Page 38 of Whiskey & Wreckage

“No?” I lift my brow. “Because from where I stood, it looked exactly like betrayal—with a gaslighting twist and a side of my last bottle of dry shampoo.”

She blinks fast. Her eyes go glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You never do. You just…do.” I fold my hands over my stomach—partially because she keeps sneaking glances there like it’s a bomb strapped to my body. “I was the easy one. The responsible one. You lit fires. I showed up with the extinguisher.”

“I know,” she says. “I know I was selfish.”

“No, Lily.” My voice lowers. “You were cruel. You didn’t just cheat with Matt. You made me question everything—my judgment, my worth, the voice in my head that used to say,You’re okay.You broke that. And the worst part? I let you. For years.”

She’s crying now. Quiet, snotty tears. I don’t offer a napkin. I don’t even blink.

“You say you miss me. But I think what you miss is the version of me that didn’t set boundaries.”

“I am sorry,” she says. “I’m trying—”

“I’m not here to grade your growth,” I cut in. “I’m not here for an apology. I’m not here for closure. I’m here because I needed to look you in the eye and say this out loud.”

I stand.

“I don’t miss you. I miss the sister Iimaginedyou could be. The one who never existed.”

She makes a sound—a breath, a sob, a gasp—but I’m already walking away.

Outside, the air is cold and clean. The sunlight hits my face like an exhale. I pause under a tree and rest a hand on my belly.

She doesn’t follow. She never did.

I pull out my phone and text the only person who matters.

Me: On my way back. Coffee?

Thomas replies before I can even lock the screen.

Thomas: Already brewed. With that weird almond creamer you like. You okay?

Me: Better. It’s over.

When I get home, Bear slams into me like a wrecking ball in a fur coat. His tail whips the doorframe like a weapon. I drop my bag just in time for him to stick his massive nose against my stomach andsnuffle.

“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. “Baby’s fine. We’re fine.”

Then Thomas appears. He takes one look at me and crosses the space without a word, pulling me into him like he already knows the answer.

He presses a kiss to my temple, then drops one to the curve of my belly.

“Everything you needed it to be?” he asks against my hair.

“Everything and more.”

He leans back just enough to look at me, and his hand rests—warm and steady—against the little swell under my sweater.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs.

“I think it’s the hormones. And rage.”

He grins. “It’s hot.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling.

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