Chapter 29

Hailey

The rain pelts down like icy needles as I wait on Dana’s doorstep, soaking through my jacket and into my bones, but I barely feel it. Christian’s words echo in my head, over and over again. “You have three hours to get your things and leave. You’re fired.” It plays on repeat, each time cutting deeper.

I hug my jacket tighter, but it’s no use. The cold isn’t just outside. It’s inside too. Everyone I’ve ever loved has found a way to push me aside.

The buzzer sounds, and I pull the door open, stepping into the dim hallway. I haul my suitcase down the narrow corridor, and Dana meets me at the door. “Hailey…” she says. She offers me a hug, but in her eyes is that same look of pity I’ve seen a thousand times before.

I want to tell her everything—how I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, how I never wanted to hurt Christian or Addison, how terrified I am of losing them. But the words don’t come.

“Christian called,” she says after a moment. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Tears stream down my face, and I shake my head. I can’t even talk about it right now. What if Dana doesn’t understand? “I just need a place to stay for tonight,” I whisper. “I won’t be here long.”

She steps aside, letting me in without a word.

I drop my suitcase by the couch and collapse on the cushions, sinking into the familiar softness. All I feel is emptiness. How did I get here? How did I let myself believe Christian cared about me, not just what I could do for him? That he wanted me to be part of his life?

But I know how. It’s the same way it always happens. I fall for someone. I give them everything I have, and in the end, they leave. Or worse, they kick me out, like I never mattered in the first place.

Christian wasn’t supposed to be like that. He wasn’t supposed to hurt me like this.

I bury my face in my hands, fighting back tears that burn behind my eyes. But it’s no use. They spill over, hot and bitter, sliding down my cheeks like the rain outside. I thought I’d stopped crying over people who don’t love me back, but here I am. Again.

Dana comes and sits next to me, rubbing my back. After a few minutes, I wipe my face with my sleeve, trying to hold myself together, but the cracks are starting to show. I’ve always been good at pretending to be strong, at pretending I can handle anything. But not this. Not again.

I gave everything to Christian, to Addison, to this life we were building, and still, he pushed me away. He didn’t even think twice. One mistake, and I was gone. No second chances, no forgiveness. Just gone. And now, I’m here, sitting in a life that’s crumbling, wondering why I ever thought things would be different.

It’s always the same. I love them, and they leave. Every single time.

“Why don’t you get in the shower?” Dana suggests. Her concern stifles my guilt for a moment. She thrusts a pair of black joggers at me, the word Juicy emblazoned across the back in bold, shimmering letters. I have to smile at that, a classic Dana fashion statement.

The steam from the shower envelops me, a fog that washes away the chill and turmoil if only temporarily. As water cascades over me, I hear muffled voices. My heart sinks as I recognize the sharp cadence of Dana’s speech. She’s on the phone with Christian again. His name, spat out with venom, confirms it. If she didn’t have the whole story before, I bet she does now.

I shut off the water, wrapping myself in a towel that smells faintly of lavender. Dressing in the borrowed joggers and a soft, oversized shirt Dana must have left for me, I brace myself for the impending storm outside the bathroom.

Dana is silent when I emerge. She’s holding two steaming cups, the scent of chamomile tea drifting between us. She hands one to me, her fingers brushing mine.

“How long was it going on?”

I hesitate, my throat tightening around the confession. “It…it just happened,” I admit. “We were both lonely, and it was—”

“Stop.” Dana cuts me off, a hand raised. “I don’t need the details. It’s just…” Her eyes meet mine, filled with hurt and exasperation. “You know how fragile Addison is right now. And why would you do this to yourself? How could you risk everything for someone who isn’t capable of a healthy relationship?” She looks down at her mug. “You promised me.”

I can’t think of a response to that, but then her disappointment continues.

“And you told Taylor things. How could you?”

I sit at the edge of Dana’s plush couch, my fingers digging into the fabric as if I could anchor myself against the storm brewing in her eyes. “My words were taken out of context. She cornered me after a doctor’s appointment. I thought it was better to talk with her than cause a scene.” My voice breaks. “I told Christian about it when he got home. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.”

Tears carve hot trails down my cheeks, and I let them fall, unrestrained. “Poor Addison,” I sob. “Her little heart doesn’t deserve this mess. She won’t understand.”

“You weren’t thinking about Addison when you fucked him,” Dana scoffs.

I recoil. “It wasn’t like that.”

