Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
In a few hours, I’ll be standing in front of a crowd as myself, no pseudonym, and no persona, just Lilah. I’m not sure which part scares me more, being seen or wanting to be.
The kettle clicks off as Marley leans against the counter, dunking two peppermint tea bags into mismatched mugs. ‘You look like you’ve either made peace with your fate or you’re about to flee the country,’ she says, her tone light but knowing.
I sit cross-legged on the couch in an oversized hoodie and half-laugh. ‘Why not both?’
Rey emerges from the bathroom, holding up two tubes of mascara. ‘This is a vulnerable question, but do I go for smudge-proof warrior or romantic poet lash?’
‘Poet,’ Marley and I say at the same time.
Rey tosses the other tube into her bag and flops onto the rug with a grin. ‘Can’t believe it’s happening tonight. I’m proud of you, Lils. Even if your stomach is currently attempting a full-blown protest.’
I press a hand to my ribs. ‘It’s not a protest. It’s more like a polite riot.’
We all laugh, and just like that, a bit of the tension dissolves.
On the table beside me sits a paperback copy of The Year Before You, now with a new cover.
My name, Lilah Rayne, is printed in soft gold script beneath the title.
I still can’t believe Tess had it made all that time ago, quietly hoping that one day I’d want to stop hiding.
Next to it is one with the first few pages of Letting Go, freshly printed that morning.
A gentle reminder that I wasn’t just closing a chapter tonight. I am beginning a new one.
Marley passes me a cup of tea and nods towards the open window. ‘You could’ve kept hiding, you know. Lola is enough, and people loved her.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘But I didn’t.’
After a moment, I cross to my bedroom closet, knowing there’s one thing I need to do before tonight. ‘Where did I stuff it?’ I mutter, tugging at hangers and half-folded clothes.
‘Lilah, what are you doing in there?’ Marley calls.
‘Now isn’t the time for redecorating,’ Rey adds.
I huff out a breath. Come on, think. I spot my favourite tote, crumpled in the corner. ‘Found you,’ I whisper, tugging it free. The second I do, a memory hits. That first meeting outside the bookstore, literally running into Lucas.
My chest tightens with the string of moments that followed, every near touch, every kiss, every quiet look that felt like something more.
I see so much of Eli in him. Maybe I really did write myself the perfect man before I met him.
A strange mix of nerves and anticipation rushes through me for the life I once imagined with Justin, and the one I’ve slowly built instead.
The cottage. The café. Writing. A life that finally feels like mine.
I walk back into the lounge room, holding the wig, the oversized glasses, and the red lipstick I’ll never wear again. Marley watches as I turn them over in my hands, a faint smile playing on her lips. ‘You sure?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘Yeah. I don’t need them anymore.’
Rey grabs the small bin from beside the desk and holds it out like a ceremony. ‘To retiring Lola’s costume,’ she declares.
We laugh as I drop them in. The sound is light—free. For the first time, so am I.
Marley claps, eyes bright. ‘End of an era.’
‘Beginning of one,’ I say, steady.
She grins. ‘That’s my girl.’
A beat passes before I check my phone. ‘Tess just texted. “The lights are up and your name’s on the sign. We’re almost ready for you.”’
I look down at my hands, the same ones that had typed the final words of my story, trembling and unsure. They didn’t feel any steadier now, but they were mine. I stood.
My phone dings with a message from Justin. I don’t bother reading it, I just smile and block his number, something I should have done a long time ago. Then I exhale and put my phone in my bag. ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’
The back room still smells like old books and printer ink.
There is a different name on the front door now, but somehow, it still feels like home.
I stand in front of the same full-length mirror, now framed by a fully stocked bookshelf.
But this time, there is no hiding, no wig to adjust and no rehearsed smile.
No red lipstick or green blazer to disguise the nerves.
Just a simple navy dress that falls softly around me, my hair curled and pinned, and a delicate chain resting at my throat.
The one Mum had given me, long before things got complicated.
I don’t need to be anyone else tonight.
A knock on the door pulls me back. No one opens it or says anything, just slips an envelope under the door. My name is written in cursive. Drawing a big breath, I flip the envelope over and open it. It’s a letter from Carol, which reads:
Dear Lilah,
If you’re reading this, then maybe you’ve already done the hardest part.
