And the terrifying hope that someone might want the same kind of messy, full life I’d always dreamed of.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ben
She’d said it so beautifully.
Every word, every soft hope wrapped in laughter and cinnamon-sugar dreams. Fifi hadn’t just told me her vision of the future. She painted it in color. Bright, vibrant, home-spun colors. And for a few suspended seconds, I let myself believe I could be part of that painting.
Until reality snapped back.
And I remembered I was the wrong shape for the frame.
I left her house a little while later—kissed her cheek, touched the side of her face, let her believe I had to return some calls. It wasn’t a lie, not really. But it wasn’t the full truth either.
I needed space.
Not from her.
From myself.
I walked along the downtown, glancing at the lake, and making my way back to the lodge, where the trees grew thickerand the trail to the overlook wasn’t as popular this time of day. The shadows stretched long, and the fading sun lit up the lake in gold, and I tried to breathe.
Tried not to drown in it.
Those images she gave me —kids running barefoot through the lodge, her daughter helping in the kitchen, the rescue farm becoming part of their DNA —it gutted me. Not because it wasn’t beautiful. But because it was.
And I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
Or worse, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be capable of giving it to her.
I ran a hand through my hair and stared out over the trees.
I’d built my life out of hard choices. Stayed in Florida while my brother ran from everything. Took care of our parents as a teenager as they slowly drank themselves into the ground. Made myself useful. Responsible. The son who didn’t flake.
And when it was over?
I graduated from law school.
I got married.
I got promoted.
Made partner.
A shiny plaque, a corner office, and absolutely no one to call when I got there.
My marriage had been brief, brittle, and born of desperation to be normal. It ended with mutual silence and a thank-you-for-trying handshake. I hadn’t even fought for it, because somewhere deep down, I knew I was already too hollowed out to hold someone else's hope. After a year or two, I realized my wife didn’t even like me. She just loved my title.
So, I focused on my work, even though it made me sour and desperate to feel something.
And then came Fifi.
Bright, stubborn, ridiculous Fifi.
With her glitter and muffins and chickens, who might be possessed.
She’d tilted my world off its axis.
