Page 29 of My Girl to Take

And then the front door opens.

I freeze. Because no one just walks in. My grip tightens around the strap of my bag before I set it on the couch.

My chest goes tight as Ivy steps inside like she never left. Like this is still her house, and she has every right to be here after everything she did.

She looks exactly the same. Dark hair cut into a sleek bob, a face that looks just like mine—only older, with more makeup. Perfectly put together. Immaculate as she likes to be.

The only difference is her eyes. Hers are amber, and mine are green. I have spent my whole life being quietly grateful for the one feature of mine that didn’t come from her. I have no idea where it came from. I’ve never known who my father was and she has never once offered. I stopped asking when I was eleven because of how much she enjoyed being asked.

Then she sees me.

“Kiera,” she breathes, her expression shifting instantly, her eyes filling with tears so quickly it would be convincing if I did not know her.

Shock gives way to something colder. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice sharp.

She moves toward me without hesitation, like my tone doesn’t faze her at all. “I just heard about Garth,” she says, her voice breaking as the tears spill over. “I came as soon as I could.”

I don’t move. I don’t step forward. I don’t reach for her. Because I have seen this before. Too many times.

“You heard,” I repeat, my tone flat.

“Yes,” she nods quickly, stepping closer. “He’s sick, Kiera. Really sick. He needs someone. He needs his wife.”

The word lands wrong inside of me. My stomach drops. “You left him.”

Her expression flickers, but only for a second before it smooths over again. “I made a mistake,” she says quickly. “I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how to handle everything, and I—” She lets out a shaky breath. “But I’m here now. I want to fix it.”

I stare at her. Really look at her. And all I see is calculation beneath the tears.

“You want me to convince him to take you back.”

It isn’t a question. Her silence confirms it.

“Kiera,” she starts, her voice softening. “You know how much he loves you. He’ll listen to—.”

“No,” I cut in, my voice steady now. “He won’t. And even if he did, I wouldn’t ask him to do that.”

Her expression tightens. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly.” My hands close at my sides. “You left when things got difficult. You stayed gone. And now that he’s sick, now that he’s vulnerable, you suddenly want to come back.”

“That’s not fair,” she snaps, the tears drying a little too quickly.

“It’s accurate,” I reply.

Her eyes narrow slightly, the softness slipping just enough to reveal what’s underneath. “I am still his wife,” she says, her tone sharpening. “You don’t get to put me out of my own house. Legally, you can’t.”

The words land, but they don’t shake me.

“Maybe not,” I admit calmly. “But I can call the police and explain that you’re trespassing in a home you abandoned nine years ago.”

We stare at each other. Then her expression shifts. Not guilt. Not regret.

Irritation.

“You’ve changed,” she says, cooler now.

“I had to,” I reply with a raised brow.