The way his voice cracked. The way he was desperate now.

But I wouldn’t do this.

I wouldn’t let him in just because his voice sounded like that. Just because he was suddenly remembering me.

I took a step back.

Then another.

Then, softer, careful, he said, “Did you need something?”

I blinked.

For a moment, I had forgotten.

Forgotten the stupid shopping bags.

The bikini.

The fact that I had walked in here wanting to see him.

“No,” I whispered.

Then I walked to my closet, pulled out my duffel bag, and started packing.

Because I couldn’t be here.

Not tonight.

Not with the version of myself that still cared.

35

BLAKE, 1999

18 years old

I stood there like an idiot, watching as Beverly stormed down the hallway with her bag slung over her shoulder, her face turned away from me like I wasn’t even worth a second look.

My feet felt glued to the floor, and my mind was racing in a thousand directions at once, but none of them led anywhere useful.

None of them told me what to do.

None of them told me how to fix this.

I didn’t breathe until I heard the front door slam.

“Blake?” Mom’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Reality hit me like a punch to the gut. I snapped out of my daze and turned to face her. She was wrapped in her black robe, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was pinned back in one of those loose, messy buns she always wore when she was exhausted.

Her eyes flicked from me to the door. “What’s wrong?”

I tried to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come.

Everything I had been holding inside was caught in my throat, trapped and unwilling to make its way out.

I didn’t even know where to begin.

How could I explain any of it?

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice hollow. “I have no idea.”

The words felt wrong even as I said them.

Like I was trying to convince myself, not her.

She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward, her gaze sharp. “That didn’t look like ‘I don’t know.’”

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of her gaze on me. “It’s... I don’t know.” The words came out too sharp, too brittle, like I was trying to push her away with them.

For a long moment, she stood there, watching me closely. I could see the tiredness in her eyes, the way she was holding herself together in a way that only moms did—always putting the pieces back together even when they felt broken.