Caroline didn’t let up. “Let yourself be happy for five minutes, Lily. Please.” She reached across the table and squeezed my wrist, gentle but firm. “You deserve this.”
I let the words sink in, or tried to. “But what if it doesn’t mean as much to him?” I asked, whispering. “What if this is just . . . I don’t know, an experiment? Or a way to forget whatever happened before?”
Caroline shook her head, a hint of exasperation breaking through her cool. “Did you guys talk about expectations? Or are you just assuming it’s temporary?”
I fidgeted with the handle of my mug. “We didn’t talk about it. We just sort of—” I made a vague hand gesture that could have meant anything. “It felt like the right thing in the moment, but afterwards, he was so quiet. I didn’t know if it was good or bad.”
“He was probably just overwhelmed,” Caroline said, “or afraid to scare you off.” Her gaze softened again. “You should text him.”
I recoiled, scandalized. “Already? Isn’t there a rule? Like, a three-day rule?”
She laughed again, this time with more bite. “That’s for high schoolers. If you want to talk to him, just talk to him.”
I bit my lip, chewing it over. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It isn’t,” she agreed. “But you’re not the same person you were three years ago, Lily. You’re a warrior now. If you want him, say so.”
My face heated up again, but I tried to breathe through it. “What if I say something wrong? What if he thinks I’m needy?”
Caroline’s voice went soft, but her words were sharp. “You’ve survived worse than being called needy. You’re allowed to want someone, Lily. It doesn’t make you weak.”
I wanted to believe her. I really did.
A silence stretched between us—not awkward, just full. I looked up and found Caroline still watching, the corners of her mouth pulled into a conspiratorial smile.
“Can I give you some medical advice?” she asked.
I tried to muster a laugh. “Only if you promise not to use a speculum.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “I prescribe you one day of reckless optimism, followed by at least twelve hours of doing exactly what you want.” She squeezed my hand again. “You earned it.”
I laughed, for real this time, but then tears blurred the edges of my vision. “Sorry,” I said, wiping at my cheeks. “Didn’t mean to go all weepy on you.”
Caroline grabbed a napkin from the counter and slid it my way. “It’s okay. Sometimes you need to cry it out.”
I wiped my face, then blew my nose with a ridiculous honk. Caroline grinned, like she’d just confirmed a diagnosis. “See? Already looking more optimistic.”
I set the napkin aside and tried to smile, even though my eyes felt puffy and weird. “Thanks for coming, Caroline.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said, almost tentative.
I braced myself, then nodded. “Shoot.”
Caroline tucked her legs up underneath her, like she was about to get comfortable. “Do you ever think about him?”
It didn’t take a genius to know who she meant. Jim. “Every day,” I said, before I could think to lie. “But not the way you’d expect.”
Caroline waited, letting me fill the space.
I traced the chipped edge of the coffee table, then forced myself to say it. “I keep thinking if I’d just been braver, or smarter, or something—I could have left sooner. Maybe none of it would have happened.”
Her face didn’t change. She’d heard it before, probably from me, but this time it felt more final. Like a confession I’d never fully made. “I should have been stronger,” I said, and it came out tight, barely more than a whisper.
Caroline shook her head, but she was gentler this time. “You were strong. You survived.”
My throat closed, but I made myself keep talking. “You saved my life. I only survived because of you and Walker. That night at the clinic. If you hadn’t?—”
Caroline cut me off with a look. “You’re the one who came to me,” she said. “You’re the one who asked for help.” She reachedacross the coffee table, hand open. I hesitated, then let her squeeze my fingers tight. “That took more guts than anything I did.”
