Page 80 of Once Upon A Second Chance

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And for the first time in years—not just since New York, not just since the lawsuit, butyears—I realize what real fear feels like.

Not the fear of failure. Not the fear of losing a case, a job, a reputation.

The fear of losingher.The only thing that ever really mattered.

And knowing that this time? This time, it might be too late to get her back.

I don’t turn on the lights.

I just sit back down on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, screen too bright in the dim room.

My thumb hovers over her name in my contacts—Penny Morgan—like it’s some kind of detonator.

I could text her. I should text her.

Justsomething.

I start typing.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re not no one. You’re everything.

I stare at the words for a long time, thumb twitching over the send button.

It’s not enough.

Not even close.

It’s too soon. Too raw. She deserves more than a handful of desperate words vomiting ontoa screen because I’m lonely and miserable and can’t sit with what I did.

With a groan, I hit backspace. Watch every letter disappear until the screen is blank again.

I try again.

Can we talk? Please.

Stupid. Pathetic.

I close the text window altogether and lock the phone, tossing it onto the sagging mattress beside me like it burns my skin.

My hands shake in my lap.

I blow out a breath, lean forward, elbows on my knees, and drag both palms down my face until my jaw aches from the pressure.

The silence in the room stretches, thick and suffocating.

Eventually, I pick the phone up again—this time flipping mindlessly through my contacts until I land on my mother’s name.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

But some part of me still wants to—wants to scream at her, tell her she doesn’t get to own this narrative, doesn’t get to make me ashamed of the best thing I’ve ever had.

I start typing.

I lied. There is someone. There’s Penny Morgan. And I love her.

My fingers hover.

I imagine her response. The clipped disapproval. The casual cruelty.

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