Esther chuckled, patting me heartily on the back, while Jules added, “You know you can always come to us, for anything you need. We might be business partners, but … I’d be proud to call you a friend, too.”

“Stop! You’re going to make me cry all over again!” I blubbered, already crying all over again. “But at least these are happy tears.”

“We’re here for any kind of tears, Jemma,” Esther added, her tone void of her usual jovial lilt. “Now, we’ll see you at Lakeside again this weekend, won’t we?”

I nodded, sipping at the tea and hating that I didn’t hate the smell of it at all. Hating that even with everything he’d done, I didn’t hate him.

I couldn’t hate him. I loved the stupid coward.

But I loved myself more. And that, perhaps, was the most important thing this whole donut soul debacle had taught me.

* * *

By Thursday I’d managed to get up to date with every one of my online orders, as well as replenishing my market stock. Because every time my heart started to pang, I snatched up my crochet hook and yarn, and I furiously worked. Muscle memory took over when my eyes blurred too much to see properly.

I’d always done my best thinking when crocheting, and despite my fragile state … or perhaps because of it … I was thinking really hard.

“It doesn’t make sense!” I blurted, tying off a little Slytherin scarf for my new Draco Malfoy costume.

“What doesn’t make sense?” Ezra asked from the kitchen, biting into a banana.

“There’s no way he just had a change of heart down there in Hell. Something happened, and he … he decided it was better to break things off with me, than … I don’t know, my brain just keeps snagging on the fact that he wouldn’t have just done a total one-eighty for no reason!”

“Are you trying to make excuses for his shitty behaviour, Jem?” Ezra asked carefully, tossing the banana peel into the bin and heading to sit on the coffee table across from me.

“I’m not saying what he did was okay—it absolutely wasn’t—but what if …” I chewed on my lip. “What if he decided that breaking up with me was for my own safety? I mean, what if someone down in Hell took a bit too much of an interest in me after the scene we made in the ballroom, and … and he needed to distance himself from me, or …”

“Would it change the way you feel about him?”

“No …” Was there a hint of uncertainty in my tone? Better squash that quick smart for my own sanity. “Definitely not—he should have come and explained what was going on, and we could have worked it out together. That’s what normal people do, right?”