I believe her.
After weeks of agonizing. Of cursing my own heart. Of holding onto my ridiculous hope.
I know she’s telling me the truth.
She wouldn’t leave me. Even though she left me.
She is still the girl I fell in love with. I can hear it in her voice. As far as she’s concerned, nothing’s changed between us.
“Christ. Okay… Okay.” I drag a hand down my face. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t break up with me. We are still together.” It’s not a question, but I still need to hear her confirm it.
I hear her breath blow out a shaky breath. “Yes, we are still together.”
I nod, processing this and then pluck the first one from the mountain of questions I’ve collected for her.
“Where exactly have you been, Hattie?”
She clears her throat. “Um… I’m at Summit House.”
Summit House?
She says this like I’m supposed to know what it means.
“What’s Summit House?”
Hattie draws in a long breath and lets out a watery sigh.
“It’s… a residential program for…” She trails off.
I frown. “For what?”
I swear to God, if she says weight loss or some bullshit like that, I will lose my fucking mind. Hillary and Randall Mercier won’t know what hit them.
“For people… like me,” she says.
I growl the words. “What do you mean, like you?”
She scoffs. “You know.”
“I do not know.”
She sighs again. “Neurospicy people. People who have—you know—trouble getting their shit together.”
My brows collide. “Wait. What?”
“People with ASD or hypersensitivity or obsessive-compulsive disorder—” she rattles off. “Or their own specific neurodivergent cocktail who need help functioning. In the real world.”
It’s the emphasis she places on the last four words that jars me.
As if Hattie doesn’t fit into the world I inhabit.
My world.
I scowl. “Who told you you needed that?”
A short laugh escapes her, popping like a champagne cork. And then her laughter bubbles over.
“Beck. Only everyone.”
