Chapter 7
luna
I didn’t speak to anyone after I got home. Thankfully, Nova and Ollie were already asleep by the time I slipped inside, so I crept into my quiet apartment, curled into bed, and cried myself to sleep.
Some part of me hoped that by morning, it would hurt less. That I’d wake up with clarity or peace or, at the very least, numbness. Nothing was okay. The ache was still there.
I avoided my phone entirely. My assistant posted a simple message on my socials, letting everyone know I was stepping back for a bit for my mental health.
I knew it was time to face the inevitable, so I managed to get out of bed, put on a pair of oversized black sweats, and threw my hair into a bun. I was ready to tell my best friend, my twin flame, that I was leaving her . . . .
When I got up to the house, Nova was fussing in the kitchen, so I quietly opened the back door. My plan was to come out and tell her, but the moment I saw her brown curly hair, the sob hit before I could hold it back.
In the twenty-something years Nova and I had been friends, I could probably count on one hand how many times I’d let her see me cry from sadness. I hated crying in front of people. It made things too real.
She dropped the knife immediately and rushed to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, grounding me like she always did.
“I fucked up,” I choked out, the words ripping from my throat. “I messed up. Everything is wrong.”
Nova didn’t flinch. She never did. She just whispered, “Nothing we can’t fix together.”
I collapsed onto the couch, pulled my knees to my chest, and let her hold me. I knew I looked nothing like myself. I was the worst version of myself—inside and out—and she didn’t even blink.
“What happened?” she whispered as she hugged me tighter. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“I-I needed to tell you because Ollie will be coming home from work,” I murmured, barely audible, “and he’ll for sure know and . . . I can’t do this anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes in that way she does when she’s putting the pieces together.
“I broke up with Will,” I said flatly.
Her breath caught. “Okay.”
That was it. Just okay, and then the tears came all over again.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Everything will not be okay,” I sobbed. “I’m a bad person.”
I hadn’t cheated, but it still felt like betrayal—of Will, of Nova, of the version of myself I’d worked so hard to keep stitched together.
“You’re not a bad person,” she said firmly.
I believed her, even if only a little. Will was kind, safe, and stable. Everything I’d told myself I needed after a life spent in chaos. He never saw me the way Dirks did. Never looked at me like I was electric.
I pulled away and wiped my face. “I’m going to tell you something,” I said, voice trembling. “And you cannot freak out.”
She gave me that Nova face—equal parts concern and sarcasm. “I can’t promise I won’t freak out, but I’ll do my best to keep a straight face.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
“Two months ago, I was feeling really homesick,” I said.
Her brow creased. “Like homesick, homesick?”
I nodded. “Yeah. For everything. American snacks, pancakes, Trader Joe’s frozen meals.
My yoga girls. Everything felt . . . off.
” I looked at her, and guilt settled in again.
“I didn’t tell you because you were finally settling in.
You had Ollie. You had Scar. You have the life we dreamed about, and I didn’t want to ruin that with my spiral. ”
“Lune—”
“I know, but then Dirks called.”
She froze. “Dirks, Dirks?”
I nodded, feeling the sting of tears all over again. “Yeah. And I just— when I heard his voice, something cracked open. He told me he missed me. That this was going to be his last season. And I . . . I didn’t realize how much I missed him, too. How much I missed myself when I was with him.”
Not just him, but the version of me that existed when we were together. The version who could feel everything and still survive it.
My voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t cheat.
I didn’t even tell him how I felt. But after that call, I just .
. . couldn’t keep pretending with Will. He was safe.
He was kind. But I’ve been quietly unraveling for months, Nova.
And I can’t stay in something that makes me feel smaller just because it’s comfortable. ”
I’ve spent my whole life being what people needed. The good foster kid. The reliable friend. The polished face online. The stable girlfriend. I’ve lost myself somewhere in all that giving.
Nova didn’t speak. I glanced up and saw the tears brimming in her eyes, and I lost it again.
“You’re leaving?” she whispered.
“I have to. You’re not in survival mode anymore.
Scarlette has you and Ollie. And she still has me.
I’ll always be her Daddy Luna. I just . .
. I need to figure out who I am again.” I reached up and wiped the tear off her cheek with my thumb.
“I gave up so much to come here, and I don’t regret it.
I’d do it again. But now I need to go do something for myself for once. ”
Nova didn’t respond right away. I watched her eyes glaze, her mind spinning through all the versions of mornings we’d shared—me brushing Scarlette’s hair into little braids while she packed lunches.
She blinked fast. “I’m going to be so mad at you when I don’t know how to do a fishtail braid.”
A small, broken laugh escaped my throat. “I’ll send you a tutorial.”
My smile wobbled, but I held it. Because that was what I did—I held things.
Emotions, people, burdens, stories. I’d held Nova for years.
Through heartbreak, through Austin, through her world falling apart and her crawling back from the edge of it.
I would never regret it, but I was tired of holding everyone else.
My chest ached as I looked at her. Nova—my twin flame, the other half of my heart.
