Page 121 of The Story Between Us

Her mother had believed that. Had stitched it into fabric so she wouldn’t forget.

Maybe it was time Livvie believed it too.

Her phone rang.

The sound was jarring—harsh and modern against the soft morning light. Livvie pulled it from her pocket, saw the name on the screen: Priya.

“I should take this,” she said.

Lila nodded and stood, giving her privacy, disappearing into the sunroom with her tea.

Livvie answered. “Hey, Pri.”

“Livvie.” Priya’s voice was tight. Urgent. “Where are you?”

“Still in Minnesota. The dedication for my friend Emma’s Storybook Corner at the library is tomorrow, and I⁠—”

“You need to come back. Now.”

Livvie’s stomach dropped. “What’s happening?”

“The company is restructuring faster than anyone expected. Richard’s on the warpath. There’s a meeting tomorrow⁠—”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes! It’s mandatory, all hands—and if you’re not there…” Priya paused. “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but if you’re not in that meeting, you won’t have a job to come back to.”

Livvie closed her eyes.

Her career—the career she’d spent six years building, the career that had felt like everything until two weeks ago, when everything had started to feel like something else.

“I’ll be there,” she heard herself say.

“I’m sorry, Liv. I know you were—” Priya hesitated. “I know things were complicated there. With the author.”

Complicated. That was one word for it.

“It’s fine,” Livvie said. “I’ll book a flight.”

She hung up. Sat in the quiet kitchen with her mother’s ring on her finger and her heart in pieces and the notebook still sitting on the table like a grenade.

Aunt Lila appeared in the doorway. She didn’t ask—she’d heard enough.

“You’re leaving,” she said.

“I have to.” Livvie’s voice was hollow. “There’s a meeting tomorrow. If I’m not there, I lose my job.”

“And Nate?”

Livvie looked toward the window. The green Craftsman was still quiet. Still closed.

“He doesn’t want me here,” she said. “He made that clear.”

Lila was quiet for a moment. Then, “What will you do?”

Livvie looked at the notebook. Emma’s story ideas. Emma’s gift to her brother—the gift Livvie had found and fumbled and maybe ruined.

“I’ll write him a letter,” she said. “I’ll put it in the notebook and leave it on his porch. And then…” She swallowed. “Then I’ll let go.”