I took a breath. “Because I stayed in something that didn’t respect me for too long,” I said. “And I decided I didn’t want that to be my life anymore.”
Molly studied me, then nodded once, like she approved of the answer.
Later, when she and Graham went to grab something from the car, Lena leaned toward me and whispered, “You handled that like a pro.”
“I didn’t want to lie,” I whispered back. “And I didn’t want to make it dramatic.”
Lena smiled. “Welcome to healing.”
Not everything was smooth, of course.
Bobby tried again to pull my attention back to him. It wasn’t always direct. Sometimes it was through old friends asking if I’d “talk to him.” Sometimes it was an email about a piece of mail that arrived at the house. Sometimes it was a random call at 10 p.m. that I didn’t answer.
He was testing the boundaries, searching for any opening where he could still feel like he mattered.
One evening, he actually found one.
I was at the grocery store, reaching for a loaf of bread, when I heard my name.
“Daria.”
I turned. Bobby stood a few feet away, holding a basket like a prop, hair slightly longer than it used to be, eyes too intent.
I didn’t feel fear. I felt tired.
“Hi,” I said.
He stepped closer. “Can we talk?”
“About bread?” I asked lightly.
He didn’t smile. “About us.”
“There is no ‘us,’” I replied.
His jaw tightened. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “But it’s done.”
He glanced around, lowering his voice. “I made a mistake.”
“You made a pattern,” I corrected. “And then you got surprised when it had consequences.”
His face shifted—anger, then something like pleading. “I didn’t think you’d… change.”
I looked at him, really looked. And I saw something sad: not remorse, but the discomfort of a man realizing the person he depended on no longer needed him.
“I didn’t change,” I said. “I returned to myself.”
He swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about that night,” he said. “The party.”
I waited.
He looked down at his basket, then back at me. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“You mean when you told me to leave early?” I asked.
His cheeks colored slightly. “Yeah.”
“And when you said you didn’t want your friends to know about me?” I added.
He flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I nodded slowly. “But you said it.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing there was no clean explanation.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
It was the first time he’d said those words without dressing them up in excuses.
I held his gaze. “Thank you,” I said. “I accept that you’re sorry.”
His eyes widened slightly, as if he expected forgiveness to come with an invitation.
I didn’t offer one.
“I hope you figure out why you did what you did,” I continued. “But I’m not the person who has to carry that with you anymore.”
His face fell. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it,” I said.
He stood there, frozen in the cereal aisle, while I turned back to my cart.
When I got to my car, my hands were shaking—not from fear, but from adrenaline. Even when you’re healed, certain ghosts still know how to rattle chains.
I sat behind the wheel for a moment, breathing.
Then my phone buzzed: a text from Graham.
Want to come over tonight? I’ll make pasta. Molly’s at her mom’s. We can just be quiet if you want.
I stared at the screen and felt something soften in my chest.
Yes, I texted back. Pasta sounds perfect.
Driving home, I realized what Bobby would never fully understand: I didn’t win by taking from him.
I won by giving myself back to myself.
That night, sitting at Graham’s kitchen table, steam rising from a pot of pasta, I felt the future stretch out in front of me—not glittery, not perfect, but real.
And real was enough.
Part 8
In the fall, I received an email from Ava.
I hadn’t heard her name in months. Seeing it in my inbox felt like spotting a familiar face in a crowd you’ve already left behind.
The subject line read: Quick question.
I almost deleted it without opening. Then curiosity—professional, detached—won out.
Daria, it began. I hope you’re well. I’ve been meaning to reach out. There’s a situation, and I think you might have insight.
I stared at the screen, amused despite myself.
A situation.
I kept reading.
Bobby has been telling people some things, and it’s creating tension in the group. I don’t want drama, but I also don’t want misinformation. Would you be willing to talk?