That night, Stevie snoozed soundly beside me, but I barely slept.

I felt terrible for ripping into Gray like some viperous snake. I knew I had stung him deeply.

Yet, a dark, twisted part of myself didn't regret it.

My heart kept warring with itself like a turbulent sea. Waves that wished to forgive, forget, crashed into raging, embittered tides until stormy waters melded together in a pool of anguish and pain and—

Love.

Fuck me, but, even after all this time, not much had changed since the day Lydia first confessed her pregnancy to me.

Last night, Gray told me that he had never stopped loving me, that he would always love me.

I kind of believed him.

Because my heart remained stupidly, stubbornly in love with Gray as well.

Love—was why I kept wanting to get to a better place with Gray and help him get to a better place, too.

Love—was why everything hurt so damn much and felt so damn impossible.

Love—was why I couldn't move on from his betrayal.

The wound was too deep.

I needed more time to heal.

With silent tears streaming down my face, I laid in Gray's bed next to Stevie's crib, brooding despairingly at the play of shadows along the ceiling and walls. It didn't help that the damn pillow and blanket smelled a little like him. Woodsy, fresh, masculine.

Another needle-like prick to the heart.

I wondered—what would it ultimately take for me to forgive Gray?

Was there a specific gesture that he still needed to make?

A perfectly worded apology that he had yet to deliver?

Unlikely.

I felt as though we had addressed everything that needed to be addressed on the topic of him and Lydia.

I wondered, also, how much time it would take for us to be truly at peace and in sync again?

One year?

Two years?

A lifetime?

I hoped not.

As I tossed and turned in bed, another radical thought reared its ugly head: I didn't want to be the old Gracie anymore. I felt this rejection of self in my bones, in my soul. I had never felt such motivation to change so intensely before.

Something inside me had died with Lydia—old perceptions, old fears, old delusions—and, from its dust and ash, a new me needed to be reborn. I didn't want to live in Lydia's toxic shadow any longer. I didn't want to pine after my childish love for Gray anymore, either. I hardly recognized the strength in my sudden resolve, but a few things suddenly became very, very clear to me.

A broken heart couldn't love.

A spiteful mind couldn't forgive.

It was killing me to give and give and give all the time on an empty tank. Maybe it was time to focus less on Gray and more on myself.

Life, after all, wasn't a Pixar movie. I couldn't be a selfless heroine all the time, and I didn't know how to rewrite my sad story and make it into something poignant and inspirational.

Maybe—some stories simply weren't meant to end with happily ever after and a big sparkly ring?

Maybe—I needed to find my happiness in a way that belonged to me and only me?

The next morning, I was woken up by a chiming notification on my phone.

As my eyes blinked open, I was greeted by the familiar sight of a lightning-shaped crack running across the living room ceiling. It had only grown in size and severity over the years. My parents never got around to fixing it. I made a mental note to get on these repairs ASAP.

I rolled over on the couch, pushing aside my pillow and blanket, to check my phone. It was a text from Miguel Sanchez, one of my closest contacts from Dalton.

'Hey, man. Good to hear from you. Let's set up an interview this week. When are you free?'

A week ago, I had sent in my resume to Dalton. I felt like my previous experience in construction and the skills I had gained from the Corps—planning, organizing, and carrying out clear objectives and missions—might transfer well in this new career.

I called Miguel to give him my availability, and we agreed to meet on Friday morning at 10:00 am. We also chatted about a few other things as well. His life. My life.

The timing couldn't have been better.

After talking to Miguel, I learned that, after four decades in construction, the man was ready to retire. My old boss was on the hunt for a replacement to fill in the construction manager vacancy that he would be leaving behind. The salary was good, ranging somewhere between $80,000 to $130,000. As a construction manager, I would be responsible for overseeing large-scale builds and projects from conception to completion.

Securing this interview lifted my mood by a fraction. Out of all my job prospects at the moment, this position was the one I valued most.

My professional life seemed to be headed in the right direction.

My personal life, though, was shit.

Because I still felt like shit.

Gracie's interrogation from the night before had been brutal. Confessing everything that happened with Lydia felt like some kind of hell. Every word, every detail, I spewed had tasted like bile and acid as they flew from my mouth. I didn't even feel bad for myself. I deserved to be raked through the coals. Obviously, if I was suffering, then so was Gracie. I couldn't even imagine the world of pain I had inflicted on her.

In a way, I felt like our talk had marked a turning point. Last night had been fucking brutal, yes, but it also served a purpose. Gracie and I had been dancing around the subject of Lydia, avoiding the ugliness of my mistakes, for months on end. Yesterday, it felt like we finally ripped off the band-aid to let our wounds bleed out.

Then, maybe those wounds could dry out.

Scab.

Heal.

There would always be a scar, but, at least, it wouldn't hurt Gracie as much anymore.

