A Breath of Normalcy
The quiet hum of the library was exactly what I needed. It was a world away from the screeching tires of the city, the flashes of courtroom cameras, and the heavy, protective silence that sometimes settled over Nick's house when we were both thinking about the lawyers.
I was shelving a stack of children's books, my hand resting on the small of my back.
At twenty-one weeks, the weight of the baby was starting to make itself known, a constant, grounding presence.
Every time I reached for a high shelf, I felt a tiny, rhythmic nudge—our daughter reminded me she was there, safe and growing.
"You're reaching too high again, Miller. Or is it Harrison-to-be yet?"
I spun around, a smile breaking across my face before I even saw them. Tessa and Harper were standing at the end of the aisle, both of them holding cardboard carriers of iced coffee and a brown paper bag that smelled heavenly.
"It's still Miller for now," I laughed, stepping down from the small stool. "And I'm fine. Nick and Anthony have officially turned into the 'Lifting Police,' I don't need you two joining the force."
"We aren't the police, we're the catering service," Tessa said, holding up a cup. "Decaf oat milk latte for the mom-to-be, and a double-chocolate muffin because Harper said you looked like you were craving sugar this morning."
"I'm always craving sugar," I admitted, leading them toward the small breakroom in the back.
We sat at the scarred wooden table, the sun streaming through the high windows. For a moment, I wasn't a survivor or a legal case. I was just a woman in her twenties, having coffee with her best friends.
"So," Harper started, her eyes bright with curiosity. "How is the move going? Does it feel weird having Anthony literally thirty feet away in his own place?"
"Honestly? It's perfect," I said, leaning back into the chair. "Nick and I actually have privacy, but if I even drop a spoon, Anthony is at the back door in ten seconds. It's like having a very large, very overprotective guard dog in the garden."
"And Nick?" Tessa asked, wiggling her eyebrows. "Is he still being the ultimate dream man? We saw him at the station yesterday when the bell went off. The way that man moves in his turnouts... Aubrey, you're a lucky woman."
I felt the familiar heat rise in my cheeks. "He's incredible. He finished the crib last night. He spent hours sanding it by hand because he didn't want a single rough spot for her. He's... he's already so in love with her. It makes my heart hurt sometimes."
The conversation shifted, as it always did, to the baby. We talked about nursery colors—Harper was pushing for a soft sage green, while Tessa wanted "full-blown princess pink"—and the names we were still cycling through.
But then, the air in the room shifted. Harper reached into her bag and pulled out a folded-up newspaper from the city.
"We weren't going to show you," Harper said, her voice dropping. "But we figured you should know before someone else mentions it. Brandon's firm put out a press release."
I took the paper, my fingers trembling slightly.
It wasn't about a merger or a big sale. It was a social announcement.
Brandon Sterling and Chloe Vance: A Statement on Recent Misunderstandings.
It was a total PR spin. It painted Chloe as a woman struggling with "mental health exhaustion" and Brandon as the "supportive partner" standing by her side while they navigated "private family matters.
" There was no mention of the assault. No mention of the restraining order.
"They're trying to fix their image," I whispered, the chocolate in my mouth suddenly tasting like ash. "They're trying to make it look like they're the victims so that when the paternity case hits, he looks like a stable, family man."
"It won't work," Tessa snapped, her usual playful tone replaced by a sharp, clinical coldness. "We have the police reports. We have the medical records. He can hire the best PR team in New York, but he can't erase the fact that he let a violent woman into your home."
"He's still trying to win, isn't he?" I looked at my friends, the reality of the situation crashing back in. "He doesn't want her. He just doesn't want to lose."
"He's already lost, Aubrey," Harper said, leaning across the table to squeeze my hand.
"Look at you. You're working, you're healthy, and you have a man who would walk through fire for you—literally.
Brandon is stuck in a city with a woman he doesn't trust, trying to buy back a reputation he ruined himself. Who's the winner here?"
I took a deep breath, looking down at the grainy photo of Brandon in the paper. He looked polished. He looked perfect. But I knew the hollow space behind that smile.
"You're right," I said, folding the paper and handing it back. "I'm not letting a press release ruin my day. I have a crib to help paint and a daughter who's currently decided my bladder is a kickball."
Tessa laughed, the tension breaking. "That's my girl. Now, tell me more about these names. If you name her after a flower, I'm calling her 'Rosey' and you can't stop me."
We spent the rest of my break laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet library. Brandon and Chloe were a thousand miles away, trapped in their own gilded cage of lies.
But here, in Willow Creek, the sun was shining, my coffee was cold, and for the first time in a long time, the future didn't look like a battle.
It looked like home.