Page 76 of Broken Trails
“He’s reaching. He’s losing grip and doing what fucking cowards do—throwing knives and hoping something sticks. Don’t let it cut deeper than it has to. You didn’t steal anything. You left.” She doesn’t sugarcoat. Never has.
I nod, but it’s automatic. A well-worn reaction. The kind you perfect after repeating something enough times, trying to make it true. I left. I chose myself. I did the right thing.
“I’m not surprised,” I murmur, but my voice barely holds. “What a fucking asshole.”
“Mhm,” Dani hums in agreement.
“Anyway, I’m sorry, that’s not why we called,” Jeff’s voice softens. “We miss you, petal. Like, actually miss you.”
I blink, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. “I miss you both, too.”
“Gee,” Dani deadpans. “Don’t sound too thrilled. You’re practically weeping.”
That earns the tiniest smile from me. “Sorry. I’m just… still trying to catch my breath.”
She lifts her chin, eyes narrowing with that mix of sass and affection. “Catch it. Hold it. Then get your ass back on your feet. And I say this with all the love in my heart—I will hold your hand through this, and also lovingly kick your ass into next week if you keep living in your head.”
Jeff adds, “She will, too. You know how terrifying she is when she’s in nurturing mode.”
Dani shrugs. “It’s a gift.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s soft and strained, but real. “I know. I’m trying. It’s just… hard.”
“Of course it’s hard,” she says. “You’re unlearning a whole damn life. Don’t minimise that.”
“I think that’s what makes it harder,” I admit. “Letting go of what I thought I wanted. This marriage, my job, that version of me… I built everything around it. Around him. And now, I don’t even know who I am without all of that.”
Jeff’s expression gentles. “You’re still you. Just minus the dead weight.”
“Refining.” Dani nods. “Shedding bullshit like a glittery snake.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “And you’re both very dramatic.”
“And you love it.” Dani smirks.
“I do,” I admit, my voice softer now. “I don’t say it enough, but… thank you. For being there. For always checking in.”
“Always,” Jeff echoes.
We talk for a few minutes longer. Nothing heavy. Just bits and pieces of our lives, their work dramas, a client who tried to pay Jeff in gift cards, Dani’s new favourite wine that she swears is “cheap but classy.” It feels like oxygen. Familiar. Effortless. Safe.
Jeff glances at his watch and winces. “Client in five. Gotta go.”
“Same.” Dani sighs. “I have to go back to pretending I enjoy being around humans again.”
They both blow kisses at the screen.
“We’ll call soon,” Dani says.
“Don’t forget us,” Jeff adds dramatically.
“Never,” I promise, and mean it. The call ends, and the silence that follows isn’t as sharp as it was this morning. It settles, instead of stinging. And for once, I let it .
25
Wattle Creek still hasn’t mastered the art of a decent matcha latte.
I learned that yesterday. After twenty minutes of weaving through side streets and polite nods from people I don’t know—and have no interest in knowing—I gave up and settled for a lukewarm cappuccino handed to me by a man who said, “Stick to real coffee, love,” with a wink and absolutely zero shame.
