Chapter 22 #2
She loved Astoria. Not “was falling for” or “had feelings for” or any of the softer words she had used to keep herself, and her heart, at a safe distance. She was in love with her, completely and irrevocably, in a way she’d never been in love with anyone before.
And she had ended it.
Miller dug the heels of her hands against her eyes, but the tears kept coming.
She sat on the boulder as the sky darkened from gold to purple to deep blue, and she let herself feel all of it—the loss, the yearning, the terrible certainty that she’d done the right thing and it didn’t matter because the right thing had cost her everything.
The night sounds grew louder around her, and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Miller’s breathing slowly steadied as the tears tapered off until she was just sitting in the dark, wrung out and raw and strangely clear.
She’d spent three weeks pretending she could outrun this, waiting for the feelings to fade, and telling herself that it’d get easier the more time that passed.
But it wasn’t going to get easier. Astoria wasn’t someone she could just get over. She was someone Miller had lost, and not the kind you left behind.
Miller wiped her face with the hem of her shirt and stood on unsteady legs. The trail back down would be harder in the dark, but she’d run it enough times to know the footing by feel alone.
She started the descent by walking, then jogging, then running again. Not away from anything this time, just letting her body do what it knew how to do while her mind settled into something that felt almost like peace.
She couldn’t have Astoria. That door was closed, and she’d been the one to close it. But she could stop pretending it didn’t matter and stop running from the truth.
Miller’s apartment was dark when she got home. She showered without turning on the bathroom light, letting the hot water work the knots out of her calves and shoulders, then pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts and stood in her kitchen without knowing what to do next.
The refrigerator hummed, and the clock on the microwave read 9:47. She should eat something—she couldn't remember what she'd had for lunch, or if she'd had lunch at all—but the thought of food made her stomach turn.
She picked up her phone instead.
Her moms answered the video call on the second ring, Harper's face appearing first before Nadia crowded into the frame. They were on the couch, the familiar living room visible behind them.
“There you are,” Harper said. “We were starting to think you’d forgotten our number.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Miller carried the phone to her own couch, tucking her legs underneath her. “It's been a rough few weeks.”
“We figured.” Nadia leaned closer to the screen, her eyes soft with concern. “You look exhausted, sweetheart.”
Miller didn’t bother pretending she was fine; they’d see through it anyway.
“It ended,” she said. “With Astoria. A few weeks ago.”
Neither of them looked surprised. Harper and Nadia exchanged one of their silent looks.
“What happened?” Harper asked.
“The situation got too dangerous. Valerie was suspicious, and there were accusations flying around. If anyone found out about us, it would've destroyed both of us, so I ended it.”
“You ended it,” Nadia repeated gently. “Not her.”
“She would have let it keep going. She was willing to risk everything.” She took a deep breath. “I couldn’t let her do that, not for me.”
The silence on the other end of the line was heavy with understanding.
“That must have been incredibly hard,” Nadia said.
“It was the right thing to do.” Miller heard the flatness in her own voice. “I keep telling myself that like a mantra, that it was the right thing.”
“But it doesn’t feel like the right thing?” Harper asked.
“No. It feels like I ripped out my own heart.” Miller laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You know, I tried to go on a date last night. Lisa from work set me up with someone. She was great and smart and beautiful. And I felt absolutely nothing.”
“Oh, honey.” Nadia’s voice was soft.
“I sat across from this perfectly lovely woman, and all I could think about was how she wasn't Astoria, how no one is ever going to be Astoria.” Miller wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I went for a run tonight, and I ended up sobbing on a trail in the dark like some kind of disaster.”
“That doesn’t make you a disaster,” Harper said. “That makes you human.”
“I’m in love with her.” The words spilled out of her before Miller could censor them. “I’m completely in love with her, and I walked away, and I don't know how to make that stop hurting.”
On the screen, Miller watched Harper reach for Nadia's hand, their fingers intertwining naturally.
“You don’t,” Nadia said finally. “You don’t make it stop hurting, I mean. You just feel it and let yourself grieve. Eventually, it’ll become something you can carry instead of something that crushes you.”
“How long does that take?”
“As long as it takes.” Nadia’s smile was tinged with sadness. “There’s no shortcut for grief, sweetheart. I wish there was.”
Miller nodded, even though the answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“For what it’s worth,” Harper said, “I’m so proud of you.”
“For falling apart?”
“For doing the hard thing and protecting someone you love, even when it cost you your heart.” Harper’s gaze was steady. “That takes a kind of courage most people don't have.”
She felt more hollowed out than courageous, but she held onto the words anyway, tucking them somewhere she could find them later.
“Come to dinner this weekend,” Nadia said. “I’ll make that chicken paprikash dish you like. You can sit on the couch and let us take care of you for a few hours.”
“That sounds good.” Miller managed a small smile. “I’d like that.”
They talked for a few more minutes about easier, lighter things. After she hung up, Miller sat in the dark for a long time and thought about what Harper had said about doing the hard thing.
She’d done the right thing. She had to believe that because the alternative—that she’d thrown away something real for nothing—was unbearable.
She couldn’t do anything for Astoria now. The trial was in two weeks, and all she could do was trust that Rachel would use the work Miller had done before recusing herself. Trust and wait and keep living in the meantime.
A stack of case files sat on her desk—her actual cases, the ones she'd been neglecting for weeks. Her clients deserved better than a lawyer who was falling apart. Miller pulled the first file toward her and opened it.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was what she had.