I keep scrolling anyway because apparently I enjoy emotional self-destruction.
In one photo, she’s laughing against his chest while he looks down at her. In another, she’s gripping his arm while he smirks at something she said. Every shot feels intimate even though I know logically it’s just marketing.
Still, logic isn’t doing much for me right now.
“Shit,” I whisper when I reach the final image.
Whit’s wrapped around his arm, and Zach’s head is angled downward just enough that it looks like he’s staring directly at her ass with absolutely no guilt at all.
Why should he have any guilt?
We aren't technically together.I’mthe one who left. I’m the one who created all this space between us in the first place, and now I’m sitting here acting jealous of a photoshoot.
A few of the comments register before I can turn the screen off and stuff the phone in my purse.
They need to date.
Is it weird to get aroused for them?
Imagine what their kids would look like!
The comments I read are still there, front of mind.
Am I too late?
I let the thought sit with me for a second and think about everything Zach and I have already survived.
The distance. The timing. The fear.
My chest still aches, but underneath it, something steadier starts to rise. A feeling I recognize immediately.
It’s the same feeling I had standing at the edge of the cliff. The same one I felt when I hitconfirmon my enrollment while the ship’s horn sounded in the distance.
It's a knowing feeling that I'm slowly learning to trust.
No. It's not too late, it's not even close, but I can't keep expecting him to wait for me forever just because he always has before.
You could lose this.
It's all I think. I’ve spent so long convincing myself I needed to become some perfect, fully healed version of myself before I could accept the kind of love Zach offers me. But holding Harris this week, watching Mike and Olivia build a life together so naturally... has made something click into place inside me.
Life doesn’t wait until you’re perfectly ready.
It just asks if you’re willing to show up for it.
And I am.
For the first time in my life, I don't feel lost anymore.
I grab my bag off the bed and head downstairs.
Olivia's on the couch downstairs now with Harris asleep against her chest. Mike's in the kitchen rinsing a bottle. They both look up when I come in.
“You sure you don't want to stay one more night?” Olivia asks.
I shake my head. “I've got to get back.”
I lean down and press a kiss on Harris's head, breathing him in one more time. Then I hug Olivia carefully, so I don't wake him. Mike walks me to the door with my bag slung over his shoulder like I'm sixteen and he's seeing me off after a sleepover.
