Page 87 of This Life of Mine

Maybe that’s why keeping Lina alive has become more than a contract. More than a case. Somewhere along the way, the line blurred, and now the thought of failing her feels uncomfortably familiar.

She’s the principal. That’s all she should be.

I should be thinking about why her name is at the top of a contract to kill—not wondering what makes her laugh after a hard day, or whether she’d smile if she came home to dinner already waiting on the table.

But Lina makes me want things I never allowed myself to want. She makes me believe I could give her more than stolen moments and borrowed time.

As I dry the produce and pack it away for later this evening, I make a quiet note to myself.

If, by some miracle, Lina wants more than tonight—if she wants something lasting, not a fling—I’ll do more of this.

The unglamorous things. The grocery shopping. Cooking dinner. Folding laundry while she loses herself in a book. Making coffee before she’s awake. Quiet acts of love no one applauds because they’re never meant to be seen.

I’ll take whatever weight I can from her shoulders and give her back the moments life keeps trying to steal.

Chapter twenty-seven

Lina

Iawake with a soreness that seems out of this world.

It’s more than the dull aches from yesterday’s workout. It’s the deep, god-awful soreness that catches up with you after your body has had time to remember everything it went through the past two days.

The cuts and bruises appear more severe today, spreading across my skin in angry blues and yellows. I get that it means I’m healing, that this is the process. But damn, my legs look terrible.

I move with deliberate care at first, every step intentional. I begin going through my routine chores I usually complete late in the evening. I dust my shelves, clean the kitchen, start laundry, and wipe down counters.

The house seems quieter than I’m used to. Too still.

I turn on music to help fill the void. I playRAYE Oscar-winning Tears, and belt out the words.

The more I move, the looser my body gets. The aches reduce and my muscles remember how to work again.

By midday, I draw an Epsom salt bath and sink into it like it’s sacred.

The heat seeps into places I didn’t know were holding tension. Hips, shoulders, the base of my spine. I shut my eyelids and allow myself to relax for once. No timers, ovens, or customers waiting.

Even on the one day we are officially closed, I’m still there at the shop—organizing shelves, deep-cleaning, rearranging displays like rest wasn’t something I earned yet. Like stillness was a luxury meant for other people.

Today is odd. Foreign really. And honestly? Long overdue.

I check my phone more than I should.

The screen lights up repeatedly, messages stacking faster than I can read them. Text messages and Ring videos.

The shop looks packed from what I can see from the various camera views. The line curls past the windows, familiar faces mixed with new ones drawn in by curiosity and momentum. Pride swells in my chest, right alongside guilt.

I should be there. I should be helping. I should be doing something.

I open the group chat that’s been lighting up my phone.

A ping followed by a separate message from Val pops up on my phone.

I set the phone down. Smiling and giggling to myself.

Suddenly, gratitude hits me all at once.

A team that shows up without being asked. A business partner and amazing best friend who stands between me and the world without hesitation.