I don’t know what your story holds, but your writing deserves your name attached to it.
Some people leave pieces of themselves on paper because it’s the only way they’ve ever felt seen.
If that’s you, then I hope you know that your words matter, even the ones you’re scared to share.
You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be honest. That’s always been enough here. Turn the page, sweetheart.
Carol
I clutch the letter to my chest, like it is something sacred. How did this even get here? Lucas maybe? Not that it mattered, but this is exactly what I needed today. ‘Thank you, Carol,’ I whisper to the ceiling. I swear I can feel her warm hug around me, holding me still and calming my nerves.
I turn back to the mirror and study the reflection staring back at me. Not just a girl who wrote a book, but a woman who had survived one. The lump in my throat catches me off guard. ‘This time,’ I whisper, ‘I’m not becoming someone else.’
The door cracks open. Tess peeks in, clipboard in one hand, a steaming chai in the other. ‘You’re on in five. You good?’
I smile, and it is real. ‘I’m ready.’
The low murmur of voices floats through the walls like a familiar song, comforting and unfamiliar all at once. Tess gives me a small nod from the doorway. ‘They’re ready.’
I step into the hallway, the click of my heels soft against the old timber floors.
The warmth of the shop hits me first, fairy lights strung from shelf to shelf, casting a gentle glow across the space.
Every seat is filled, Rey, Marley, and Nettie in the front row.
Jasper is adjusting the mic. And Lucas, he stands near the back, arms loosely crossed, watching me like I am the only story worth reading. I can’t look away.
Jasper clears his throat. ‘Thank you all for being here tonight.’ He smiles, his eyes flicking towards me.
‘Please join me in welcoming the guest of honour tonight.’ He steps aside, and a hush settles over the room, all eyes turn to me.
I take a breath and step forward, letting it carry me towards the front. My hands rest lightly on the lectern.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice sure. ‘You would all know me as Lilah Rayne, the girl who pours your coffee at Brew & Bloom, but I am also Lola Reid.’
There is a collective exhale, whispers, and a few short gasps. Someone near the back mutters, ‘I knew it.’
I smile. ‘I started writing The Year Before You during a chapter of my life I didn’t think I’d survive. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore, only who I didn’t want to be. So, I gave my grief to someone else, I called her Savannah, and I called myself Lola.’
I glance down, fingers brushing the edge of my book, steady and present. And this time, finally, mine. I wrote because I didn’t know how else to breathe. After all, fiction let me say what I couldn’t say out loud. It let me disappear until I was ready to come back.
I look back out at the crowd, letting my gaze find my people.
Tess, steady and proud. Marley is wiping away a tear.
Rey, nodding like she knew exactly how it feels.
‘And then,’ I say, my voice catching slightly, ‘something shifted, I realised that maybe I didn’t want to hide anymore.
That maybe the bravest thing I could do is show up as me with all the mess, the truth, the words I wasn’t ready to say before. ’
The emotion rises in my throat, thick and real. ‘I’m still scared,’ I admit. ‘But I’m not silent and I want to say thank you for reading my words, for holding space for Lola and now, for holding space for me.’
The room doesn’t move until someone starts clapping. It spreads slowly, a ripple of warmth and safety. It isn’t thunderous, but it didn’t need to be. It is enough, it is more than enough.
As the applause fades, I reach down, brushing my fingers against the manila folder I’d been debating all day.
‘I wasn’t sure if I’d read this part,’ I say, lifting the pages with a small, nervous smile.
‘It’s not finished. It’s not even really a book yet.
It’s a collection of thoughts over months about learning how to stop shrinking.
’ I look back at the crowd like I am sharing a secret just between us. ‘It’s called “Letting Go.”’
‘Letting go isn't always loud, sometimes it’s a quiet choice you make at 2 a.m. with no audience. No applause, just you and the truth you’ve been avoiding.
I used to think survival meant staying small.
If I didn’t ask for too much, if I didn’t take up space, maybe I’d be safe.
Maybe I’d remain loved, but I’ve learned that safety built on silence is not safety at all.
‘Letting go means releasing the versions of yourself that were designed to keep other people comfortable.
It means forgiving the girl who tried so hard to be easy.
Who twisted herself into something soft, something manageable.
It means stepping out of the shadows other people built for you, even if it means standing in the light alone for a little while.