12. Chapter 12
Cate
Present
Amy didn’t let go of my hand.
We stood at the edge of the sidewalk, the crosswalk light blinking red, the warm late-afternoon air brushing against my bare arms. Spring was finally trying to settle in - trees half-green, flowers pushing up through the soil like they had something to prove.
The town smelled faintly of rain and cut grass.
It felt wrong that the world could look like this when my chest felt like it was cracking open.
I felt like I was standing still in the middle of all of it.
“I keep thinking,” I said slowly, “that if love is supposed to feel safe… then why does this feel wrong?”
Amy’s thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Wrong how?”
“Like I’m wearing someone else’s life,” I said. “Like everything fits on paper, but not on me.”
We started walking again, toward the park, our footsteps soft on the path. Couples sat on benches. A kid chased pigeons near the fountain. Normal things. Happy things.
“Like I’m trying to convince myself,” I said. “Like I’ve memorized all the reasons I should be happy instead of actually feeling it.”
Amy didn’t respond right away
“I used to think love was supposed to be loud,” I went on. “Fireworks. Chaos. Big feelings that knocked you off balance.”
Amy hummed. “And now?”
“Now I don’t know,” I admitted. “Because John wasn’t loud. He didn’t overwhelm me. He didn’t take. He just… showed up.”
The words lodged in my chest.
“And Trevor does show up,” I added quickly, like I needed to defend him. “He plans. He provides. He thinks ahead. He’s already talking about the house we’ll buy once we’re married.”
Amy glanced at me. “Does that make you feel excited?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
“That’s not fair,” I muttered.
Amy smiled faintly. “It’s an honest question.”
The lake came into view through the trees, sunlight glinting off the surface. It looked peaceful. Untouched.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“John chose me,” I said quietly. “Over and over. Even when I didn’t make it easy. Even when I didn’t give him much back.”
Amy stopped walking.
I did too.
“And that scares you,” she said.
“Yes.” The answer came too fast. “Because if that’s what love feels like… then what does it mean that I could move on?”
Amy reached out and took my hand. “Cate, you didn’t move on because you didn’t care.”
“But he made me feel…” I trailed off, searching for the right words. “Seen. Like I wasn’t being evaluated. Like I didn’t have to earn my place.”
Amy’s fingers tightened around mine.
“How do you stop loving someone when you don’t know why they disappeared?” I asked. “When you don’t know if they would’ve stayed if they could?”
Amy swallowed. “You don’t. You just learn how to live with the space.”
We stood there in silence, the lake breathing softly beside us.
Amy exhaled. “Remember that time we all went up to the lake?”
The question caught me off guard.
I blinked. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I remember.”
Of course I did.
“You came back different,” Amy said. “Not happier exactly. Just… lighter.”
I closed my eyes.
I could feel it, the way the air had felt on my skin, the way laughter had come easier, the way I’d slept through the night for once.
“I wasn’t afraid,” I said. “Not of him. Not of what we were.”
Amy nodded. “You don’t feel like that with Trevor.”
I didn’t answer.
Because that was the part that hurt the most.
We reached the water’s edge. The lake stretched out in front of us, calm and wide, like it was holding its breath.
“How did love feel to you then?” Amy asked.
“It felt like I could breathe,” I said finally. “Like I wasn’t auditioning.”
Amy nodded, tears brightening her eyes. “That’s the Cate I remember.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I’ve felt that since.”
The lake rippled as the wind shifted.
Amy squeezed my hand once. “Then maybe that’s the question you need to answer.”
I opened my eyes and stared out over the water.
Tomorrow was still coming.
The dress. The vows. The life I’d agreed to.
But standing there, with the weight of everything pressing gently against my ribs, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Love hadn’t scared me because it was uncertain. It had scared me because it felt real.
The memory of that week by the lake tugged at me, quiet, and insistent.
And I knew, with a hollow ache, that I wasn’t ready to stop remembering.