I nod, slumping into the chair across from her. "Yeah. They want me to promote a new line. It’s exhausting."
"That’s what happens when you have a brand to run," she teases, her eyes still glued to the screen. "But you’re making it work. I can tell."
I wish I felt like I was making it work.
Sylvia looks up finally, her expression softening as she notices the way I’m staring at the table. "Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while now."
I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I’m doing here, you know? Five years later, and I’m still... here. I thought I could just... go on. But nothing’s ever the same. Not really.”
Sylvia leans back in her chair, staring at me with an understanding I don't want to accept. “Brittany, I know you don’t like talking about it, but... you have to eventually. You can’t keep running away from what happened. You can’t keep living in the shadow of that.”
I stiffen, a reflex I can't control. I don’t want to think about what happened. I don’t want to remember the lies, the betrayal. But the memories flood in anyway. Ace’s words. His coldness. His final rejection.
And Sierra.
“Every day, it feels like I’m fighting to breathe. And for what? So that people can tell me I’m strong? That I can get through this? What if I’m not strong? What if I’m not going to get over it?” I choke on my words, my throat tight as I try to push back the tears that are always on the verge of spilling.
“You’re allowed to be broken,” Sylvia says quietly, her voice gentle. “You’re allowed to take time to heal. But you can’t keep pretending like this never happened. Because it’s always going to be there, Brittany. You’re always going to carry it with you.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. I stand up abruptly, needing to move, needing space. My fingers grip the edge of the counter, my nails digging into the wood as if that will keep me grounded.
“I don’t want to carry it anymore, Sylvia. I don’t want to remember the way he made me feel. The way he used me, then tossed me aside like I meant nothing. But I can’t stop it. I can’t stop thinking about him, about everything he did to me.”
Sylvia rises from her chair, walking over to me and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been through hell, Brittany. I get that. But you have to stop letting him control your life. He’s gone, and you’re still here. You deserve to move on.”
“But how do I do that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “How do I move on when everything reminds me of him?”
Sylvia sighs, looking at me with a tenderness I don’t deserve. "You take it one day at a time. One small piece at a time. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to keep going.”
I nod, my chest tightening. It feels impossible. The thought of moving on, of forgiving him for the things he said to me, for theway he destroyed me, feels like a distant dream. A dream that’s slowly slipping away, no matter how hard I try to hold onto it.
I hear my phone vibrate on the counter, and I glance at the screen. A text from Corinne.
“Just checking in. How are you?”
I don’t reply immediately. Instead, I stare at the screen, feeling the weight of the past few years. The moments I spent trying to pick up the pieces of myself after Ace destroyed everything I believed in.
I don’t want to keep living like this. But I don’t know how to stop. How do you recover when everything around you is a constant reminder of the life you once had? How do you let go of someone who meant everything to you, but turned out to be a nightmare in disguise?
I can feel Sylvia’s eyes on me as I stand there, my phone still in my hand.
"Sometimes, you just have to accept that you're not okay," she says softly. "And that it's okay to be not okay."
I look at her, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest. She’s right. I’m not okay. And I don’t know when I’ll be. But maybe that’s okay, too.
Maybe I don’t have to have everything figured out. Maybe I can just keep going, even if it’s one small step at a time.
Chapter 42
Ace
It’s been five years.
Five goddamn years since I burned my world to the ground.
And no matter how many days pass, no matter how many mornings I wake up next to Sierra, no matter how many times Karla tugs at my hand and calls me daddy with her wide hazel eyes — Brittany is still under my skin, in my bones, carved into every scarred corner of my heart.
I sit in the dim living room, whiskey glass in hand, Karla’s stuffed bunny tucked under my arm. The TV’s on low, some late-night news running across the screen, but my eyes aren’t on it. They’re on the soft light spilling from under the bedroom door, where Sierra is tucking Karla in.
