Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
The bell above the door gives one last chime. The echo still sounds like her name.
I stand in the middle of the shop, unmoving. The takeaway cup Lilah gave me sits on the counter, cooling by the second. I can’t bring myself to drink it.
The streetlamps outside cast long stripes of light across the shelves, wrapping the room in a hush. But it isn’t peaceful. The silence has teeth, that settles behind your ribs and doesn’t let go.
“I’m Lola Reid.” Her hands had been shaking, but her voice hadn’t. It sounded like something she’d been carrying for years.
I take a slow breath. I’m not angry. Rattled? Yes, but what sticks isn’t the secret itself. It’s the weight of everything around it. Her ex. The blackmail. The way she said it, was like an apology for surviving.
I move to the back table and sit, pressing my palms against my jeans. I say it once in my head to file it properly: he wants money or he outs her. That’s not a lovers’ argument. That’s blackmail.
For a long moment, I just sit there, letting it settle. Then I cross to the counter and pick up The Year Before You. I’ve shelved it a dozen times. I’ve recommended it even more. I always had this sense there was something inside it that I wasn’t ready to touch. Now I know why.
The dedication stops me cold.
For the girl who stayed longer than she should have and still found the strength to leave.
I read it twice. She wrote her way out first. Now she’s trying to live it.
I flip through the opening pages, scanning lines I’ve seen in passing before but never read properly. The words hum like a pulse. A few lines in, something clicks—a rhythm, a pattern.
Jasper’s voice is in my head, “The hand movements, the pause before a thought, the handwriting on the chalkboard, identical to Lola’s signed copies.”
He’d joked about solving the mystery, but I think I knew even before he said it. Her voice, her timing, the way she touched words like they were alive. It was always her.
I close the book for a moment and lean back in the chair.
She thought I wouldn’t stay. She thought I was temporary, but I guess I told her it was. I said as much when I first arrived. “Just passing through.” What more did she have to go off?
I open the book again and keep reading.
A line jumps out: I hope you get whatever fairytale you’re looking for. Just don’t call me when it crashes down around you.
That isn’t fiction. That’s a bruise. I know it the second I see it.
Another: Sometimes the best answers aren’t the facts, but the questions that make you feel seen.
Close enough to something I said once that I stop breathing for a second.
The café keys. Nettie. The man at the fair.
I see it all again now, each moment a breadcrumb I hadn’t known I was following. She didn’t write me on purpose, but I still walked onto her page. She wrote her truth, and I stepped straight into it.
The air in the shop feels thicker. I close the book gently, my hand resting on the cover. The weight in my chest doesn’t lift, but it steadies. She carried this story long before she shared it. Now it’s my turn to hold it right.
My phone buzzes on the counter with a message from her, letting me know she is home safe.
LUCAS: Please forward every email from him to a new email address, just for evidence. I know a solicitor in town if it comes to hat.
My thumb hovers before sending. It feels too formal, too restrained. But I don’t trust myself to write what I really mean: You don’t have to carry this alone.
A few seconds later, her reply lights up the screen.
LILAH: Already saved. Everything’s forwarded to Tess.
LUCAS: Good. I’m going to read now. I’ll text when I’m through. I’m here for you.
I set the phone down beside the book. I’m not walking away. Not from this, not from her. But right now, she needs space to breathe, and I need to understand the story she’s been living in.
I open the book with purpose. The line that catches next is one she must have written from deep inside the storm.
Sometimes loving someone means staying long enough to see who they become after leaving.
I trace it with my thumb and think, maybe this is what she’s doing now. Finally staying for herself.
By the time I reach the final chapter, my tea has gone cold. The ache in my chest stays, feeling steady rather than sharp. She’s been walking through the truth all this time. The least I can do is meet her there.
I close the book and slide my keys into my pocket after locking up. The night air smells like rain, the wattles stirring in the breeze. It’s only a few blocks home, but each step feels heavier with thought.
Inside, I drop my keys in the bowl and crack the window. Cool air drifts in, carrying that soft citrus scent. I sink into the couch with the book in my hands, its corners still warm from reading.
I scroll to Mum’s number and hit call. Voicemail picks up.
‘Hey, Mum. Sorry it’s late. Just wanted to check in. The shop’s fine, Jasper hasn’t burned it down yet. And… I met someone. Lilah. She told me something big tonight. I’m still wrapping my head around it, but we’re okay. You and Dad would love her. Call when you’ve got a minute. Love you.’
I hang up, then find a sticky note tucked between the pages, her handwriting from weeks ago: For the second chances that sneak up on you. I smooth it out and slide it back inside the book, marking the page.
From the drawer, I pull a pack of pastel tabs and start reading again. Starting at chapter one. A line about loving someone who won’t see you. Another about growing into your own name. A paragraph about choosing to stay. Each one gets a flag, pale yellow and soft blue. Small markers of survival.
My phone buzzes on the table.
EZRA: You up? Pub just closed.
LUCAS: Yeah, come over.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock. Ezra stands on the porch with two takeaway containers.
‘Steak burgers,’ he holds one up. ‘Figured you hadn’t eaten.’
‘You figured right.’ I take the container, the smell hitting instantly. ‘Thanks, mate.’
He nods, dropping into the chair opposite me. ‘So… what’s going on?’
I exhale slowly. ‘Lilah told me something big tonight. I’ll let her explain when she’s ready. But her ex, he’s blackmailing her. He wants money.’
Shock flashes in his eyes. ‘You’re joking.’
‘Wish I was. He thinks he’s entitled to her success.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ Ezra mutters. ‘You okay?’
‘I don’t know.’ I run my thumb along the edge of the container. ‘Part of me wants to fix it all. The other part knows I can’t swoop in and make this better.’
‘But you want to.’
‘Yeah,’ I admit. ‘More than I should.’
He leans back, thoughtful. ‘Then don’t say much. Just show up. Let her see you’re still there.’
‘You make it sound easy.’
‘It’s not easy,’ he smiles faintly. ‘But it’s simple. People stay when you give them space to.’
That lands deeper than I expect. Maybe that’s what she’s needed all along, just room to stop running, and someone who doesn’t fill the silence with noise.
‘Thanks, mate.’
He shrugs, finishing his burger. ‘Eat, get some sleep, and text her in the morning. Let her know you are thinking of her, and around when she is ready.’
I nod. ‘Yeah, thank you.’
‘I would love to stay and chat, but I think you might need some space.’
I nod. ‘Thanks mate, for dinner and the chat.’
‘No worries, call me if you need to. Chat. Walk or the gym.’
‘Will do.’
After he leaves, I open the book to the last tab and trace the line beneath it with my thumb.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stay.
Tomorrow, I’ll call her.
Tomorrow, we start again. No pretending, no temporary.
She wrote her truth.
Now it’s my turn to live mine.