Clenching my fists, I try to focus. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Hold it. One … two … three … four seconds.
I do it again. Then again.
It’s not working.
My nails dig into the fabric of my dress, the soft satin-like material crumpling between my fingers as I grip tighter. It’s damp from the sweat on my palms. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tension in my chest to release. The pressure feels like a weight pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
Okay, new plan. Senses.
My therapist said to focus on my senses. One by one.
I open my eyes and latch onto the porch. Visuals first. Rocking chair. There’s a faint creak it makes as the wind pushes it back and forth. Red flowers in a ceramic pot, bright against the grey backdrop of the day. The brick steps—solid, worn, reliable beneath my feet. The wood door. Sturdy. A barrier between me and the chaos inside my head.
I shift, feeling the coolness of the breeze brush over my skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. Touch. The way the fabric of my dress sticks to my thighs, wrinkling under my hands as I smooth it down, trying to focus on the texture. It’s soft, familiar. I rub my thumb over it again, needing the anchor.
Sound. There’s a faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, the chirp of a bird somewhere off in the distance. The world outside moves at its own pace, indifferent to the storm swirling inside me.
Slowly, the pressure in my chest begins to ease. My heartbeat, which had been hammering wildly, starts to slow, each thud a hair less frantic than the last.
The dizziness fades.
I’m okay.
I’ve got this.
I glance down at my phone again. Still nothing. The knot in my stomach tightens, but I shove the phone back in my pocket. Maybe I’ll take a walk to clear my head before going inside. Just as I start to turn around, the door swings open.
Dad steps out, dressed in his business suit, his tie loose, phone pressed to his ear. He glances at me, surprised, but holds up a finger, mouthing, "One sec."
I nod, forcing a small smile while he wraps up his call. Something about a meeting that ran late.
When he hangs up, he looks me over quickly, but doesn’t ask any of the questions I’d been dreading. “Hey, kiddo. Didn’t expect you home so soon. How was the wedding?”
I manage to shrug casually. “It was ... good. I actually just forgot something so I’m uh … gonna run in and grab that.”
He nods, clearly distracted as he tucks his phone into his pocket. “Alright, kiddo. Your mom had a charity dinner tonight, and I’m running late to pick her up. We should be back in about an hour. You want us to bring you anything for dinner?”
I shake my head, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. I don’t have to explain anything. Not yet. “No, I’m good. Just grabbing a few things,” I say, hoping that’s enough to satisfy him.
“Alright,” he says, already halfway down the driveway. “See you soon.”
I watch him climb into his car and pull away, my heart still hammering, but with a bit of space to breathe now. Thank god for small miracles. At least I don’t have to face the inevitable onslaught of questions yet.
But I can’t stay here, waiting for Mom to come back. She’ll notice everything Dad missed. My red eyes. The tightness in my voice. She’ll dig deeper than Dad did, and I don’t have the energy to deflect her.
I need to get out of here. Right. The walk. Fresh air. Maybe then, I’ll be able to think straight.
At the very least, it will kill some time. Long enough so that when I go inside, I can smile and pretend the wedding was terrific. That Gabriel and I had a great time. With a quick glance down the darkening street, I start walking.
CHAPTER 72
CECILIA
The quiet street feels like it’s closing in. I keep walking, arms wrapped tightly around myself. The night breeze cuts through my dress like it’s nothing, the chill settling deep into my bones. I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye—a stray cat maybe, or just a trick of the light—but the unease inside me only digs deeper. It’s getting dark and it’s getting dark fast.
Twenty minutes into my walk, I know I made a mistake. My feet drag across the pavement, the stillness amplifying everything: my own thoughts, the echo of Gabriel’s face when his mom had asked him, flat out, what he was doing there. The look of utter defeat that followed.
It broke something inside him, and I watched it happen like a front-row spectator. His mom, wrapped up in her new family, didn’t even seem to care that he existed anymore. How do you deal with that? I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be rejected by a parent so completely. To bereplaced. And Gabriel? God, he’s amazing. He’s kind and thoughtful. He always puts the people he cares about first, and he’s loyal to a fault. Hell, even pissed off at me, he still made sure to call Felix to give me a ridehome. And he waited. He didn’t want to talk to me, but he stuck around long enough for Felix to show up so I wasn’t left alone. Who doesn’t want someone like that in their life?
