Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
The cursor blinks in rhythm with my heartbeat. I sit on the floor, laptop balancing on my knees, the hum of the café below filtering through the floorboards. The scent of fresh pastry lingers, but I barely notice.
I’m not working on revisions or drafting a sequel. This is something else. I stare at the blank page, fingers poised, breath steady.
I type:
I spent so long trying to disappear behind the words. Now the bravest thing I can do is step out from behind them.
I pause, exhale.
This isn’t a love story, not in the way I used to write them. It’s a story about shedding the version of yourself someone else made small, and about telling the truth, even when your voice shakes.
I add a line I’m a little afraid of:
My name is Lilah Rayne, and I was never safer than when I was pretending to be someone else.
I read it back and don’t flinch. I scroll to the top and add a title.
Letting Go by Lilah Rayne.
Not Lola. Me.
After clicking save, I hover over Tess’s name. I could share it with her, but I think this one gets to be mine for a little while longer.
I add one final paragraph, plain as a truth you can finally hold:
I thought the work was hiding. It turns out its staying. Here I am. No more shrinking to fit.
Another save. The cursor blinks once, like a nod. I close the laptop and sit in the hush of the upstairs apartment, steady as breathing. For the first time in a long time, the name on the page feels like it belongs to the person holding it.
My phone buzzes.
TESS: Hey. Not trying to stress you out, but have you seen this?
Reddit link: Who is Lola Reid?
My stomach drops as I tap the link. There it is. A post with a photo from the Turn the Page event, a blurry side profile, and a cascade of speculative comments. Some take guesses. Some are even cruel. One has already found the business listing for Brew it’s just a hard chapter.
REY: Do you want tea or wine waiting? Or just quiet? We’ve got you, whatever you need.
MARLEY: We love you. That’s all, no questions. Just love.
I stop under a streetlamp and close my eyes, letting the words soak through. The light hums softly above me, warm and steady. I tuck my phone back into my pocket, wipe the last of the tears away, and breathe.
The secret’s out. The ground’s unsteady. But it’s mine, and for the first time in a long time, I’m walking through the truth. Raw, tear-streaked, but free.
The apartment is dark when I step inside. I don’t bother with the lights at first. I stand in the doorway and let the silence settle over me. My face still damp from tears, prickles.
I kick off my boots, and pad barefoot to my desk.
The glow of my laptop lights the room as I open it, half out of habit, half out of instinct.
My inbox is full of reader messages for Lola, along with half-started drafts of blog posts I never finished.
But I don’t open any of those. Instead, I click into the folder: Untitled.
A story I wrote months ago sits waiting. It’s not about heartbreak or reinvention, or even love. Just a quiet piece about a girl who tends a forgotten garden on the edge of town and watches it bloom.
It isn’t perfect, but it’s mine. Without overthinking, I find the submissions page for a small literary journal I used to read at uni. I type my real name into the author field: Lilah Rayne.
I upload the document and click “Submit.” A soft breath leaves my chest.
A new beginning.
LILAH: Just submitted a story under my real name. No more Lola.
MARLEY: OH MY GOD, QUEEN!
REY: That’s huge. Proud doesn’t even cut it.
TESS: Welcome back, Lilah Rayne.
Taking a seat on the floor with my back to the couch, I open my journal and rest it on my knees.
No music, no phone, no distractions. The pen feels heavier than usual.
I write three lines and cross them out. I start again, not about tonight, not about reddit or even about Lucas. It's about me this time.
What I want from love now: to tell the truth the first time, even if my voice is shaky.
To be met where I am, not where I make myself small.
To build a life that I can breathe in and work in, no choosing between the two.
And to choose each other on normal days.
During breakfast and errands, not just in the big scenes.
I read it back and it doesn’t feel like a plea. It reads like a map.
LILAH: I am home safe.
LUCAS: Okay, talk soon.
Journal Entry - Friday 26th of September
Tonight, I told the truth. Not all of it, but enough to feel the shift. It didn’t feel like relief. Not right away, it felt like standing on a film set, without a script.
But then I came home and I submitted a story. As me, no pen name and no pretending. It’s a small thing, maybe, but tonight, it feels like enough.
xx