Page 1 of How To Not Need You

Chapter

One

Liv

The first mistake I make on Monday morning is opening the group chat. Which I may have muted overnight. Entirely for my own mental wellbeing. If Luca asks, I absolutely did not. There are eighty-four unread messages. Elsie has reacted to something with multiple crying emojis. Harper has posted enough candid photos that I’m considering reporting her for stalking.

I have somehow been tagged in six separate conversations despite contributing absolutely nothing since Saturday night.

I should mute it again. Instead, I start scrolling through the endless stream of wedding photos that have completely taken over the chat.

Elsie and Noah cutting the cake. Luca making some sort of speech that, judging by Noah laughing so hard he's bent in half, probably should've required supervision. A blurry photo of Harper dancing with Leo balanced on one hip while Alexander tries to rescue a slice of cake from Grace's determined little hands. Someone has uploaded a photo of Noah looking at Elsie like she'd personally invented oxygen.

Disgusting. Adorable. Mostly disgusting. Then another photo appears.

Harper: Thought you'd appreciate this one

I tap it before I can stop myself. It's completely unposed. Tilly is standing in front of me, hands flying through the air as she enthusiastically explains something. Dinosaurs? Glitter? World domination? Honestly, with Tilly it could be any of the above. I'm crouched to her height, smiling in a way I don't remember smiling.

Jake is a few metres behind her. He's not even looking at the camera. He's watching us. The expression on his face catches me completely off guard. Soft. Content. Like seeing his daughter laughing with me is the most natural thing in the world.

I stare at the photo for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Delete it. Then I keep scrolling.

Three photos later I sigh, open the Recently Deleted folder and restore it.

"Pathetic," I mutter to myself.

The phone lands face-down on the mattress as if tossing the evidence away from me will somehow undo the last three seconds. I flop backwards beside it, glaring at the ceiling like this entire situation is somehow the plaster's fault.

This is exactly why I don't date. Not because men are terrible. Although statistically speaking they've certainly done their best to support that argument. Because all it takes is one genuinely nice man and one five-year-old with enough charm to broker world peace at a friend’s wedding, and suddenly my brain starts acting like we've skipped several chapters ahead.

I don't know his favourite colour. He doesn't know mine. There is absolutely no reason Jake Reid should be occupying prime real estate in my thoughts before coffee. Yet here we are.

I drag a pillow over my face. The fabric smells faintly of my shampoo and last night's perfume.

"Mental note," I mumble into the cotton. "Never trust wedding hormones."

The pillow offers no opinion. Traitor. Eventually I admit defeat and sit up. My apartment is quiet in that way it always is after I've been surrounded by people.

Not lonely. Just mine. Exactly how I intended it. Every corner exists because I chose it. The soft sage walls. The shelves lined with books and little ceramic planters. Fake plants, obviously, I like the ambiance but have no desire to keep something alive twenty-four-seven. No thank you.

My desk tucked beside the balcony doors, buried beneath colour swatches, typography books and half-finished client mock-ups. The oversized couch that comfortably fits one person stretched out with a blanket and a laptop. The tiny kitchen where everything has its place because I'm the only one who ever moves it.

Nothing is accidental. Nothing requires compromise.

I like knowing that if I leave a mug on the coffee table, it'll still be there when I get home. That nobody eats the leftovers I'd been looking forward to all day. That silence isn't something I have to fight for, it's simply waiting for me when I unlock the door.

People assume living alone must get lonely. They've never understood that peace and loneliness aren't the same thing.

I've spent years building a life that fits me perfectly. No walking on eggshells. No wondering if someone else's choices are about to turn my world upside down. Just me. Just the way I like it.

I shower quickly, grateful for something practical to focus on. Back in my bedroom, I rebuild myself piece by piece. Thin gold rings. Silver thumb ring. Hoop earrings. Each one slides into place like armour I've worn for so long I barely notice its weight anymore.

Design mock-ups cover the cork-board above my desk. Colour swatches spill from neatly organised trays. Yesterday's mug of tea still sits beside my laptop because Future Liv can deal with that. My favourite leather jacket hangs over the dining chair. My keys wait in the ceramic bowl beside the door.

My hand closes around my keys. Something smooth presses against my palm. I open my fingers. A small grey stone. Completely ordinary except for one thing. Tilly had placed it in my hand at the wedding with complete seriousness.