1. Chapter One
chapter one
. . .
Olivia
I tossed a stray apple slice into my mouth, relishing the satisfying crunch as my teeth broke through the waxy skin. It was a fleeting moment of pure, simple pleasure that distracted me from the world around me.
“Olivia Jane, don't you dare spoil your dinner,” Mom scolded, wagging a flour-dusted finger at me.
“Wouldn't dream of it, Mother dearest.”
The sweet scent of cinnamon wafted through my cozy kitchen as Mom and I bustled through our well-practiced dance of baking in perfect sync. She rolled out the pie crust with a delicate touch I'd watched in awe since childhood, while I peeled and sliced the Granny Smiths.
“Remember when you were little and insisted on 'helping' me bake?” Mom giggled, her blue eyes sparkling. “You'd end up covered head to toe in flour, more on you than in the bowl!”
I laughed, the sound almost foreign to my own ears these days. “What can I say? I've always been committed to my craft. ”
We worked in comfortable silence for a bit, the rhythmic thump of Mom's rolling pin and my knife against the cutting board providing a soothing backdrop. Mom quietly hummed an old Carole King tune that instantly transported me back to the lazy Sunday mornings of my childhood.
As if reading my mind, she said, “I've missed this, honey. The two of us, baking and chatting like old times.”
“Me too, Mom.” I reached over and squeezed her hand, flour and all. “I'm sorry I haven't been around as much lately. It's just been...” I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the emotional mess that had become my life.
“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for.” She set down the rolling pin and enveloped me in a hug, her floral perfume wrapping around me like a childhood blanket. “I'm so proud of you, you know that? No matter what.”
I blinked rapidly, determined not to let the tears fall. I am so damn tired of crying.
I’d holed myself up in my house for weeks after Ethan left. Between my broken heart and the ache that had taken up permanent residence in my pelvis, the thought of peopling was unbearable. The chronic pain ranged from dull and achy to sharp and debilitating, but I'd be damned if I let it steal all my joy. I would pull myself up by the bootstraps and get back to living my life.
A knock at the front door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. Pete shot towards the sound, barking excitedly. “That'll be your brother,” Mom said, smoothing her hair. “Fashionably late, as usual.”
I followed her to the door, my heart lifting at the thought of seeing Wick. My brother had always been my fiercest protector and closest confidant. The three years he had on me seemed like an eternity growing up, but as adults, we were closer than ever.
I pulled open the door to find him grinning down at me, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other. “Hey, little sis,” he said, stepping inside and engulfing me in a bear hug.
“Hi yourself,” I mumbled into his chest, breathing in his familiar cologne. Over his shoulder, I spotted Meghan and Marco, his partners. After that bitch Beth had broken my brother’s heart, I thought he’d never recover. It took him a few years, but he bounced back in spectacular fashion. Despite the judgment they often received for their unconventional relationship, the three of them were perfect together.
“Hey guys, come on in,” I called, extricating myself from Wick's arms.
Meghan looked effortlessly chic in a flowy sundress. She kissed my cheek and handed me the sunflowers. “For the hostess with the mostest,” she said with a wink.
Marco was next, folding me into a hug and planting a kiss on the top of my head. “Something smells amazing,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Please tell me that's your mom's famous pot roast I'm detecting.”
“Close.” I laughed, ushering them into the living room. “Beef stroganoff. There's also mashed potatoes, salad, and rolls, with apple pie for dessert.”
“Marry me.” Marco swooned, clutching his chest. Meghan swatted him playfully.
“Ignore him. He's always thinking with his stomach,” Wick said, flopping down on the couch and patting the seat next to him. “Now, sit. Tell me everything. How are you doing, really?”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before pasting on my brightest smile and sinking down beside him. “I'm great,” I said, tucking my feet up under me. “I’ve been looking for a job. And Pete and I are having a blast exploring all the dog parks in the city.”
Wick’s hazel eyes searched mine, and I tried not to squirm under his gaze. My brother had always been uncannily perceptive, able to see through my mask of cheerfulness.
“And how's the pain?” he asked, once Meghan and Marco had moved out of earshot to chat with Mom in the kitchen. “Are you managing okay?”
