Page 56 of The Truth of Us

I opened another box. And another. And another. Each one felt worse. Because Harper hadn't smashed anything, hadn't damaged anything. She hadn't even left a note. She'd simply packed it all up and sent it back. Like she wanted no part of me. My hands started shaking.

I hated it.

Hated how much it bothered me. Hated what it meant. Then I saw a black box sitting on top of the final pile. It was simple, unremarkable really compared to the bright whites, reds and soft blues. My stomach sank. Because I didn’t recognize this box. I picked it up anyway, opened it. And my hands shook even more. Inside was a first edition book I had mentioned once, half asleep, feeling safe for once in my vulnerability. A book one of my nannies used to read to me, a time I actually remembered feeling safe and happy as a child…

Bile rose fast in my throat; I swallowed continuously, pushing it down.

No… a sound escaped me. Something between a gasp and a growl. I moved without thinking, dropping onto the couch. Still holding it, staring at it. I had barely mentioned it; I thought she was half asleep. How did she remember?

Then moments started crashing into me…

My birthday.

The nights she stayed.

Harper wearing my shirts.

When she finally kissed me.

The way she'd curl against my side…

The way she whispered on my lips, “Happy birthday.”

The memory hit so hard that I physically flinched. The apartment was silent, cold, and empty. No blue eyes looked at me as if I were better than I actually was.

Just me.

For the first time, the truth settled in. Not the version I'd been telling myself. Not the version I'd repeated all weekend. The actual truth.

It was my fault that I was sitting here all alone, and for the first time in my life, I realized there was an actual possibility that I had lost something I couldn't buy back.

My gaze landed on the book, delicately wrapped and left for me.

What did I do?

My hands started to shake. I put the box and my glass down, trying to control everything that was trying to burst out of me. But for the first time in years...

The panic won.

16

HARPER

The elevator doors closed behind me, and for the first time all morning, I let myself breathe. I felt like someone had hollowed out my chest with a dull spoon and then expected me to walk through Northwell’s lobby like a woman who had not just publicly said goodbye to someone she had been foolish enough to…

I closed my eyes, trying to block out everything that had just happened, the entire weekend…

His voice, his panic, his stupid beautiful face, the way his hands lifted to his hair when he realized too late that words could not be shoved back into his mouth once they were out.

I opened my eyes and gripped the railing inside the elevator and stared at my reflection in the polished steel doors.

My hair was smooth, my blouse still tucked neatly into my trousers, all the careful elegance of a woman who knew how to perform dignity even when her heart was actively attempting to crawl out of her body and die on the floor.

My mother would have hated that. She always said women in our world were taught to bleed beautifully. Quietly. In private, where no one could see the mess.

I swallowed hard and forced my chin up.

I may have forgotten who I was for a while, tried to outrun who I really was, but not anymore.