Page 25 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
It was after 3 a.m. when I finally crossed the threshold of my hotel.
And I felt alive.
Not as someone's wife. Not as someone waiting for an apology or trying to hold everything together.
Just me. Felicity.
Joyful. Exhausted. Glowing inside and out. I hadn't felt this light in years. Not because my problems disappeared—but because for once, they weren't the loudest voice in the room.
And as I stepped into the elevator, grinning to myself, one final thought made me laugh out loud:
This entire weekend was about to cost more than that damn purse.
And worth every penny.
Chapter 11: The Confession
~Caden~
Stillness embraced me.
It was so quiet when I woke up—and not the good kind. Not the kind where the house is still because everyone's sleeping in, and I get a moment to breathe before the chaos of the day starts. No. This kind of silence was louder. Emptier. It felt like absence. Like grief. Like the moment you realize something sacred has left the room and you don't know when, or if, it's coming back.
Her side of the bed was still made—all except for her pillow, which I had hugged to myself nightly in her absence. Last night, I realized her pillow no longer smelled like her, so I stole the one off the guest bed where she was sleeping. They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Who would have thought scent was one of those things that lingered—along with the pain from its absence.
I sat up and stared down at my feet for a while. Poised on the edge of the bed, I couldn't make myself stand. Rubbing my face, my hand came away wet—tears? I hadn't even realized I was crying.
My stomach clenched as if I'd been punched. It was her birthday—and she was alone. I knew she was in Miami since her travel confirmation emails came to our shared email account. I wasn't sure why she picked Miami, but I couldn’t help but hope she was safe. Every time she charged something expensive on our cards, we both got notifications as part of our bank’s settings. And with every notification, I found myself relieved to know that she was safe.
I threw on a hoodie and walked downstairs, grabbing coffee more for the ritual than anything else. I kept it black, seeing as the bitterness suited me this morning. It's going to be a busy day for me, and I need to get moving. No more wallowing. Real change had to happen.
I glanced up the stairs—Macy. Here for the weekends, I knew she was still sleeping. I hadn't told her much—just that Felicity was out of town for the weekend. But now, thinking about the purse, about what it symbolized, I knew I couldn't keep her in the dark.
It wasn't fair. To Felicity. Or to Macy.
As I walked up the stairs, my phone pinged with a text.
Lauren: Jessica called again with some questions.
Damn it. I really don't have time for this today. Resolved to get more details later, I shot off a quick note to Lauren telling her we could talk through when I was back in the office.
Finishing my ascent, I stopped at Macy's door and knocked lightly. "Mace? You up?"
A soft murmur from inside, then, "Yeah."
"Can I come in?"
Again, "Yeah." She had the crack-of-sleep voice and that faint edge of attitude I've come to expect from an almost-twelve-year-old.
I cracked the door open, the hinges protesting with a soft whine. Macy lay curled like a comma in her unmade bed, one pale leg twisted in the lavender comforter that had slipped halfway to the floor. Her chestnut hair splayed across the pillow in wild tangles, and the blue glow of her phone cast eerie shadows acrossher face, illuminating the dark circles beneath her eyes. "Sleep okay?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She shrugged without looking up, her thumb still scrolling mindlessly. "I guess. Tired still." Her voice was sandpaper-rough with sleep.
I sat on the edge of her bed and took a breath.
"I want to talk to you about something."
Still scrolling, "okay."