I swallowed, my smile faltering for a second before I hitched it back into place. “It's fine,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “You know how it is, some good days, some bad. But I'm handling it. The new meds help, and I've been doing a lot of yoga and meditation.”
Wick frowned, clearly unconvinced. He reached out and took my hand. “Liv, you don't have to pretend with me. If you're struggling, if you need help, all you have to do is say the word.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, giving his hand a quick squeeze before pulling away. “But really, I'm okay. I promise. Now, let's go see if Mom needs any help in the kitchen, shall we?”
I stood abruptly, smoothing down my dress. Wick watched me for a long moment before sighing and pushing himself to his feet. He, Meghan and Marco been at my side the night Ethan left. They’d all seen me at my lowest. I refused to worry them more. Besides, when it all got too much, I had Pete .
“Lead the way.” He gestured toward the kitchen. I could feel his eyes on my back and sense the concerned frustration radiating off him in waves.
Mom was pulling dinner out of the oven. Marco was setting the table, carefully arranging the mismatched china and colorful cloth napkins. Meghan poured the wine, her movements graceful and precise.
“There you two are,” Mom said, setting the casserole dish on a trivet. “I was about to call for reinforcements.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Wick said, moving to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Liv and I were just catching up. Anything we can do to help?”
“You can carry this to the table,” Mom said, handing him the salad bowl. “And Olivia, why don't you grab the rolls?”
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. As I transferred the warm rolls into a basket, I let the comforting scent of yeast and butter wash over me, grounding me in the moment.
This was what mattered. Family, friends, good food, and laughter. The rest —the pain, the loneliness, the nagging fear that I would never be whole again—could wait. For now, I would plaster on my sunshine mask and make sure everyone had a wonderful time.
“Alright, gang,” I said brightly, carrying the rolls to the table. “Dinner is served! Everyone dig in while it's hot.”
As I took my seat between Wick and Mom, I experienced a rush of gratitude for these people who loved me, who showed up for me time and again, even when I didn't make it easy.
I couldn't keep up the charade indefinitely. Eventually, the mask would crack, and I would have to face the truth of my situation head-on.
But for tonight, I would savor the warmth and the laughter. I would smile and let myself believe that everything really was okay.
I blinked slowly, emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep brought on by too much wine at family dinner. Pete was curled up beside me, his soft fur tickling my nose as he snored contentedly.
A smile tugged at my mouth as I watched the rise and fall of his little chest. This sweet pup had become my rock over the past few months, his unconditional love providing comfort on my darkest days. I stroked his silky ears, and he stirred, big brown eyes blinking open.
“Morning, buddy.” His tail thumped against the mattress as he stretched his legs out, jabbing me in the ribs.
“ Morning, Mom,” I said for him in my deep Pete voice.
Throwing off the covers, I swung my feet to the floor and winced as the now-familiar ache bloomed between my legs. Some mornings the pain was more of a dull throb, manageable if I moved slowly and didn't overexert myself. Other days, it was a searing agony that left me doubled over, tears streaming down my face.
Today was somewhere in the middle—not debilitating, but enough to put a damper on my mood. I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself that the pain would pass, the flare-up would subside. It always did, eventually .
“Come on, Petey,” I said, forcing brightness into my tone. “Let's go for a quick potty break before I make us some breakfast, yeah?”
Pete hopped off the bed, his tail wagging at the magic words. I grabbed his leash from the hook by the door and clipped it onto his collar, flinching again as a sharp twinge shot through my abdomen. Gritting my teeth, I led the way outside, Pete trotting at my side.
While he sniffed around the yard, I took a moment to breathe in the crisp morning air. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers soothed my frayed nerves. My gaze drifted to the little herb garden I had started, the bright green shoots of basil and rosemary poking up through the rich soil.
Pete barked sharply, his signal that he was finished with his business. I unclipped his leash, and we headed back inside, him scampering ahead. In the kitchen, I filled his food and water bowls, then set about making a cup of tea.
