Page 159 of Almost Ours
And the worst part?
So did I.
The door closed behind them, and the house felt impossibly quiet. I locked it, then just stood there, staring at the wood grain, my arms wrapped tightly around myself.
I hated that conversation. Hated that she didn’t just take my side and let me wallow in the choice I’d made.
I sank onto the couch, burying my face in my hands, exhaling shakily.Ryan is not Reid.
Of course I knew that. But knowing and believing were two different things. Years of convincing myself that love was dangerous had rewired something in me–that trusting the wrong person could cost me everything. That the safest choice was always the one that didn’t leave room for heartbreak.
Yet I was heartbroken anyway.
And if I was heartbroken, if Connor was heartbroken, then what was I even protecting us from?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out Nina’s voice, trying to ignore the ache in my chest.
Because if I let myself question that choice now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with it.
The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Nina.
Nina: I’m sorry if I was too harsh last night. I’m on your side, no matter what. Always.
I smiled faintly, a mix of warmth and guilt settling in my chest. She was just looking out for me, even if it didn’t feel like it last night.
I typed back.
Harper: I’m sorry too. Thanks for being there, even when I’m a mess.
Her response came almost immediately.
Nina: That’s what best friends are for.
I set the phone down and stared out the window, watching as the sunlight streamed through, casting a golden glow across the room. For the first time in days, the ache in my chest felt just a little bit lighter, like maybe there was hope to find peace in the mess I’d created.
That afternoonI picked Connor up from school, and we walked home, his chatter filling the crisp air, cutting through the heavy thoughts that had weighed me down all day.
“We’re learning about the Aztecs in Social Studies!” he said, his voice bright with excitement. “Did you know they build floating gardens called chinampas? And their pyramids were, like, super tall. Taller than our old house!”
I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Really? That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah! And we have this project–we have to make an Aztec pyramid. Like, a real one! Well, notreal, but realistic. Miss Larson said we should use stuff like cardboard or foam or even wood.”
I glanced down at him, his cheeks flushed pink from the chilly air, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Do you have a plan for how you want it to look?”
“Not yet,” he admitted, skipping a step ahead of me. “But I was thinking it should have stairs. And maybe, like, a temple thing at the top.”
The earnestness in his voice made my heart ache. His excitement was contagious, but it also reminded me of how hard I was trying to hold everything together–for him, for myself.
After dinner, we headed to the hardware store. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as we walked in, the smell of sawdust and paint filling the air. Connor tugged at my hand, practically bouncing with anticipation.
The aisles stretched endlessly, filled with tools, materials, and supplies I had no clue how to navigate. I grabbed a small basket, already feeling overwhelmed as I scanned the shelves.
“Foam? Wood? Glue?” I muttered to myself, my eyes darting over rows of products. “Paint? What even makes a good pyramid?”
“Do we need this?” Connor asked, holding up a bright yellow tube of caulk.
I laughed lightly, shaking my head. “No, definitely not that.”
