“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I whisper. “I’d trade lives with you in a second.”
But I don't really mean it.
Because as terrifying as this all is—being alone, scraping by, rebuilding my dream from scratch—it’s forward momentum. It gives me something to focus on.
And focusing on the future is a hell of a lot better than thinking about the crater where my marriage used to be.
I clip the leash to Bernie and head out for our afternoon walk. The neighborhood is beautiful; polished and pristine. A far cry from the wild land Sam and I called home, with its pines and dirt trails and half-finished projects.
I don't belong here. The trimmed hedges and luxury SUVs scream money, security, and generational ease. Every smiling passerby looks like they can see through me—to the trailer I grew up in, to the busted sneakers I wore until senior year, to the sheereffortit took to merely exist.
I pull out my phone to check the time, but a notification flashes across the screen from our old budgeting app.
Transaction: $415 – Plumbing Parts Depot
My stomach drops.
Probably a part forHolly and Mandy’s dream.
I shove the phone in my back pocket like it burned me. I want to scream. Or cry. Or laugh at how completely and utterly Sam has replaced me in the plans I thought we made together.
Unable to resist, I open my bank app.$93.41
I sink onto a nearby bench and press my fists into mythighs to stop the tremble. I knew it was going to drop after the check was cashed by Bennet, but panic still creeps in.
Will my phone get shut off? Do I need to sell my car? Can I eat something besides ramen this week?
I squeeze my eyes shut against the anxiety starting to bubble up. My chest tightens, breath shortening. I haven’t seen my account this low since college. And even then, I had roommates and hope, and late-night shift paychecks to get me by.
Bernie senses it. He hops onto the bench and rests his big head on my leg like a weighted blanket. I run my fingers through the wiry fur behind his ears and inhale deeply.
I have four weeks of housing. Catering gigs that pay in tips. A full tank of gas. A job that pays every two weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.
An older gentleman in khaki pants pulled high and a polo tucked in walks by with a golden retriever in a plaid harness. He slows and nods. “Beautiful dog.”
“He’s not mine. I’m just watching him,” I reply with a weak smile.
“Even borrowed dogs know who the good ones are,” he says simply. Then tips his head and keeps walking.
I blink against the unexpected tears rising in my eyes. Maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe not today. But I’ll get there. Eventually.
I wakeup with a pit sitting heavy in my stomach, but at least the panic has passed. Sleep helped. Or maybe it was Bernie’s snoring that did the trick. Either way, I made it through the night without texting Sam.
Until I step outside to find a to-go cup of my favorite coffee—oat milk vanilla cold brew, extra ice—exactly how Iorder it. That almost makes it worse. I see a folded note on the porch next to the life-giving elixir.
I know it’s not much. But I’m proud of you. – S
I stare at the note for a full minute before crumpling it gently and sliding it into my purse. Not ready to forgive, but not ready to throw it away either. As I’m settling into my car, I receive a text.
Capricorn
Some people will underestimate you today. Let them. Grace under fire is your superpower—but healing still takes time. You don’t have to be okay all at once. Just keep moving forward. Steel doesn’t rush the forge.
Figures. Leave it to the stars to call me out and cheer me on in the same breath. I’m not okay, but I’m not broken, either. Not the kind of broken that stays. I’ve rebuilt before, and I’ll do it again.
I close the horoscope, shove my phone in my pocket, and drag in a long breath through my nose. Time to work.
I end my day by answering emails. I also double-check two purchase orders for the new supply closet for a customer. I finally respond to the fourth message from a worried potential landlord. He’s asking about his overpriced bungalow that he wants to rent.
