Page 110 of Most Likely to Fear Love

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “For saying that. For reaching out.”

Michelle nodded, her expression softening. “It seemed like the least I could do.”

I bit my lip, glancing at that fucking box again. “With the box, though, I don’t know why my stuff would be at your house. I never came here.”

“I have my suspicions, but I wouldn’t want to go into that without you knowing what’s in there.”

“Should I open it now?”

“That is entirely up to you. You are more than welcome to open it here, with me to support you. But if you don’t feel comfortable with that, I’ll just say, don’t open it when you’re alone. It’s going to fuck with your head.”

Oh fuck. “I think I should do it here, in that case.”

“Go head.”

I pushed to my feet, taking a step toward the box.

“Wait. I think this needs something stronger than coffee. I’ve got red wine and maybe some bourbon.”

“Red wine sounds good.”

“On it.”

Of course, it only took a few moments for Michelle to grab the wine and fill two glasses, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, she was standing across the counter from me, gesturing to the box with her wine glass in hand.

I took a moment to sip the wine, then, with trembling hands, I reached for the box, the tape peeling away with a brittle, crackling sound. Michelle stayed silent, her gaze steady but not intrusive, as if she knew I needed the space to confront whatever was inside on my own.

The first thing I saw was a stack of photographs, each one a snapshot of a moment I thought was mine and Brian’s. There was one of me laughing at a picnic, another of us at a party, my smile wide, Brian’s hand resting on the small of my back. I swallowed hard and set them aside.

Underneath the photos was a small velvet pouch, tied shut with a delicate ribbon. When I opened it, I found a bracelet I thought I’d lost years ago. The weight of it in my palm was heavier than it should have been, as if it carried the burden of memories I hadn’t even processed yet. I closed my eyes for a moment, doing my absolute fucking best not to fall to pieces.

“You can stop, if you need to.”

“No, it’s okay. I need to get it over with.”

Next came the scrapbook. My breath hitched as I pulled it free. The cover was worn but unmistakable. It was a project Poppy and Hannah had made for us in high school. Our pretend yearbook, where they’d writtenMost Likely to Fear Loveunder my name. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but I couldn’t let it out. Not here.

Michelle’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I assume he took all this without you realizing?”

I nodded, placing the scrapbook carefully next to my purse on the counter.

I reached in and pulled out a leather-bound journal, the one I’d given Brian for his birthday during our first year of marriage. My handwriting was scrawled on the inside cover:To new beginnings, always.

I closed my eyes again, pressing my lips together to keep from crying. “I gave him this. Why did he do this? Bring them here, to your house?”

“My therapist believes it’s about control. About marking his territory even when he wasn’t here. He was weaving pieces of his double life together. It made him feel untouchable. Hiding them in my home was his power play, his secret world tucked inside his real one.”

The words wrapped around me like a vice. My throat felt tight, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. A sudden rush of emotions almost overwhelmed me. Anger, disgust, sadness, and so many other feelings I could barely name. The room felt smaller, the air thinner, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I could breathe.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Michelle stepped closer, her hand hovering near my arm, as if she wasn’t sure whether to touch me. “Cassidy, sit down. Take a breath.”

I shook my head, straightening even as my legs felt like they might give out. “No. I need... I just need a second.” With my eyes squeezed shut, I willed myself to stay upright, to not let him take this moment too. He didn’t get to own my reaction. Not anymore. I squared my shoulders, straightened my spine and dragged in a deep, cleansing breath. Then another. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” She gestured to the box. “Now, do you want to keep it?”

I shook my head sharply. Fuck no. Absolutely not. “No. I don’t want any of it.”

---