"And?" Mom prompts gently when I trail off.
"And cheating."
The words come out flat, matter-of-fact.
"What?" Shock spreads across Mom's face like wildfire, her eyes widening. "What do you mean cheating?"
"Camilla sent me something this morning. Someone caught him with another woman. At a restaurant, getting into a car, kissing her. Google it. I’m sure it’s everywhere by now.
Mom’s silence says everything.
“But the weird thing is..." I look up at her. "I'm not devastated. I'm... relieved. And what does that say about me?"
Her expression shifts—the shock fading into something deeper, more understanding.
She doesn't let go of my hands.
"It says you already knew something was wrong, honey. You just needed confirmation. Sometimes our hearts know the truth long before our heads are ready to accept it."
"I haven't worn my engagement ring at all since I got here," I confess. "I told myself it was because I didn't want people asking questions, because I wanted Mia and Ollie's shower to be about them. But..."
I shake my head.
"Nate asked me about it yesterday. Asked why I wasn't wearing it. And I completely lost it on him because he was right. Because saying the truth out loud, spoken by him of all people, made it impossible to ignore anymore. I don't want to marry Wes. I haven't wanted to for a while now. And admitting that feels like failing."
"Failing at what?"
"At having my life together. At being the successful, put-together person everyone thinks I am." The words tumble out faster now. "I'm supposed to have it all figured out by now. And instead, I'm here, hiding in Eden, staying in my ex's cabin, questioning every choice I've made in the last five years."
Mom is quiet for a moment, letting my words settle.
Then she releases one of my hands to brush a strand of hair from my face, the gesture so tender it makes my throat tight.
"Can I tell you something your dad used to say?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"He'd always say, 'Kat, the only failure is staying in a place that makes you small.'" She smiles softly at the memory, her eyes distant for a moment. "He meant it about jobs, mostly—he changed careers three times before he found the one that fit. But it applies to everything. Relationships. Cities. Versions of yourself that don't serve you anymore. The only real failure is shrinking yourself to fit into a life that was never meant for you."
"Mom, I don't know who I am anymore," I whisper. "I thought I did. But being back here, seeing how much has changed, how much everyone has grown and moved forward while I've just been..." I gesture helplessly. "Running. I've been running from everything that hurt, and I thought I was building something better, but maybe I was just building better walls."
"And Nate?" Mom asks carefully, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. "How does he fit into all this?"
My chest tightens at his name.
"He doesn't. He shouldn't. Five years ago he made it very clear there was no future for us. That what we had was toxic and delusional and?—"
I stop, the old hurt rising up like bile.
"And now he's here, being kind and understanding and asking questions that make me face things I don't want to face."
Mom’s eyes never leave mine. When she speaks again, her voice carries the weight of years and wisdom and a mother's fierce love.
"You know what I see when I look at you right now?"
"A mess?"
"I see a woman who's finally being honest with herself. I see my daughter—brilliant, brave, more capable than she gives herself credit for—who's been living according to a script she wrote when she was hurt and afraid and running from her own heart."
