Page 62 of This Life of Mine

After that, it evolves into a different thing altogether. Defensive. Protective. Fierce.

People from town start correcting rumors before Val gets a chance. Regulars I recognize by name. Customers who come in every Saturday. Parents who bring their kids throughout the day or after school. Other small business owners.

This place is family. Don’t spread lies about people who work their asses off. They contribute to our community. Show them some respect.

Someone posts about how kind we are. Someone else shares a story about staying late to help them place a custom order. Someone else mentions how cozy and safe the shop is and how they can’t imagine why anyone would try to disrupt that.

Offers start rolling in.If you need anything, call us. We’re watching out. We’ve got your back.

I sit on a stool behind the counter, sore and exhausted, scrolling through it all in disbelief.

The staff drifts back to their stations, the day inching forward like it’s attempting to feign that nothing seismic happened. Val watches them go, and afterward, looks at me.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Can we talk for a minute? In private?”

I nod and follow her towards the back, into the small office.

She closes the door behind us, leans against it, and stands there for a moment, like she’s bracing herself.

“I owe you an apology,” she says, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. When she opens them again, there’s guilt waiting there.

I blink. “For what?”

What could she possibly be sorry for?

Her face crumples—enough to tell me this has been sitting with her for a long time.

“For not seeing it,” she says. “For not understanding who he really was.”

I try to speak up to protest, but she keeps going.

“He fooled everyone, Lina. Me. My husband. All of us.” Her voice cracks. “My husband was best friends with Cole for years. Years of cookouts, outings, dinners, and holidays. And watching that video—“ She stops, presses her lips together as she rejects it. “I can’t unsee it. Or unhear his words.”

She turns her eyes towards me again, eyes burning now.

“The names he called you,” she says, voice tight. “A fucking whore.” Her hands curl into fists. “And not like someone lashing out in the heat of the moment. There was menace in it—meant to reduce you to those words. He was trying to make youfeellike those words were true.”

My jaw tightens.

“I never understood how someone who claims to love you could say things like that,” Val continues. “Not only to hurt—but to dominate. To make you smaller.”

She exhales, shaky. “And the way he kept telling you what you were allowed to do. Like your life still belonged to him.”

She regards me, eyes wet. “That was really fucking unhinged.”

I nod once. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Val’s gaze drops to the floor. There’s more.

“I keep thinking about how many times you almost left,” she says after a moment. “How many times you told him you were done.”

I swallow, tasting the sour memories.

“He sensed it, didn’t he?” she continues. “Every time you started slipping out of his reach.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

“That’s when he’d call me,” Val says, her voice breaking. “He’d confide in me. Tell me how scared he was of losing you. How much he loved you. How he had no clue what he’d do without you.”