The name came out without thought, natural as breathing, and she saw Melissa’s expression flicker—surprise, then something softer, even though she had already given permission. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the name as the order.
Melissa sat.
June moved around the kitchen, pulling out the plate she’d saved from dinner, heating it in the microwave, and pouring aglass of wine. She set everything in front of Melissa and then, after a moment’s hesitation, poured a glass for herself and sat down on the stool beside her.
“Eat,” she said. “Then talk. If you want.”
Melissa picked up her fork. For a while, she just ate—slowly, mechanically, like she’d forgotten food could be a source of pleasure. June sipped her wine and waited.
“The bill is stalling,” Melissa said finally, setting down her fork. “Three committee members who were solid votes are suddenly ‘reconsidering their positions.’ Someone leaked a draft amendment to a reporter who twisted it into a hit piece. And my ex-husband—” She stopped, jaw tightening.
“What about your ex-husband?”
“He gave a quote to a journalist. Something about how I was ‘always more interested in my career than my family.’” Melissa’s voice was flat, controlled, but June could hear the anger underneath. “He was the one who had an affair, and somehow I’m the one being painted as cold and ambitious.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not.” Melissa took a long drink of wine. “But fairness isn’t really the point, is it? The point is to make me look bad. To make people question whether I’m doing this for the good of the people, or for myself.”
June was quiet for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I think you handle pressure better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Melissa looked up at her, eyes still so, so tired. “You barely know me.”
“I know you well enough.” June turned on her stool, facing Melissa fully. “I know you go in and kiss Lila goodbye when she’s sleeping every morning, even when you’re running late. I know you hum when you think no one’s listening, but you only do it when you’re happy. I know you pretend you don’t like sugar in your coffee because you think it’s undignified, but that you reallyprefer it with.” She paused. “I know you’re harder on yourself than anyone else ever could be. And I know that whatever your ex-husband says about you, it’s not the truth.”
Melissa stared at her. The kitchen was very quiet, just the faint tick of the oven timer counting down the brownies.
“How do you do that?” Melissa asked softly.
“Do what?”
“See me. The real me, not the—” She gestured vaguely. “Not the version I show everyone else.”
“Maybe because I’m not everyone else. And because I’m here when you’re not her.”
The words hung between them. June’s heart was pounding now, loud in her ears, and she knew she should say something to break the tension, to pull them back to safer ground.
She didn’t.
“My marriage was hollow from the start,” Melissa said. “I didn’t see it then. I thought we were in love, thought we wanted the same things. But Michael—he wanted a certain kind of wife. Someone who would support his ambitions, not have her own. Look pretty on his arm, but be quiet and not contradict him… and definitely not be more successful than him.” She laughed bitterly. “The affair was almost a relief, honestly. It gave me a reason to leave that people could understand.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not, anymore. But the shame—” Melissa’s voice cracked. “The shame of having my private life dissected in public. Of knowing that everyone was reading about my husband’s infidelity and wondering what I’d done to drive him to it. That doesn’t go away.”
June reached out without thinking and covered Melissa’s hand with her own. Melissa’s fingers were cold, trembling.
“You didn’t do anything,” June said. “He made a choice. That was about him, not you.”
“I know that. Intellectually.” Melissa turned her hand over, and suddenly they were holding hands, palm to palm, fingers intertwined. “But there’s always a part of me that wonders. If I’d been different. If I’d been… enough.”
“Youareenough.” The words came out fierce, certain. “You’re more than enough.”
Melissa’s eyes met hers, and June saw something vulnerable there. Something raw and unguarded in a way Melissa never allowed herself to be.
“Before I moved back home,” June said softly, “I was with someone. Her name was Ember.”
Melissa’s expression shifted—curiosity, maybe, or something else. She didn’t pull her hand away.
