Lena

I was in the garden when my father called.

Not the penthouse garden, the one at my mother's grave. I'd asked Marcus to drive me there after my coffee with Nate. I needed to think. To process. To sit with my mother's memory and figure out what I was feeling about everything.

About Julian's apology.

About Bridget's threats.

About becoming someone I didn't recognize anymore.

Someone who said I know instead of I'm sorry.

Someone who took time instead of immediately forgiving.

Someone who was learning to take up space.

I was sitting on the grass beside her headstone, tracing my fingers over the engraved letters of her name,...