Dana’s silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. She stands there, her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s the one who needs protection. When she finally speaks, her words are measured but laced with hurt. “Christian isn’t innocent in any of this,” she says slowly. “But God, I didn’t think you’d be so reckless.”

The air between us chills, and I watch helplessly as Dana grabs her keys and leaves, shutting the door behind her. Alone, I curl up on the couch, wrapping my arms around my midsection as if I could hold together the pieces of me threatening to scatter.

I turn on the TV and stare at the screen for a while before picking up my phone. I’ve never been this scared to text Dana before, but everything feels different now, fragile, like one wrong move will shatter everything between us. I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But if I don’t reach out now, I might lose her forever.

Me: I’ll leave as soon as I find a place. I’m so sorry.

My thumb hovers over the send button for what feels like an eternity. What if this is the last text I ever send her? What if she doesn’t respond? Or worse, what if she does, and it’s not the answer I’m hoping for?

What if she hates me?

I press send, my stomach twisting into knots as I watch the message disappear. Delivered , it says after a moment. But that’s it. No reply. No typing bubble. Nothing.

The silence is suffocating. I hold my phone in both hands. Please, Dana. Just answer me. Just let me know I haven’t lost you too.

Minutes pass. I pace the room, still clutching the phone, my mind racing. What if she doesn’t answer? What if she’s done with me? I can’t lose her too. She’s the one person who’s always been there for me, the one person I thought I could always count on.

But maybe I’ve pushed her too far this time. Maybe she’s sick of cleaning up my messes. Maybe she’s finally realized I’m not worth it.

I glance at my phone again—still nothing. God, why isn’t she answering? My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, fighting the panic rising in my chest. My heart hammers so loudly I can barely think straight. I know I hurt her. I know I let her down. But she’s my best friend. Doesn’t that count for something?

What if it doesn’t?

I sit down on the edge of the couch, my leg bouncing nervously as I stare at the phone, willing it to light up. Please, Dana. Please. Don’t let this be the end.

I think back to the nights she stayed up late, listening to me cry over my mistakes. She was by my side at my grandmother’s funeral and helped me get through that loss. She’s picked me up countless times when I fell.

Another minute passes. Then another. My hands are shaking now, and I can feel the tears welling up. She’s not going to answer. She’s done with me. She’s finally done with me.

I open my messages again, reading over what I sent, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say. Should I have said more? Should I have begged for forgiveness? I run my hand through my hair, gripping the strands tightly as my mind spirals. What can I do to fix this? How do I even begin to make things right?

My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it in my haste to check the screen. The relief is immediate, but short-lived.

Dana: Thank you.

Two words. That’s it. Her message flat and cold, no hint of the friend I used to know. My heart sinks. Thank you. What does that even mean? Is she just being polite? Is this her way of telling me she’s done?

I read the message again, hoping for some hidden meaning, something that will give me hope. But there’s nothing. No follow up. No offer of support. Just a quiet dismissal. The kind of response you give to someone you don’t want to deal with anymore.

I set the phone down on the couch beside me, feeling hollow, like the last piece of me has been ripped away. I lean forward, burying my face in my hands. I’ve lost her. My agony is complete. Everything I once had is gone.

My phone sounds, and I fumble to unlock the screen. But instead of a text, it’s a notification from the bank. The numbers in my balance blink back at me, staggeringly higher than they should be. Christian has made a deposit, an enormous sum that drowns the amount he owed me. My chest tightens as I realize he’s paying me to disappear. Each digit is another crack in the already shattered vessel of my heart, not just for him but for Addison too. Losing her sweet, innocent admiration is a separate anguish, one I can scarcely bear to acknowledge.

But then a calm comes over me. Shaking off the weight of betrayal, I focus on what needs to be done. The storage unit, a tangible problem to tackle. I never did go pick up my new key, and I can look again for what Franklin seems to be missing. I grab my purse and head out, the city still rubbing sleep from its eyes.

As hours bleed into the afternoon, I sort out what I want in my new apartment and what should stay here in storage. And I try to organize what’s left better than the last time I was here. My legs grow numb, but I press on, with Christian and Addison in the front of my mind, wondering what they’re doing, what our day would be like if I was there.

When I’ve gone through everything, the storage unit slowly returns to a semblance of order, yet I can’t shake the feeling that something vital is gone, hidden in the jumble or spirited away by Franklin’s greedy hands.

With a sigh, I lift the final box onto the stack and rub the small of my back. The unit looks almost as it did before, the chaos tamed. I pull down the door with a resounding clang, locking away my past once more.

