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Carly was upset. I think I made it worse.

The phone rang before she had time to regret sending it.

“Do I need to come over?”

“No.” Berkeley’s ears twitched at Paige’s voice, and Lauren scratched his shoulder. “You have an actual newborn. Don’t leave your house because I’ve got feelings.”

“I can multitask. What happened?”

Lauren told her. Not every detail—not her shirt bunched in Carly’s fist, or the moment before it all went wrong—but enough: the kiss, the pullback, the handover, the distance.

In the background, Sam made a small, indignant noise.

“This is what I was worried about,” Paige said gently.

“I know. Me making myself useful so I don’t have to sit with what I want.” Lauren picked a dog hair off her knee. “You’ve said it enough times.”

“And?”

“And I am sitting with what I want. I’m literally on the floor.”

“Lauren.”

Lauren rubbed her face and looked at Berkeley, still watching the hall as if Carly might reappear if he stayed alert enough.

“I won’t use him,” she said, before Paige could ask. “I mean it. I won’t send updates so she has to reply. I won’t make him an excuse for her to come round. I offered because he needed somewhere safe, and I can give him that.”

“Good. Then let that be enough for tonight.”

Enough had never been Lauren’s favourite amount. She wanted to ask whether Carly had been upset about the kiss or the dog. She wanted Paige to say no, you idiot, she likes you. She wanted someone to make the sums come out differently.

But Carly had left, and Lauren was done chasing answers nobody had offered.

“Okay,” she said, hauling herself from the floor. “Give Sam a kiss from me.”

“Give yourself a break,” Paige said, and hung up before Lauren could argue.

The kitchen felt too quiet. Lauren made tea she didn’t want, checked Berkeley’s water, checked the back door, checked the notebook. Then she picked up her phone again.

The physio’s message was still there. Two rooms off the high street. A door that could have her name on it.

Tonight, even that felt too tangled up with Carly. Carly asking questions on the massage table like the dream was a plan and not a punchline.

She didn’t reply. Not because she didn’t want it. Because she did. She wanted the clinic, and Berkeley settled, and Carly back through that door with a different look on her face, and wanting all three at once made every thought suspect.

Tomorrow. She’d answer properly tomorrow.

For tonight, Berkeley needed dinner and a slow walk.

Lauren sat down on the rug beside him. He shifted until one heavy shoulder pressed against her thigh, still watching the door.

“Yeah,” she said, resting her hand between his ears. “Me too.”

His tail thumped once.

She looked round the room Carly had just made both temporary and permanent. The bowls. The blanket. The toys. The bed in the warmest patch of floor.

“We’ll be alright,” she told him. “We’ll both just have to settle in.”