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Maybe it’s—

“No,” Richard says, quick and sure. “No one.”

The word hits harder than a slap.

I set the mugs down a little too hard, the clatter making him glance over.

I look away.

The call ends a minute later with promises to see each other soon—"Your father’s flying down too, we're staying at the inn, you’ll make time for dinner, won’t you?"—and then Richard slides the phone into his pocket like he didn’t just knock the air out of me.

He turns toward me, smiling like nothing happened, like we could just pick up where we left off on the couch.

But I’m already moving.

I yank the door open so hard it rattles in its frame.

“Penny,” he says sharply, confusion flashing across his face. “What’s wrong? Are you…?”

“I have to get back to work now.”

He freezes, still standing by the couch, his hand half-lifted like he was about to reach for me again.

“Talk to me, Penny. What’s happened?”

I grip the edge of the door with white-knuckled fingers. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to pretend I didn’t just hear what I heard—but it’s lodged there, deep and ugly and undeniable.

I shake my head. “What’shappened?I think you made it pretty clear on the phone just now.”

He crosses the room in two strides, closing the distance between us.

“Penny, come on,” he says, softer now. “It’s mymother. You know what she’s like.”

I laugh—a hollow, brittle sound that feels nothing like me. “Yeah. I know exactly what she’s like. And I know exactly what you’re like when you talk to her.”

He flinches.

“You told her there’s no one.”

My voice cracks despite every ounce of strength I try to muster. “No one, Richard, like I’m nothing.Like we’re nothing.”

“It’s not—” He scrubs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” I snap, feeling the hurt clawing up my throat. “You can jump into a river to save a stranger’s kid but you can’t tell your own parents you're with me?”

His face twists. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s simple.” My hands tremble at my sides. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Penny.” He says my name like he’s trying to anchor me, but the ground’s already gone.

He looks tired. Strung out. Like he’s stuck between fight and flight and he doesn’t know which way will hurt less.

“You think I don’t remember what they said about me back then?” I say, my voice low and shaking. “Just a physical therapist. Not good enough. Not ambitious enough. Not polished enough for their precious son.”

He closes his eyes like the words physically hit him.

I press on, because if I don’t get it all out now, it’ll rot inside me. “And maybe you think that too.Maybe you’ve always thought that. You just got lonely enough to forget for a while.”