The sky is dusky as I return to Dana’s apartment, my feet dragging. I pause at the door, hand trembling over the knob, bracing for what awaits. When I enter, the note, crisp and white against the dark wood, is like a dagger.

Hailey,

I’ll be at my father’s. Let me know when you’re gone.

-Dana

Each word cuts deeper than the last. “Where did I go wrong?” I whisper to the empty hallway as I slide to the floor. What cosmic debt have I incurred to warrant such relentless loss? The silence offers no answers.

Thanks to Christian, I can move into my own place, but the rental market is very tight. A short-term rental might be my answer. I used to walk by one all the time down on Hastings Street. I look it up on my phone and call about vacancy. They can take me for a month starting tomorrow.

So, I gather myself, rising from the floor. Inside, the apartment is still, haunted by the ghost of friendship. I curl up on the couch, surrounded by shadows and the scent of chamomile tea, and let the darkness swallow my sobs.

I wake two mornings later, having forgotten where I am. It comes back in a rush. I’m in my rental for the month. The walls are like paper, and I could hear my neighbors all night. Pushing myself off the bed, I make my way to the tiny bathroom and shower, determined to figure out my life. Once dressed, I pull up the online wanted ads and see nothing. I applied yesterday at a nanny service, and they said they thought they had work for me. But I left Christian as a reference. He’s the only one I had. Now, I haven’t heard from them, so I’m guessing he didn’t have anything helpful to say.

A little while later, I sit at the dining table, scraps of colored paper, stickers, and photographs scattered around me, but my hands feel heavy. I stare at the pictures. The plan was to only stay a year and move on, but it was becoming harder and harder to imagine doing that. I’d thought about talking with Dana and with Christian about other options, but now, none of it matters.

The scrapbook lies open in front of me, half-finished, its empty pages staring back like a reminder of all the things I’ll never get to be part of. I trace a finger over the photo of Addison’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger—the first day I met her. She was so small, so fragile, and I remember the way she looked at me with those big, innocent eyes. Like she trusted me. Like I belonged in her life.

But I don’t anymore. I don’t belong anywhere near her now.

The thought pierces through me, sharp and cold, and I have to blink back tears. I pick up a picture of Addison at the park, her face lit up with laughter as she swings in the baby seat, her little legs kicking in the air. It had been a perfect day. And now, it feels like a memory from someone else’s life.

How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to create this gift for her, knowing I’ll never get to see her grow up? Never get to be part of her milestones, her birthdays, her ordinary, beautiful days? I won’t get to hear her call me He-he-he. Every picture I paste onto the page is another piece of my heart breaking.

I cut a strip of decorative paper, my hands shaking as I glue it next to a photo of Addison sleeping in my arms. That was a night she had a fever, and I stayed up all night, watching over her, terrified something might happen. I remember the way Christian looked at me in the dark, like I was the one person he could count on to keep her safe.

But not anymore.

I swallow hard, pain rising in my throat. I thought I was building something with them. A family. But now, that’s all gone, and here I am, stuck in the past, creating a scrapbook she’ll probably never even know is from me.

I place a sticker next to the photo, a tiny cartoon sun shining bright against the pale blue background. I have to force myself to keep going, to finish this. I owe it to her. Even if she never knows I was part of her life, I want her to have this.

I reach for the next picture, a candid shot of Addison looking up at Christian, her eyes full of love. He’s cradling her in his arms like she’s the most precious thing in the world. I stare at the image for a long time, my heart aching. How do I say goodbye to her? How do I let go of this little girl who became everything to me?

I press the photo onto the page, smoothing it with trembling fingers. When I sit back and look at the page, the tears finally spill over, silent and steady. I pick up a marker and write in careful, deliberate letters under the photo: Always in my heart.

Because that’s where she’ll stay, even if I can’t be with her. Even if she forgets me. She’ll always be in my heart.

I never wanted to love her like this, to need her like this. But now that I do, the thought of losing her is unbearable.

I close the scrapbook and press it to my chest, as if holding it close will somehow keep her close too. But deep down, I know the truth. She’s already slipping away, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. There’s also little I can do to distract myself, as the plans Dana and I had drawn for our European adventure are likely now just another discarded dream.

“Time to make new plans,” I murmur, pulling back the curtains to gaze out at the city sprawled below. The world moves on, indifferent to the chaos of my life. Somewhere out there is a place for me, a niche where I fit without having to force the pieces together. It’s time to stop looking backward, to stop picking at old wounds and start fresh.