“My emotions and feelings and hormones have been all over the place.”
“Okay, how was it?”
“Narri!” Sabine slapped her thigh.
“What? As if you weren’t comparing then to now.” Narri leaned in. “Did anything change?” she whispered.
Sabine bit her bottom lip not wanting to give in but she couldn’t resist her best friend in the entire world. “God, no,” she nearly groaned and Narri tapped her feet giddily. “It was amazing…it was…it was…it was us, Nar.” Then she broke down. “It was us so fucking much.”
“Awwww, come here,” Narri scooted closer holding her.
Sabine’s shoulders shook, her face buried in Narri’s neck as the tears spilled out hot, sudden, and deep. Narri held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles into her spine.
“I got you. I got you. Let it out, best.”
Sabine inhaled sharply, pulling away just enough to speak through the sobs. “I hate that it felt like home. I hate that my body still knows his. I hate that I missed him so much that my heart acted like nothing ever happened.”
“But something did,” Narri said gently, brushing a curl from Sabine’s damp cheek. “A lot did.”
“I know,” she sniffled, pulling at the sleeve of her blazer. “But the way he held me last night…like he still knew me. Like his arms haven’t forgot how I fit. I felt safe again, and I hate that because I’m not supposed to.”
“You’re not supposed to feel safe with someone who hurt you,” Narri echoed.
“Exactly.” Sabine’s voice cracked. “But I did and now I feel like a traitor to myself.”
“You’re not.” Narri squeezed her hand. “You’re just human. A woman who’s been through hell. A woman who lost her baby. Who carried all that pain alone. Who got betrayed, abandoned, overlooked and still found the strength to build something. You aren’t betraying yourself by needing softness. Especially not from the one person who should’ve given it to you from the start.”
Sabine nodded slowly, her lashes wet. “He asked me not to stop loving him. I told him I couldn’t love him the same anymore. And you know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said I didn’t have to. Just not to stop.”
“Oh damn.”
“It wrecked me, Nar,” Sabine whispered. “Because I don’t think I ever really stopped. I just tucked it under the grief.”
“That’s love, best. Real love don’t die, it just hides when it’s been hurt too much.”
“It’s like every time I get my balance back, some part of him tips the scale again.”
“I get it,” Narri said gently. “But listen, he isn’t the same man who let you go the first time. You know me ofallpeople would not vouch for that asshole…but honey…I think…I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time,” Narri emphasized and Sabine’s eyes glossed because she knew exactly what her best friend meant. They’d had one ofthosenights. One of the sacred ones.
Wine glass after wine glass, turned straight from the bottle; legs tangled on the couch, hair tied up and edges sweated out, eyes glossy from laughter and pain. Just the two of them. No filters. No pretending. The kind of night that came after a longcry and a long silence—when both had been holding too much for too long. She remembered how Narri poured another glass, sat cross-legged in a hoodie two sizes too big, and said:
“Okay. One ugly truth we never tell nobody else. Go.”
Sabine had laughed at first. Brushed it off but the wine was in her blood and the ache was too close to her skin, and before she knew it, the words tumbled out, quiet and broken.
“I think in a few years…I’ll take him back…only if he’s truly sorry.”
Narri hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t judged. She just blinked slowly, nodded once, and said, “Okay…then when it’s time, all I’ll say is I think it’s time…and we don’t even gotta talk about it.”
That was the deal. That was the vault and now, here they were. Different year, different chapter but same kind of ache. Same kind of truth.