Page 36 of The Hang Up
Mom scoffs and waves a hand. “Fine. Go. Run off and play house with your little boyfriend. Don’t come crawling back when it all falls apart.”
I don’t respond.
I turn away.
Back into my bedroom. Back into the safety of Holden’s arms.
“Let’s finish packing,” I say, voice brittle.
“We could leave tonight,” he offers. “If you want.”
I pause. Then I nod. “I want.”
We work in silence, the tension in the house thick and suffocating. But with every box that’s sealed and every drawer that’s emptied, I feel empowered. Each packed item feels like reclaiming a piece of myself.
When the last box is taped shut, Holden loads them into his truck while I take one final look around my bedroom.
I expect to feel sad. I don’t.
I feel free.
We pile into the truck as the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over Lilac Harbor. I twist my fingers in my lap as Holden drives, one hand resting on my thigh.
When we pull into his driveway, I start crying.
Not loud, dramatic sobs, but quiet tears that I can’t seem to stop.
He parks and shuts off the engine before turning to me. “Hey. Come here.”
I crawl into his arms like a child, and he holds me while I cry. He strokes my back, brushing his mouth across my temple. He doesn’t rush me or tell me to calm down. He just lets me feel it.
When the tears slow, I whisper, “I gave her everything. And it still wasn’t enough.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “That’s not on you.”
“I should’ve left years ago.”
“You’ve left now,” he says gently. “That’s what matters.”
I exhale shakily, fisting his shirt. “I don’t know what to do with my life. I don’t have a plan. I never got the chance to think about it.”
“Well,” he brushes his thumb over my cheek, “what do you want? Do you want to go to college? Travel? Move somewhere new?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Part of me still wants to bake. But part of me wants to breathe for a while. I want to sleep in. I want to read a book without falling asleep halfway through. I want to live.”
Holden nods. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I stare at him for a long second, my chest aching with something that feels like relief and grief and love all tangled together. “You mean it?”
“Every word.”
He kisses me, slow and sweet, right there in the truck as the stars blink to life overhead.
And when we walk into the house together, our home, a new sensation settles in my bones.
Peace.
For the first time in my life, I’m not living in service of someone else’s needs or expectations.
