Relatable content.
My phone buzzed against the cushion.
I didn't look. I didn't need to.
The buzzing came again. And again.
I reached for the wine instead—a Trader Joe's rosé that tasted like it cost exactly nine dollars—and took a long swallow. The bubbles bit at my tongue.
The phone buzzed a fourth time.
Just look at it. Get it over with.
I grabbed it before I could stop myself.
Garrett: I miss you.
Garrett: I know I messed up. I know I don't deserve another chance.
Garrett: But I'm trying. I started therapy. Real therapy.
Garrett: Please just let me explain.
I stared until the words smudged.
Trying.
Real therapy.
Please.
Garrett didn't say please.
Garrett demanded. Pushed. Twisted things until I couldn't remember what I'd been upset about in the first place.
But this Garrett…
The guy who brought me flowers on random Tuesdays. Who held me every night as I fell asleep. Who said I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
