Page 45 of Echoes of a Southern Song

“Okay.” My voice sounds small, like it’s coming from somewhere outside my body.

“We’ll send an email with the details and what to expect. You’re doing great, by the way. Just keep breathing, and we’ll get you through this.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

The call ends, but everything keeps spinning.

One week.

Seven days.

In seven days, I’m going to have to face him in court. With lawyers and all the dark, ugly stuff I’ve worked so hard to bury. Everyone is going to hear about our impulsive decision to get married in Vegas without anyone knowing. And suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.

I set the phone down and stare at my half-eaten sandwich. I can’t think. Can’t move. My brain is doing that thing where it loops all the worst-case scenarios into one giant ball of horror. What if the judge doesn’t believe me? What if Sam spins it all into some twisted version of the truth? What if I break down and cry out of sheer frustration?

What if Jack is starting to realize I’m not worth the chaos?

That I’m too messy. Too complicated. Too much.

I pick up my sandwich again and take a bite. I have to eat. I have to keep up my strength. I know I have a long, horrible week in front of me and I don’t want to deal with it.

I rub my forehead and wish I could fast-forward through next week. Skip the whole mess entirely. But life doesn’t work that way. I know that now. You have to sit in it. In the waiting. In the wondering. In the not knowing whether the people in your life will still be there when the smoke clears.

I unlock my phone and pull up my text thread with Jack. There aren’t many lately. A few sweet ones, a couple of “how’s your day” texts. But it’s not like before. Not like when we couldn’t go an hour without finding a reason to connect.

Now he’s drifting away from me.

I don’t know how to ask him if I’m imagining it. I don’t want him to think he needs to reassure me a bunch. He’s got his own stuff to deal with. He doesn’t need me falling apart and being insecure.

I sit there for a long time before I finally get up and go back to the front. Customers are still coming in, and there are pastries to restock. Life doesn’t pause just because your heart’s on shaky ground.

So I smile.

I hand out croissants.

I refill coffee.

And I keep moving, like everything’s fine.