Page 71 of A Prescription to My Heart

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

She nods once. A lie of agreement. Then, she turns and walks out of the kitchen. And I stay there, hands clenched, teeth gritted, trying to breathe past the ache in my chest.

Whatever this thing is between us—it’s real.

But maybe she’s right. Maybe real doesn’t mean safe.

Her footsteps are retreating when I call out, “Say it.”

Talia stops. Back still to me. Shoulders stiff.

“Say you lied. That you don’t feel anything. Say it to my face.”

Slowly, she turns. I wish she looked angry. Defensive. I could handle that. But she doesn’t.

Talia looks… terrified.

Like I’ve reached in and touched the most fragile, hidden part of her—and now she doesn’t know what to do with it.

Her mouth opens, then closes. Her fingers twitch. Her gaze flickers over my face—my eyes, my lips, my chest—and then falls to the floor.

“Talia,” I say, quieter now. “Say it.”

Still nothing. The silence between us tightens, stretches, then snaps like a wire pulled too thin. And just like that, I know. She never lied. She feels it. But… she’s scared and So am I.

My jaw locks. I look away, throat thick. Every instinct in me wants to close the gap again, pull her in and kiss the truth out of her. Make her admit it. Make her stay.

Instead, I just nod. Once.

“Okay,” I say.

She blinks, startled. “Okay?”

“We’ll keep it professional. If that’s what you want.”

Something in her eyes flickers—relief, maybe. Or regret. I can’t tell anymore.

She turns and walks away, quiet as a ghost. And I let her go. But my hands won’t stop shaking. Because now I know the truth—he’s just as lost in this as I am.

And sooner or later, one of us is going to break.

Chapter 17

Talia

Imovebacktomyhouse on Thursday.

It’s raining. Of course it’s raining.

The sky is weeping in slow, heavy drops, each one hitting the roof of my car like a second thought. I carry my overnight bag across the porch, unlock my front door, and step into silence.

The scent of lavender lingers faintly in the hallway—leftover from the last candle I burned before all of this. Before Soren. Before the lies turned into something dangerously close to the truth.

I drop my bag by the door and exhale. It’s over. The act. The games. The pretending.

It was always supposed to end anyway. His in-laws are gone. The pressure is off. There’s no more need to play house.

So why does my chest feel hollow?

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