Page 228 of Money Reigns

---

Still, I pull open the drawer and grab a pair of fleece-lined pantyhose, shimmying them on before stepping into the dress.

A small rebellion. A quiet compromise.

I glance at the mirror.

The fabric floats as I move, feminine and gentle in a way that feels like remembering who I am. My hair’s messy, tangled fromlaying in bed too long. I braid it over my shoulder with stiff fingers.

Makeup?

No. War always liked my freckles.

But my eyes are puffy, rimmed in exhaustion.

Concealer.

I dab it on carefully, then swipe mascara through my lashes. I pause, staring at the reflection.

Before I know it, I’ve done the full routine, except my freckles. I let them stay.

Then I eye my jacket.

It’s heavy. Puffy. Practical.

And I hate how it feels over this dress. Like armor when I don’t want to be armored.

I leave it behind.

I take another full glance.

“You got this Liv,” I murmur to myself.

I lift the tray, carefully balancing the thermos and cups, and head downstairs.

The air outside bites immediately, sharp and bracing. Snow crunches under my boots as I cross the street. My breath fogs in front of me, and the chill creeps through the fabric of my dress, but I keep moving.

Voices drift from the porch. Hammers thud. Saws buzz faintly under the crackle of frozen air.

Greg is the first to spot me. “Well now,” he says, smiling wide. “Cocoa angel’s here.”

A few of the men cheer, teasing lightheartedly. I offer a small smile in return, cheeks burning from cold and nerves.

I scan the group.

No War.

The children are gone.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and set the tray down on a nearby sawhorse. “Hot Cocoa.”

They thank me, passing around the cups like it’s Christmas again. One of them offers me a cup back. I take it just to keep my hands busy.

I stay a minute longer than I should, pretending to enjoy the drink.

Then I gather the tray and turn to go.

I don’t run.

But I want to.

---