“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered softly into my hair, her breath warm against my scalp. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
And she held me close while I cried myself to sleep, her fingers stroking my hair in slow, soothing motions, anchoring me through the storm of emotions that threatened to pull me under.
Chapter Seven
Hope
I woke to sunlight streaming through Faith’s bedroom window, the kind of bright, cheerful morning light that felt like a cruel joke. The bed beside me was empty. The sheets felt cool to the touch where Faith had been lying. I sat up slowly, my body aching in places I had never felt before. A dull throb between my legs, a tenderness in my hips, a soreness in muscles I hadn’t known existed.
The memories came flooding back all at once.
The pond. The moonlight. His hands on my skin. His voice whisperingJulieagainst my neck.
I pressed my palms against my eyes and took a shaky breath, willing myself not to cry again. I cried enough last night. I cried until there was nothing left, until Faith’s shirt was soaked through and my throat was raw.
I couldn’t afford to fall apart again.
A soft blue robe was draped across the foot of the bed. Faith’s doing, no doubt. I pulled it on, tying the sash tight around my waist, and padded barefoot out of the room.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of birds outside, but nothing else. No voices. No footsteps. No motorcycle rumble.
I found Faith in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee cradled between her hands. She looked up when I walked in, her expression carefully neutral, and gestured to the pot on the counter.
“Coffee’s fresh,” she said quietly.
I poured myself a cup, the rich, bitter scent grounding me for just a moment, and sat down across from her, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic. The taste was strong and slightly bitter on my tongue, comforting in its way. The silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant, but I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to start. Faith always knew when silence was needed, but I wished she would say something—anything—to make me feel less alone.
Faith watched me for a moment, then asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?” Her concern was gentle, never pushing, and for a heartbeat, I almost let myself believe I could. When I said nothing, Faith took a sip of her coffee and set the mug down gently. “He left early this morning,” she said, her voice soft. “Before sunrise.”
I nodded slowly, staring down into my cup. Of course he did. Of course he left. What else was there for him to do? Stay and face the woman he fucked while calling her by another woman’s name?
“Okay,” I said quietly.
Faith waited, watching me with her careful, knowing eyes. She was waiting for me to say something. To break down, to ask questions, tofeelsomething. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself feel anything right now, because if I did, I would shatter into a thousand pieces.
I shrugged, the gesture feeling hollow and mechanical. “I have a double shift at the diner today,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t be back until late.”
Faith’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of concern in her eyes. “Hope—”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, cutting her off. I stood up, taking my coffee with me. “I need to get ready for work.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I walked down the hallway to my room, the echo of Faith’s footsteps lingering behind me.When I closed the door, I leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, shaky breath that rattled in my chest. If I let myself speak about it, I worried the truth would spill out and swallow me whole.
I couldn’t think about him. Couldn’t think about the way his hands had felt on my skin, the way he whispered promises and love into my body while believing I was someone else. If I thought about it, I would break. And I couldn’t afford to break. My breath caught in my throat, the memories threatening to unravel me.
I set my coffee on the dresser and pulled open my closet, grabbing my work uniform. Black jeans, a simple white T-shirt, comfortable shoes. I was halfway through pulling on my jeans when there was a soft knock at the door. The sound was gentle but persistent.
“Hope?” Faith’s voice was soft, tentative.
I closed my eyes and took a breath, steadying myself against another surge of panic. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Faith stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching me with that same careful expression, her presence quiet and reassuring.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said before she could speak, my voice firmer than I felt. I pulled my shirt over my head and reached for my shoes. “There’s nothing to be done, Faith. It happened. It’s over. I just want to move on.”
Faith was quiet for a long moment, and I could feel her gaze on me, heavy and searching. “Hope.”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. “Please, Faith. I can’t... I can’t talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just need to... I need to keep moving.” The ache in mychest felt like it might never fade, but I clung to the hope that routine would numb it.