For better or worse, I knew everything had shifted for us. Gracie could no longer be the Gracie that I had always known. I couldn't stay the same, either. Change was going to be painful, but I was determined to see this shit through.

I hoped this would be our darkest moment before dawn.

I hoped there would be a light waiting for us at the end of this heartbreaking tun—

Just then, Stevie's whimpers and wails drifted into the living room. It was accompanied by the sound of Gracie's footsteps and her quiet, soothing murmurs.

"You hungry, Vie? Let's get you a bottle..."

My girls were up.

With a grunt, I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and headed into the kitchen to prepare a bottle for Stevie. Gracie and Stevie trailed in after me.

"Morning," I murmured in their general direction while measuring out the formula for Stevie's bottle.

Gracie mumbled, "Hey, you beat me to it..."

"Just trying to make myself useful," I replied.

Her brown eyes locked onto me, and we shared a somewhat uncomfortable look.

Clearly, our heated exchange over Lydia, our kiss, among other messy, unresolved emotions, were still looming over us. To distract myself from the awkwardness, I started shaking Stevie's bottle like a mad man. The formula quickly dissolved in the water. Stevie released another impatient cry, screaming as though she hadn't eaten in days when, in reality, we had fed her in the middle of the night only four hours ago. Gracie bounced Stevie on her hip in an attempt to soothe our cranky baby girl.

As quickly as possible, I handed the bottle to Gracie, and she popped the nipple into Stevie's hungry mouth. Immediately, Stevie's frustration calmed down as she began suckling away.

Without Stevie's shrieks filling up the silence, however, the kitchen suddenly grew to be quiet.

Too quiet.

Anxiously, I racked my brain for something to say. This tension was killing me.

Gracie cleared her throat and beat me to it, speaking first, "Look, Gray..."

I glanced at her expectantly.

A pucker marred her brow. "I feel like I owe you an... apology."

My eyes widened. "No, Gracie—"

She interrupted me, "No, wait. Please. Listen—I'm not sorry about anything that was said between us last night. The only thing I'm sorry for is... the kiss. I shouldn't have baited you, and I definitely shouldn't have kissed you. It was extremely inappropriate."

"No need to apologize," I insisted. "I'm glad it happened, actually. The kiss. The talk. Everything."

She appeared genuinely shocked by my response. "What? Really?"

"I mean, I know that shit was hard as hell and painful as fuck for both of us, but I think it was kinda... necessary."

Still feeding Stevie in her arms, Gracie tilted her head to the side. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Maybe you have a point."

My eyebrows rose. "I do?"

I hadn't expected her to agree with me.

"I guess," Gracie drawled, "even though it almost broke me to hear about you and Lydia—"

I winced inwardly as guilt and shame flared again.

"—it also made me realize something important."

"What's that?" I asked with genuine curiosity.

With a grim expression, Gracie paused before answering, "I think I need to focus on myself for a bit. I feel like I've been existing... for other people... my whole life. I'm just starting to see everything more clearly."

Other people?

Like Lydia?

Like... me?

My heart twisted in my chest. "Oh, Gracie..."

Her voice grew small and wobbly when she confessed, "I'm not happy, Gray. I don't know if I've ever been truly happy."

I didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but I understood exactly where she was coming from.

I'd never been truly happy, either.

Gently, I encouraged her, "Then, I think you should start living for yourself and try to do whatever might make you happy."

She sighed, "I know, right? If only I knew how, though..."

"Maybe start with something small," I suggested.

"Like what?"

An unexpected lightbulb clicked in my head. It came in the form of a memory that I had almost forgotten—

✦

Gracie and I were in her bedroom. Something was sticking out from under her bed.

Curiously, I pulled it out. "What's this, Gracie?"

It was a black spiral-bound notebook with a bunch of holographic Sailor Moon stickers decorating the cover.

"Nothing, nothing!" Gracie stammered as she tried to snatch the notebook away from me.

I was too nosy to give into her request. Swiftly, I ducked away from Gracie and opened the notebook to a random page.

I started reading out loud, "Beneath moonlit nights... lovers leave a trail of stars... on the way back home."

She wailed, "Gray, stop! Come on, give it back! This is embarrassing!"

I blinked a few times and smiled. "No, it's not embarrassing at all. It's really... pretty. Is it a poem? Did you write it?"

Gracie blushed prettily. "Wait... you... like it?"

"Yeah, I love it! I don't know much about writing, but I can picture the words in my head very clearly. Like a photograph. Or something."

"It's called a haiku," she told me shyly. "It's a poem with three lines. The first line has five syllables, the second line has seven syllables, and the third line has five syllables again."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I wrote it yesterday in algebra class..."

✦

My eyes searched out hers. "Like... writing."

Gracie's eyebrows shot up. "Writing?"

"Yeah," I continued with a faint smile, "didn't you used to have notebooks full of stories and poems in middle school? I remember you loved reading and writing back then..."