Chapter 6
A month later, I decided to sell the house.
I couldn’t stay there anymore.
Every room held a memory.
Every corner reminded me of what I’d lost.
I listed it for $10,000 below market value.
It sold in three days.
A young couple, just married, so excited they cried when they got the keys.
I was happy for them.
I hoped they’d have better luck in that house than I did.
I moved into a small cottage on the edge of town, right on the lake.
Two bedrooms.
One bathroom.
A big porch that looked out over the water.
It was small.
Quiet.
Mine.
I spent the first week fixing it up.
Painting the walls a soft blue.
Building new bookshelves in the living room.
Planting flowers in the front yard.
Working with my hands helped.
It kept my mind busy.
Kept the dark thoughts away.
My woodworking business started picking up.
I’d been making custom furniture on the side for years, but now I threw myself into it full time.
Tables.
Chairs.
Bed frames.
Cabinets.
Every piece was built with care, with honesty, with no lies.
People loved it.
Orders started pouring in.
By the end of the second month, I was booked three months out.
Emma came to visit every weekend.
My mom came every Wednesday, bringing dinner, staying to help me sand or paint.
They never pushed me to talk about what happened.
They never asked when I’d start dating again.
They just loved me.
Supported me.
Let me heal at my own pace.
I got updates on Julian and Brianna through Clara, who’d become a friend of sorts.
Julian had been sentenced to three years in prison, with two years probation after.
He’d lost everything.
His house.
His cars.
His kids.
His reputation.
Clara had full custody, and he was only allowed supervised visits once a month.
He’d appealed the sentence twice.
Lost both times.
Brianna had gotten a job at a diner 45 minutes outside of town, working 12-hour shifts, six days a week.
She was still paying me back $100 a month, every month, without fail.
Clara had seen her once at the grocery store.
She looked tired.
Thin.
Alone.
Clara said she didn’t feel bad for her.
I didn’t either.
She’d made her bed.
Now she had to lie in it.
One Saturday in mid-October, Emma showed up at the cottage with a woman I hadn’t seen in 12 years.
Lila Carter.
We’d gone to high school together.
She’d been my lab partner in chemistry senior year.
She was sweet.
Funny.
Smart as a whip.
She’d moved away after graduation, gone to college, become a third-grade teacher.
She’d moved back to town a month earlier, to take care of her sick dad.
“Lila!” I said, shocked, pulling her into a quick hug. “Wow. It’s been forever.”
She smiled, and it lit up her whole face.
“I know! Emma told me you were out here building furniture and living the lake life. I had to come see it for myself.”
We sat on the porch for hours, drinking iced tea, catching up.
She told me about her dad, about her job, about the book she was writing on the side.
I told her about the business, about the cottage, about the divorce.
I didn’t sugarcoat it.
I told her everything.
The lies.
The affair.
The money.
The party.
She listened, quiet, not interrupting, her eyes soft with sympathy.
When I was done, she reached over and squeezed my hand.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Austin. No one deserves that. But look at you now. You built all this. You turned the worst thing that ever happened to you into something beautiful. That’s amazing.”
Her hand was warm.
Soft.
I didn’t pull away.
For the first time in almost a year, I felt a flutter in my chest.
Something I hadn’t felt since before Brianna’s lies started.
Hope.
Attraction.
Something real.
Emma left a little while later, winking at me as she walked to her car.
Lila stayed for dinner.
I made grilled salmon and roasted vegetables.
We talked until the sun went down, sitting on the porch, watching the lake turn pink and orange and purple.
When she left, she hugged me tight.
“Can I come back next weekend?” she asked, her voice a little shy.
I smiled.
“I’d like that a lot.”
She came back the next Saturday.
And the one after that.
And every Saturday after that.
We’d go for walks around the lake.
Cook dinner together.
Watch old movies on the couch.
She’d help me in the workshop, sanding tables, holding boards while I cut them.
She never pushed me for more.
Never asked when I’d be “over it.”
Never compared herself to Brianna.
She just let me be.
Let me take things slow.
By Thanksgiving, we were holding hands when we walked.
By Christmas, we were kissing under the mistletoe my mom had hung in the kitchen.
By New Year’s Eve, she was staying the night, in the guest room at first, then in my bed, slow and gentle and perfect.
She was everything Brianna had never been.
Honest.
Kind.
Loyal.
She loved me for me.
Not for my money.
Not for what I could give her.
Just for me.
For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
May you like
Truly safe.
Like no one could ever hurt me again.
