“C’mon, someone has to have something they’d like to get off their chest today,” Margo urges. If no one volunteers, she’ll begin calling on people to talk. I’m assuming she’s giving Wren the opportunity to talk on her own terms instead of throwing her off balance and inviting her to share her story.
Wren squeezes my hand before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the long column of her neck. “I’d like to share.”
Margo nods encouragingly. “Of course.”
Wren exhales, long and heavy. Her teeth nibble on her bottom lip as she shifts in her seat. “I left this town ten years ago, and I never thought I’d return.” She pauses, glancing around the circle. “I thought leaving meant healing. If I stayed away, started over, I’d outrun everything I’d lost.”
Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “But the thing is, pain doesn’t stay in one place. Nope, it packs its suitcase and flies along with you. No matter how many layovers and new flights, the pain follows you wherever you go.”
The group is silent, everyone hanging on to every word that leaves Wren’s lips. She shares the journey of losing our baby–the pain and heartbreak that caused. How landing an internship changed the trajectory of her life even more. Her voice breaks, but she stays strong. I sit beside her, extremely proud of how she’s opening up and taking the first step in healing.
Shaking her head, she bounces her gaze around the circle before continuing. “But what a cruel joke the world played on me. Because that’s when everything started to fall apart. I left Ohio and woke up in a nightmare.”
Chapter 35
Wren
Theroomfades,edgesblurring until all I can hear is the low hum of the ceiling fan and my own uneven breathing. Everyone’s quiet. I can feel their eyes on me, but it’s his gaze I feel most.
“I was twenty-three,” I say finally, my voice trembling. “Fresh out of college, future unknown, and what better way to figure it out than by living next to the beach. The Pacific Ocean, a place I dreamed about visiting.”
“I thought I’d made it,” I tell them as the backs of my eyes burn with tears. “Selling homes to people I used to watch on TV, going to movie premieres, getting dolled up to walk the red carpet and attending photo shoots where I was the center of attention. It felt like I was waiting for someone to pinch me and wake me up from a dream. My boss used to say opportunity only knocks once, and in that moment, I believed him.”
The memory pulls me under like a riptide.
The morning I arrive in California, the air tastes like salt and sunshine. The smell of air pollution fills my nose, but I push it aside, focusing on the positives.
The world feels endless here. I step out of my rental car, the soles of my shoes clunking along the sidewalk as I stare up at the stunning building in front of me. My new job at the firm feels like proof that the universe finally decided to cut me some slack.
A doorman—yes, a doorman—holds the door open for me as I step inside the luxe entrance. With pleasantries exchanged atthe receptionist’s desk, I’m handed the keys to my new apartment, which the firm provided.
For the first month, I barely breathe. Everyone in the office moves too fast, talks too loud, and smells like money. I’ve never felt more out of place in my entire life. Coffee is frowned upon. It’s matcha and green juice, both tasting like grass and something we feed our livestock back home. I’m the youngest associate, dumbstruck as I listen to them talk about A-list celebrities and professional athletes as if they’re one of us. My head spins as I watch the listings flash across my tablet and gawk at the multi-million-dollar price tags.
Each night I go home, I start to feel more settled than the night before. I’m getting my feet wet in this new world. Evenings spent sipping cheap champagne from coffee mugs as I stroll the beach and think,this is where everything changes.
And it does, but not how I expected it to.
I blink and the smell of the ocean fades. Fidgeting in my seat, I play with the hem of my skirt as I’m brought back to the present.
“When all you’re looking for is something new, something different, a way to escape the pain from your past, you miss the warning signs,” I say softly, keeping my eyes on my lap. “You keep chasing the high, trying to find your place in an unfamiliar world.”
Someone murmurs their agreement in the circle, and I risk a glance up, noticing the group leader nodding.
“You said it felt like a dream?” she asks.
“It did.” I nod, swallowing hard. “Until he showed up.”
I fight the urge to reach for Jett.
It happens in the little moments, life’s tiny candids that look too good to be true. Attending rooftop parties and lunches at restaurants with year-long waiting lists. I start feeling on top of the world, in a state of disbelief that this was my reality. A girl from Small Town, USA, who grew up mucking stalls wearing cowboy boots.
Then after a year in LA, I started spending more time with Elias, my boss’s son.
Elias is the kind of man who captures a room. His height commands attention while his dazzling smile and boyish charm keeps your eyes glued to his polished, designer suits. The first time we shook hands, I could feel the air shift. At five years older than me, I hung on to every word he said, especially when the praises rolled in.
He was impressed with the way I carried myself, effortlessly charming the clients, dazzling them with sales pitches until they were willing to buy anything I was selling. “You have a natural, raw talent so many agents wish they possessed,” he said. No one had ever told me that before—not like that. And with the way his smile beamed and his eyes sparkled, I practically ate out of his palm.
At first, everything seemed harmless. A few calls lasting longer than they should, caffeine runs turning into lunches, and late-night meetings shifting to after-work drinks.
