Page 39 of All Your Dreams

“Of course,” I mutter before we say our goodbyes.

I sit there for a long moment after the call, phone still warm in my hand. This is what I wanted, right? I drove across the country to start over and be as far from Nathan as possible. So why does it feel like someone just punched a hole straight through my chest?

I stand on shaky legs and walk back into the nursery. I stare at the mural, fixating on all the little details. My ex’s face comes to mind again, not because I want to think about him right now, but because my brain is cruel. It reminds me of how he used my diagnosis as a convenient excuse. Then, the image of them together, her visibly pregnant, fills my head.

Another memory follows before I can stop it. Maybe if your body actually worked, we'd have a family by now. The words hit just as hard as they had the first time. This is exactly why I never wanted to get my hopes up. I remember the frustration in Nathan's voice, the disappointment he never bothered to hide. Everything always has to be so complicated with you. I'd spent weeks believing him, carrying the weight of his words like they were a diagnosis instead of a weapon. As if my worth had somehow been measured by something I couldn't control.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away, but the ache in my chest refuses to loosen, as if someone is squeezing my lungs. The room feels too small suddenly. I slide down the unpainted wall, my back pressing against the cool surface. Paint flecks dot my overalls. My hands still smell of acrylic. I press my face into my knees and breathe deeply. The sound that comes out of me is ugly and uncontrollable, surprising me with its force.

I’ve been holding every tear in for months and have finally run out of excuses to keep them in. I cry for the marriage that never had a chance, and for the future I thought we were building. My tears flow heavier when I think about the younger version of myself who thought love meant changing who you are.

One thing makes me smile between the tears: I’m finally free and it’s terrifying after years of mental manipulation and belittling. But I’m free and no one will have power over me again.

12

OLLIE

Ilet out a relieved sigh when I leave the shop. Today was one of those days where every car that came in was determined to test the limits of physics and my patience. Even the phones didn’t stop ringing and everyone needed me all at once. I pushed through the tasks on muscle memory alone, fueled by bad coffee and the promise of going home later.

All I want now is to have a cold drink or two, eat food still warm and sit down without anyone asking me to solve a problem.

Unlocking the front door, crying echoes from the walls, but it’s not Tilly. I shut the door behind me and follow the sound, broken and ragged sobs coming from the nursery. Peyton is curled in on herself on the floor, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. Her whole body trembles as if she’s trying to contain something too big for her willowy frame.

“Hey,” I say softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “What’s wrong?”

She lifts her head when she hears my voice. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Just sobs. Deep, uncontrollable ones that hitch in her chest and steal her breath. Fuck. I crouch in front of her, close enough that she knows I’m here without crowding her.

“It’s okay,” I tell her in a hushed tone, touching her shoulder. She’s tense under my palm, so I move my hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Peyton shakes her head. Watching her in so much emotional turmoil makes everything twist uncomfortably in my chest. I don’t enjoy seeing people I care about in pain, and I especially don’t like feeling useless in the face of it. I would do anything to carry even some of hers.

“Can I hug you, Peyton?”

There’s a small pause in her crying. Then she nods, just barely. But that’s all the permission I need; I wrap my arms around her carefully, mindful of how vulnerable she is, and pull her against my chest. She melts into me, her forehead pressing into my shoulder, fresh sobs muffled against my shirt. I adjust instinctively, one arm around her back, the other coming up to cradle her shoulders. I breathe her in, the fabric softener I’ve used for years mixed with her lavender scent.

We sit on the floor for a long time and her breathing slowly evens out, her sobs fading into quiet sniffles and shaky exhales. But I don’t rush to move. Eventually, she shifts, pulling back. I take the small movement as my cue and loosen my arms.

Peyton wipes at her face with the back of her hand, cheeks flushed, eyes red. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“I’m glad,” I say before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She looks away and fiddles with the hair tie around her wrist. “I got news from my lawyer today. Nathan, my ex, was married to someone else this entire time. We can file for an annulment instead of divorce. It’s like our marriage never existed. Well, legally it was a scam anyway.”

I genuinely don’t know what to say. Not because the situation is complicated. But because it’s so unbelievably awful. Who the hell does that to someone? Sharp anger flares inside me. Not just at the guy himself, but at the way Peyton says it so casually, like she’s spent days trying to make herself numb to the fact.

“Isn’t that good news?” I ask carefully.

Peyton exhales slowly. “I guess so. I just—” She cuts herself off, scrubbing at her cheeks again. “Never mind. I already feel better.”

I know that tone. The one that says I’m done sharing for now. “Okay,” I say and stand up. I head toward the door, giving her space, figuring she might want a moment alone.

“Hey,” she says and I turn around. Her eyes are still glossy but no more tears are falling. We hold each other’s gaze, the silence stretching between us. After a moment, she whispers, “Thank you.”

I smile reassuringly. “You know what you need right now?”

She looks at me cautiously. “What?”

“Girls’ night. I’ll take care of Tilly so you can let loose.”