2. Something Good, Maybe? #2
If Kiri thinks he can ghost me, leave me on read, and then lurk like some sweaty high value man, living in his mom's basement, liking photos one-handed and greasy, oh no.
Oh no, kochany. Not when I have seven days in his proximity, a full wardrobe, and the will of a woman wronged.
By the time I grab the last dress, my plan has crystallized into a thing of beauty.
Every day of this trip, I’m going to make him suffer.
Deliciously, slowly. With every slit skirt, every corset, every perfect winged liner I conjure with Ulta’s finest spells.
He will regret ghosting me. He will regret obeying Rafe like a guard dog.
He will regret that neat little goodbye message he thought ended things.
In the fitting room, I step into the lacy black dress and let it slide up my body, the fabric clinging like it was tailored to my shape, every curve and dip.
It fits perfectly, tight in all the right places, short enough to be dangerous, the kind of dress that doesn’t ask for attention so much as command it.
I turn slightly, checking my reflection from every angle, the way the lace frames skin, the way my waist curves like it’s been underlined.
There’s nothing tentative about it. No doubt.
Just certainty, staring back at me in black.
He'll want me.
He'll beg me.
He'll fall apart at my feet.
And in the end? I’ll smile. I’ll pat his cheek and say no.
I smirk at my reflection, full of determined satisfaction.
Revenge never looked this hot.
By the time the Uber pulls up outside the house, the whole family has assembled like we’re heading into exile instead of catching a flight.
Aga stands by the doorway with my tiny niece Amelka tucked against her shoulder, rocking her gently.
My brother’s wedding ring still hangs beside hers on a chain at her throat, catching the light as she moves.
Her voice is low and soothing, somehow making everything feel survivable.
Dominik is sprawled on the living room floor, one leg stretched out while Kacper, my insanely energetic nephew, toddles back and forth over it like he’s running an obstacle course.
Zosia crouches nearby, darting in to tickle Kacper’s sides every time he passes, making him shriek with laughter and immediately turns around to do it again.
Every near stumble gets a dramatic groan from Dominik, until Kacper squeals so loudly Tata flinches and mutters something about going deaf.
Eventually Dominik scoops him up, lifts him overhead, and turns him into an airplane before setting him down again.
I can feel Piotr’s presence just watching them, his best friend with his son, and now Zosia, Dominik’s daughter, who is more like a sister to them than anything else.
It’s something, seeing how the little ones process grief differently.
They’ll only ever have the pieces of him we give them, pressed into their hearts like memories we wish they’d had time to make themselves.
I huff a laugh as Dominik groans again. Kacper definitely just stepped on his balls. Piotr would be proud.
Mama and Tata hover near the door, both of them pretending very hard to be calm.
Mama’s eyes flick to my boots, thigh-high, heeled, absolutely non-negotiable, then to Kasia’s sweats and hair clipped up like she’s heading to an overnight shift, not an airport.
She doesn’t say anything, which I know means she’s said everything already in her head.
Tata just watches us, jaw tight, like this is the worst possible idea but stopping it would somehow make it worse.
Mama reaches into her pocket and presses two small chains into our hands.
Saint Christopher medals, the patron saint of travelers.
The metal is cool at first, then warms quickly against my skin.
“For protection,” she says, firm and decisive, like she’s sealing us in prayer and stubbornness.
She kisses Kasia’s cheek, then mine, holding on a second longer than usual.
Tata pulls us both into a hug that’s solid and grounding, his hand heavy at Kasia’s back like he’s keeping us here even as we’re leaving.
There are hugs stacked on hugs after that.
Aga squeezes me tight, Amelka blinking between us, soft and warm.
Zosia wraps herself around my waist next, squeezing hard and dramatic, then darts back behind Dominik as if embarrassed by her own affection.
Dominik kisses my cheek and grins, the kind of grin that says don’t burn it all down, then turns serious just long enough to murmur, “Text us when you land. Aga will worry.” I nod like I’m not allergic to being told what to do.
We’re halfway down the steps when Kasia looks me over, disbelief finally breaking through her nerves. “I genuinely can’t imagine wearing thigh-high boots on a plane,” she says, tugging at her sweatshirt sleeve. “I’ll be in compression socks and sweatpants and I’ll still be miserable.”
I grin as the Uber door swings open. “That’s what makes us different,” I tell her. “You suffered in books for your degree. I suffer in heels so my followers understand that something beautiful can exist even under cabin pressure.”
She laughs, genuine, even if it shocks her, the sound loosening something in her chest. We slide into the back seat as the door shuts, the house already starting to feel far away. As the car pulls off, Kasia reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she says quietly. Then she adds, because she can’t help herself, “I mean, I know it’s definitely for all the selfies, food and shopping, but I can pretend it’s for me.”
I squeeze back, just once, acting like I don’t feel that warm, inconvenient swell in my chest. I watch the house disappear through the window, the figures blurring together as we turn the corner.
Losing Piotr broke something open in all of us, changed all our lives in ways none of us asked for.
Somewhere in that rearranging, despite her best efforts to be endlessly annoying, something between me and Kasia has tightened instead of frayed.
The bond is closer now, and whether I like it or not, the love keeps growing.