I’d left my job, my friends, my yoga practice, and my entire community behind just to move to London so she wouldn’t drown alone.
I’d learned to make British pancakes, watched her fall in love and give birth, but I was the one unraveling, and I didn’t even notice it until Dirks’s voice cracked something open inside me.
My body was screaming to go home. For the first time in my life, I had to listen.
Nova’s eyes were glassy as she stared at the floor, then at me. “I— I’ll come with you.”
My head snapped up.
What?
I searched her face, sure I’d misheard her, but there was no sarcasm there.
“You can’t,” I whispered.
“I can,” she said firmly. “You moved here for me when I didn’t ask. I’m going to do the same for you.”
My throat burned. I wanted to stop her. To scream Don’t do this, not for me, but some small, selfish part of me needed her to mean it because I needed my friend. I needed my family through this new journey.
She started rambling about her job, Iris, Ollie—her brain already trying to fix the unfixable, to smooth this into something survivable.
“What about Ollie? You can’t leave him, Nova. You can’t rip Scarlette away from her dad. From this.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she said firmly. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, but inside, my heart squeezed. Because of course she believed that. Nova always believed she could hold the world together with sheer will and duct tape and one more brave decision. Maybe she could, and maybe she was the kind of woman the universe actually listened to.
I’d seen what it cost her. I’d watched her pour from an empty cup until she was just bones and burnout, and I’d dragged her out of it more than once. I couldn’t let her do that for me.
And Ollie? The idea that he’d just say yes, that he’d leave his family and his team and the place where he belonged . . . It felt like fantasy. A beautiful one, but not reality.
“You’re sure he’ll be okay with that?”
“He’ll understand. We’ll make it work.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking. That Ollie was the kind of man who would say yes even when his whole body was screaming no. That he would follow her anywhere, but quietly, he’d mourn everything he left behind.
My smile faltered. “Do you hate me?”
“No,” she said, without hesitation. “I could never hate you, Luna. I’m sorry you’ve been battling this alone.”
I leaned into her shoulder like I had so many times before. Like we were still kids on the floor of her bedroom, trying to survive high school heartbreak.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I whispered. “I didn’t want to be the one to break us.”
“You didn’t break us,” she said. “You saved me.”
I shook my head, not sure I believed it. “Not really. I just . . . kept showing up.”
Maybe that’s what love was. Not the big declarations or the grand sacrifices, but the quiet, unglamorous act of showing up again and again when no one else did.
I was learning—slowly, painfully—that I deserved to show up for myself, too.
I couldn’t keep being the girl who only knew how to live for other people.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to ruin your life.”
Nova cupped my face, her touch gentle and firm all at once. “You didn’t. You gave me mine back.”
I started talking. About Dirks. About the ache in my chest I couldn’t ignore anymore. About how I didn’t cheat, but I also didn’t tell Will how deeply I missed being me. How I wasn’t sure if I loved Dirks more than Will or just loved the version of myself I used to be when I was with him.
As she stood to make tea, I watched her from the couch, memorizing the quiet rhythm of her steps. The hum of the kettle. The warmth of this house that had never quite felt like mine, even when I’d called it home.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to let the gratitude swallow me whole. Gratitude and regret. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was sacred. The kind of silence that only existed between soulmates who knew when words just wouldn’t cut it.
She handed me a mug of tea, her hand brushing mine. I wanted to bottle that feeling. Safe. Grounded. Known. Underneath it all, the goodbye curled in my stomach like a storm.
When it was time to leave, I stood slowly, my limbs heavy with the weight of what I was walking away from. Nova pulled me into a hug, holding me so tightly I felt her heartbeat in my bones.
I leaned into it, pressed my face to her shoulder, and whispered, “Thank you, Nova.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
As the door closed behind me, a strange hush fell over the street. Like the world was holding its breath.
I walked back to my apartment with that echo in my chest, the quiet kind of ache that lets you know something is ending, but also that something is beginning. Because this wasn’t just about leaving. It wasn’t even just about Dirks.
This was about choosing myself for the first time in years. About chasing the girl I used to be. Before I told myself love had to look like stability and silence and giving up little pieces of who I was, one by one.
Dirks was part of it. Of course he was. That man had haunted my dreams for years, but this wasn’t about running back to him. It was about running back to me.
I could only hope that Nova would somehow come, would choose me like I chose her—even that selfish part of me.
The part that wasn’t strong or selfless or wise, but desperate.
Desperate to not be the only one leaping into the unknown.
I had followed her across oceans, picked up the pieces when her world fell apart, built a life around her healing without ever asking for anything in return.
For the first time, I was asking. Not with demands or ultimatums, but with the trembling, unspoken hope that she might see me unraveling and reach out her hand anyway. That she might feel, deep in her bones, the way I’d held space for her all those years and that it was my turn.
It made me selfish, and it was unfair to want her to rearrange her life for me, the way I’d once done for her.
But there was something so tender, so raw about needing someone that much.
About saying, I can’t do this without you and I don’t want to.
Because it wasn’t just about logistics or moving boxes across the ocean.
It was about being chosen in the quiet moments when it mattered most.