Page 237 of Irreversible

And in its wake, there’s an unexpected kind of peace—the kind that comes with the painful understanding that some parts of us are meant to stay broken.

I look at Allison, her tear-streaked face still a mirror of the girl I once called my best friend, and I realize I’m not so alone in my brokenness.

“Do you think it’s too late for us?” The question is for her, for the universe, forme. I need to know if there’s still a chance to rebuild, to take the jagged pieces of what we had and make something whole—or at least something that doesn’t cut so deeply.

Her grip on my arms tightens, as if she’s trying to anchor both of us in the now. “It’s never too late,” she says. “Not while we’re still here, willing to try.”

Her words are a lifeline, a flicker of hope. I nod, the ache in my chest unbearable but somehow less lonely. “I want to try.”

Her lips curl into a sad, bittersweet smile. “Then we start here.”

It’s not a solution; it’s a beginning.

And for the first time in a long while, that feels like enough.

We drink tea at her kitchen island, seated side by side on two barstools. Our tears dry and our voices strengthen, the storieswe share holding a little less weight. She asks me about Isaac, and the truth pours out less guilty this time as I fill her in on what I call our…evolution.

It’s not a picture-perfect romance. What bonded us in the beginning will always remain. Our ghosts won’t scatter, and our pasts won’t dissolve just because we want them to.

But maybe learning to live with them is the point. Isaac isn’t my salvation, and I’m not his. We’re something quieter, something steadier—two broken souls learning how to be whole alongside one another, even if the cracks still show.

“It sounds complicated,” Allison says, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “But also kind of perfect.”

“Yeah.” I smile. “We just fit, in some strange way. And something tells me we’re both in it for the long haul, whatever that may look like.”

“Marriage? Babies?” Her brows waggle, her eyes brighter. It’s as if my small happiness is infecting her somehow.

My cheeks warm at the notion. “We’re not rushing into anything, but…” I fiddle with the hem of my blouse, my fingers brushing my lower belly. “I wouldn’t say no to starting a family someday.”

I may or may not have settled on a house with a third bedroom, perfect for a nursery—eventually.

Allison grins, her dimples glimmering back at me. “The world needs more spider enthusiasts. Get ‘em a magnifying glass and one of those bug-catching kits as soon as they can crawl.”

I laugh, our words trailing off as we sip our tea and simmer in the silence that feels more like a familiar embrace than a chasm. And when morning gives way to afternoon, Allison discards our mugs in the sink and glances at me from the other side of the island.

A smile hints.

She leans over to the Alexa and says, “Alexa—play ‘The Scientist’ by Coldplay.”

For one brutal heartbeat, my throat narrows, chest tightening. I close my eyes, sinking into ancient, dark memories. But as the first notes crest and my friend meets me at the edge of the kitchen, a warm familiarity takes over. Something inherently sweeter.

Allison’s eyes glitter with fresh tears. “Dance with me?”

I rise, the space between us shrinking in a silent, knowing pull. As she steps into my arms, I’m taken back to a moment when we were sixteen years old.

The living room morphs into a theme-park backdrop.

A lifetime ago.

Innocence and living.

People sing along beside us, dancing, laughing under the smoldering sun, while we cling and sway and make music that reaches deeper than any note or melody.

The living room hums with the soft rhythm of our tear-filled laughter, echoing with the same lightness that filled those carefree days. Our favorite song weaves through the air like a thread connecting us to the moment—then and now—reminding me that even the hardest struggles can lead to something beautiful.

Not all walls are unbreakable.

Not all walls are forever.

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