I glance down at the simple design peeking out from under my long sleeve. I lift my arm to give her a better look, grazing the pad of my thumb over my pulse point. It’s a heartbeat tattoo, a little EKG symbol, etched across the tiny scars I carved into my wrist with my own fingernails. It’s drawn along the exact spot Dean would comfort me, giving me a daily reminder of everything I’ve suffered through and have overcome. It’s trained me to stop scratching myself—an anxious habit I picked up post-rescue. And, well… it makes me think of him.

“Thanks,” I say. “I love it. It keeps me present—in the moment, you know?”

She nods. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo to honor Matthew. Maybe Hope’s name weaved into a butterfly. Butterflies make me smile.” Tabitha takes a sip of her coffee, swallowing it down and braving her next question. “Have you talked to Dean recently?”

My heart beats faster at the mere mention of him. Oy. “Here and there,” I tell her, shifting back into the booth and fidgeting with my dress belt. “He texts me sometimes to see how I’m doing. He left me a nice voicemail on my birthday in August.” I chuckle then, thinking about our last interaction on social media. “He recently tagged me in this article showcasing the world’s greatest pranks and practical jokes. He said he was taking notes.”

Tabitha grins over her cup, tickling Hope’s toes when the baby squeals beside us. “That’s great, Cora. I’m glad it hasn’t been complete radio silence.”

Me, too. I wasn’t sure what to expect in those initial months after he left—I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. They say ‘out of sight, out of mind’ is the key to healing, but I never felt like I needed to heal from Dean. I needed to heal from myself. And I couldn’t imagine a future in which he simply didn’t exist anymore.

So, the occasional contact has been refreshing. We never let our conversations get emotional or veer into any intimate territory. He checks in. I check in. We send a funny meme here and there.

We stay connected.

Tied, but with a loose grip.

It’s enough for now.

I’m just not sure if it always will be.

Tabitha gives Hope a wafer to gum when the baby begins to fuss, and we continue our chat over coffee and giggles. Time runs away from us, as it usually does during our monthly get-togethers, and Tabitha needs to head out for a doctor’s appointment. When we hug goodbye, I feel her arms encompass me in an extra tight squeeze, her breath whispering against my ear.

“You’re such an inspiration, Cora. The true meaning of hope.”

Tears rim my eyes as we pull back, and I offer her a watery smile. “The feeling is very mutual.”

I watch the two girls depart the café, returning the wave Tabitha sends me as they disappear down the sidewalk. I grab my purse, about to follow her out, when I remember I wanted to bring home two puppuccinos for Jude and Penny—which is basically a cup filled with whipped cream.