I stared at the half-written sentence for the fifth time, words dancing just out of reach.
The past clawed at the edges of my thoughts more and more lately, especially since running into Greyson again. It was like every part of me that had gone numb after I left this town had slowly started to feel again. The familiarity, the ache of what I’d lost, the terrifying pull toward something that might feel like home again.
The door creaked, and I looked up as Madison shuffled in wearing a hoodie and pajama pants, her hands cradling her pregnant belly.
“You okay?” she asked, settling onto the couch across from me.
“I could ask you the same,” I said, smiling gently.
“I had to pee for the fifth time tonight. Might as well see what my favorite brooding writer is up to.” She smirked, then softened. “You look like you’re deep in it.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. “Just thinking.Writing. Mostly failing at both.”
She tilted her head. “Want to talk about it?”
I hesitated. Then nodded. “It’s...everything. Being here. Greyson. My parents. I haven’t told them I’m even in town yet.”
“You don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”
“But that’s the thing. I keep waiting to feel ready and I don’t think I ever will.” My voice cracked slightly. “They kicked me out because I didn’t want to attend med school. And they still don’t know therealreason I left.”
Madison’s face fell, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. “You’ve never told them?”
I shook my head, guilt and fear churning in my gut. “No. I tried to tell my mom once, after the assault. But she didn’t listen. I trusted my professor to help me better my writing and he abused it. He used me and then blamed me, making me think it was my fault.”
Madison’s eyes filled with something fierce and protective. “That wasn’t your fault. None of it.”
“I know that now,” I said quietly. “But back then, it felt like running was the only way to survive. I left everything, everyone, and I didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Greyson included,” she added gently.
I looked away. “Yeah.”
There was silence for a moment before she grinned. “So...you visit him a lot now?”
I laughed softly, the tension in my chest easing just a little. “He owns the bar now. After all these years. Can you believe that?”
“Ican. Greyson always had that old-soul vibe. Steady hands.Protective heart.”
I smiled, but my pulse quickened just thinking about him. His voice was low and teasing. The way he looked at me made me feel like I still mattered.
“There’s something still there,” I admitted. “It’s not just nostalgia. It feels real. But I’m terrified. What if I can’t stay? What if everything falls apart again?”
Madison leaned forward, her eyes unwavering. “Then we’ll figure it out together. But you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for surviving. You’re allowed to have a new beginning.”
I swallowed hard, emotions thick in my throat. “I don’t know how to start.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Start by finishing that sentence.”
And so I did. I picked up my laptop and let myself write like the words mattered for the first time in weeks. LikeImattered.
The scent of cinnamon and crisp leaves drifted through the air as I stepped into Wisteria Creek’s town square, my boots crunching over the golden and amber leaves scattered along the brick path. Fall had started to arrive, wrapping the little town in its familiar, warm embrace.
Every storefront was dressed for the season, hay bales stacked beside pumpkin displays, corn stalks tied to lampposts, and cheerful scarecrows perched on benches like silent townsfolk. A soft breeze rustled the trees overhead, letting a few more scarlet leaves tumble to the ground, and I smiled, tucking my scarfcloser around my neck.
The bakery window was fogged from the warmth inside, but I could just make out the tray of apple cider donuts on display. Mrs. Callahan, the florist, was tying an oversized burgundy ribbon around a wreath made of dried leaves and tiny pinecones. Children laughed somewhere near the gazebo, where paper lanterns shaped like pumpkins hung from the rafters, swaying gently.
It all felt like something out of one of the novels I used to read curled up on my bed. Only now, I wasn’t just reading about it, I was living it.
