Page 14 of Whiskey & Wreckage

And then… I do the thing.

I power on my phone.

The vibrations come fast and furious. Thirty-seven texts. Nine voicemails. A FaceTime call from my mother. And I’m sure if I open Instagram, there’ll be some thirsty little selfie from Lily, like she didn’t just blow up my life.

My stomach twists, but I sip my coffee and breathe through it. One thing at a time.

The texts are mostly from Matt and Lily. Defensive. Manipulative. Gross.

Matt: I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.

Lily: Can we just talk?

Matt: You walked out, Poppy. We need to fix this.

Lily: I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Right. Like tripping and falling into your sister’s boyfriend is just… something thathappens.

I listen to a few voicemails. They’re more of the same. Apologies that aren’t really apologies. Excuses. Guilt trips. My personal favorite? Matt saying I’m “overreacting.”

That actually makes me laugh out loud, which earns me a few curious glances from the other latte-sipping regulars.

Overreacting? Please. If anything, I’ve been underreacting for years. Dimming myself so Matt could feel big. Babysitting Lily through every self-inflicted crisis. Playing the perfect girlfriend. The responsible daughter.

And what did that get me?

A front-row seat to betrayal.

I pull up my messages and start a new group text. My thumbs fly across the screen, heart racing, but not with nerves. With clarity.

Me: I’m coming home tomorrow. If either of you are still in my apartment, I’m calling the police.

Me: I’m also getting the locks changed.

Me: You can both fuck right the hell off.

Send.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

It’s not rage. It’s power. It’s me taking back control of my own goddamn life.

I take a long sip of my latte and watch the cream swirl at the top like a tiny storm finally starting to calm.

I toss my cup on the way out and head straight to the shopping center down the block. I don’t need much,Thomas already took care of the essentials. But I wantnew. I wantmine.

New sheets for when I eventually return home, something soft and warm and definitely not whatever leftover ones Matt used to pick out. A journal to start writing again. A couple of cute tops. A new pair of flats. A planner, because apparently, I’m that girl now. A fresh tube of lip gloss. And a pair of oversized sunglasses that make me look like I have a secret. (I do. It’s that I’m actually kind of thriving.)

By the time I make it back to the hotel, my arms are full and I’m still not entirely sure what I’m doing with my life, but I don’t feel like I’m falling apart anymore. And that, honestly, feels like a miracle.

As I push through the fancy glass doors I catch sight of a sleek gold sign near the elevators:

TODAY’S GUEST EVENTS

9:00 AM – Garden Breakfast

11:00 AM – Poolside Smoothie Bar

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