The familiar motions—filling the kettle, scooping the loose leaf into the infuser—were comforting. I allowed my mind to go pleasantly blank, focusing only on the simple tasks at hand. It wasn't until I settled onto a stool at the kitchen island, steaming mug cradled in my palms, that the worries crept back in.
Almost without conscious thought, I reached for my laptop and opened it, the bright screen blinking to life. A glance at my email inbox was all it took for my tentative calm to shatter.
Three new messages, all with the same dreaded subject line: Job Application Status.
My heart sank as I scanned the terse rejections. I had spent hours agonizing over those applications, every answer designed to highlight my skills and passion for animal welfare. And for what? More disappointment, more failure, more bitter confirmation that I was simply not enough.
Shoving the laptop away, I dropped my head into my hands, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until I saw stars. Damn it, damn it, damn it. When will I finally catch a break?
I had worked so hard to build my career at the Columbus Humane Society. Starting as a volunteer dog walker in college, I had clawed my way up through sheer determination and an unshakable love for the animals. By the time I was twenty-five, I was running the entire canine rescue and rehabilitation program.
It was more than a job to me—it was a calling, a way of life. I would come home exhausted but brimming with a sense of purpose, my heart so full from the lives I had helped save that day. The hard work, the long hours, the heartbreaking cases, and endless piles of paperwork—it was all worth it to make even the smallest difference.
Then Ethan convinced me to quit my job to “prepare” for getting pregnant. At first, I had been hesitant. But he was persistent, wearing me down with his insistence that I was being selfish by putting my career before our future family.
“Don't you want children, Liv?” Ethan's words sliced through the tense silence. His chiseled jaw tightened as he studied me from across the living room.
I shifted on the couch, fingers twisting in the soft fabric of the throw pillow cradled in my lap. My eyes drifted to the framed photos clustered on the mantel, snapshots of happier times. Ethan's arm slung around my shoulders as we grinned into the camera, my cheeks flushed from the crisp autumn air and the warmth of his embrace.
That simple, uncomplicated affection felt like a lifetime ago.
“Of course I want children,” I said, unable to meet his piercing stare. I traced the embroidered pattern on the pillow, focusing on the raised texture beneath my fingertips. Anything to distract from the sharp sting of his implication.
“But...my career, the shelter—that's important to me too, Ethan. Those animals need me. I can't just abandon them.” My voice trembled, the words sounding feeble even to my own ears.
Ethan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “More important than starting a family? Than being a mother?” His tone dripped with disdain. Are the mangy animals at that shelter more important to you than building a real life with me?”
I flinched. Heat flooded my cheeks as I struggled to formulate a response, to make him understand what the shelter meant to me.
But he had already turned away, effectively dismissing me with the rigid set of his shoulders. As he stalked from the room, the fading thump of his footsteps was a death knell, each retreating step another nail in the coffin of our crumbling marriage.
So I caved, telling myself it would only be temporary, that I could always go back to my job at the shelter once we had a baby. How na?ve I had been, desperate to make Ethan happy at any cost—even the sacrifice of my life's passion.
Now here I was, nearly three years later. No children, just a string of devastating miscarriages that had left my body battered and my spirit broken. No career to help me find that sense of purpose again. Nothing but a hollow ache where my dreams used to live. Dreams that were slowly being consumed by the ever-present physical pain.
Tears burned against the backs of my eyelids, but I blinked them away. I was tired of wallowing in self-pity. Ethan had taken enough from me—I refused to let him rob me of my dignity, too.
With a shaky exhale, I straightened my shoulders and reached for the mug of rapidly cooling tea. The warm ceramic relaxed my clenched fingers as I took a sip. One breath, then another. I could do this. I had to.
Pete whined softly, resting his chin on my knee and looking up at me with big soulful eyes. A tiny smile flickered at the corner of my mouth as I reached down to stroke his head.
“Don't worry, bud. We've got this. If those places don't want to hire a total badass like me, that's their loss.”
He cocked his head to the side, seemingly skeptical of my bravado. I giggled, my spirits lifting slightly at his adorable antics. “Okay, so I'm not quite feeling like a badass right now. But I will be again someday, I promise.”