Chapter Five #2
When my lunch break finally came, I sat in the break room with my sad Tupperware of leftovers, a smile tugging at my lips when my phone buzzed on the table.
Hunter: Hi Beautiful, how’s
your Monday going?
Me: Boring. Do you know how
many times I’ve had to explain
copays today?
Hunter: That doesn’t sound fun.
Want me to come rescue you?
Me: Pretty sure the front desk
would call security.
Hunter: Worth it.
I laughed into my food, catching a look from my nosy coworker, but I didn’t care.
It had been a long time since anyone checked in on me in the middle of the day.
Since anyone wanted to make me laugh when I was drowning in routine.
My mom checked on me, sure. My little brother helped when he visited.
Dani teased me into surviving. But a man? That was new.
As I leaned back in my chair, images of my past came uninvited.
My ex, walking out the door without looking back.
My son, asking why we packed up our things and never saw him again.
I never admitted to most people the truth behind our relationship, like the nights where I had to swallow my screams and wait for the storm to pass.
I can still hear the slamming of doors some night.
And now, I faced it alone. The exhaustion of raising babies while working double shifts, scraping money together for diapers, and begging family for childcare. I was safer, happier, but alone.
That was my history. My normal. And yet, walking next to Hunter on that mini golf course, I had felt a lightness. Not the absence of weight, but the hope that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t always have to carry it alone.
Hunter: What do you have going
on after work?
Me: Mom duty, class, then maybe
pretending I’m going to study before
falling asleep with my laptop
still open.
Hunter: I don’t know how you do
it all. But you make it look easy,
and I know it’s not. Kinda blows
my mind, honestly.
Heat crept into my cheeks. Compliments usually slid right off me; I never trusted them, but something about the way he said it felt different. He actually saw me. I locked my phone and stared at the pale gray wall, letting the feeling settle.
Me: Enough about me, what have you
been up to today?
That night, after my evening class, Dani came over with her usual flair: arms full of takeout bags, sunglasses still perched on her head, even though the sun was long gone.
“I brought fries!” she announced, kicking the door shut with her foot.
“God bless you,” I said, dropping the Psychology of Social Change textbook on the couch and reaching for the bag.
She flopped dramatically onto the couch next to me. “Girl, you look dead. Like, cute dead. But dead.”
I rolled my eyes, sinking down beside her. “Thanks. I feel it.”
The kids were sprawled on the rug, coloring and fighting over crayons.
Dani greeted them with kisses, setting them up with sweets that it was far too late for them to have, then turned her full focus back to me like a spotlight.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing a fry. “Tell me, how are you balancing all this? Job, school, mom life, and now Mr. Marine?”
“I’m not balancing it,” I admitted. “I’m barely hanging on.”
“You’re hanging on,” she said firmly. “That counts.”
Part of me reached for her words, craving the hope in them, but the rest of me still remembered the fall. And in the quiet hours, when the house finally stilled and the hum of the day faded, I could still feel how close I was to breaking. Like I was always one bad day from it all coming undone.
So when Hunter texted me during my break, asking about class, it shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. But it did. The idea that someone cared whether I made it through Monday felt bigger than I was ready to admit.
I told Dani about it, and she grinned like she’d been waiting for this moment. “That’s it. That’s how you know he’s different. He’s not just showing up when it’s convenient; he’s showing up in the cracks of your day.”
I shook my head, laughing. “You’re way too invested.”
“Someone has to be,” she teased. “You overthink everything. I’m here to point out the obvious: you like him, he likes you. Now stop trying to ruin it with your brain.”
I hesitated, then admitted quietly, “He feels… different. Not bad-different. Scary-different.”
Dani leaned forward, her teasing fading. “Camille. You deserve someone good. You’ve been through hell and back. It’s okay to want more than just survival.”
The fries blurred for a second before I blinked the tears away.
Because she was right. My whole life had been about survival; work, school, kids, bills, repeat.
No room for anything else. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But now, with one evening and a handful of texts, Hunter was starting to carve out space I didn’t know I still had.
Her words followed me into the night, through bedtime routines and the quiet at the kitchen table, textbooks open but my eyes drifting to my phone.
It wasn’t just that Hunter made me laugh.
He checked in. He noticed. He made me feel like maybe this messy, overwhelming, exhausting life wasn’t too much for him.
And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
Because the last time I let someone in, he walked away. And I had promised myself I’d never let anyone break me again.
That night as I finally crawled into bed and let the darkness wrap around me, the truth pressed in, quiet but insistent.
I wanted to hope again.