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The man she loves… I’ll come up with a plan tomorrow.

Satisfied that she’s settled in for the night, I—

“You should go after her,” Elijah says.

I glance at him in surprise. “What?”

“Mary.” His expression is knowing, almost gentle. “Don’t wait. Don’t second-guess yourself anymore. Go after her.”

I’ll be whatever she needs me to be, but fuck—

How? The only way… If I want any chance at a future with Mary, I have to come clean. The idea terrifies me. But the alternative—losing her for good—is unbearable.

“Yeah,” I say. “I will.”

Telling her means confronting my own hypocrisy and cowardice, exposing the ugly reality of who I am and what I’ve done. And after everything that’s happened, she may never forgive me.

I don’t know if I have the courage to face her, to watch the light in her eyes dim and die when she learns the truth.

Chapter 34

Mary

Idiot! Why did I think telling him I love him would change anything? How can I show him that it’s true?

He didn’t even look happy about it.

I don’t care about Chris anymore. I never really did. It was part of some elaborate fantasy world where I could pretend I mattered to somebody.

Like I matter to Connor.

I miss him.

The front door swings open before I reach it, revealing my mother dressed in one of her designer suits. She stands rigidly, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed. Her eyes travel over my oversized sweater and the jeans, which have become hopelessly faded from countless wash cycles.

It’s comfy, and it’s rare to find such good-fitting jeans, so I’m not going to give it up.

“Mary,” she says. “Your attire leaves much to bedesired.”

The ‘desired’ would be to dress according to society’s standards—conservative skirts paired with crisp blouses and elegant heels. But those clothes make me feel suffocated, hemmed in by expectations that bear little resemblance to who I really am. And to be honest, I just don’t care today.

“Hi, Mom,” I walk past her.

“You could have at least straightened your hair.”

Did she set up another date? What’s it gonna be this time? A surgeon?

“We’re just family, right?” I ask.

“Certainly not. We have a guest today.”

Maybe a pilot? That one would have at least some good stories to tell.

“I really don’t need another attempt to match me with somebody. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own partners.”

“Yes, and how has that been working for you so far?” she asks.

Touché, Mom. “I—”

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