Page 4 of Who Pissed Off Ivy Dell?

“Is there something special about this mirror?” No idea why I couldn’t just leave well enough alone, but I can’t take the question back.

“Yes,” Alma says. “I felt a special connection to it the moment I saw it.”

I knew it.

“All mirrors are special,” Elma says. “Because our mirror images are how we see ourselves. Photographs are how others see us. Those can be edited to tell whatever story we want people to believe, but the person in the mirror is the one we must learn to love unedited.”

Alma nods. “And images in photos preserve a moment in time. But the you in the mirror is constantly changing, always evolving.”

The thought of standing around, watching myself age makes working on Dice’s septic system look better by the second. “Well, if the mirror is all you needed, I’ll move on to the next person on my list, and let you ladies get on with your day.”

“Before you go,” Elma says. “Look into the mirror again.”

She steps aside, out of the reflection, and then Alma steps away, too.

“Do you see him?” Elma asks.

“Who?”

“The man you’ve become,” Alma says. “She sees him. She’s proud of him. But she doesn’t want him to stop becoming the man he’s meant to be.”

“And she says you aren’t meant to be alone.”

I suddenly smell Jenna as distinctly as if she were standing right next to me. I don’t see her in the mirror, but her scent . . . ten seconds ago, I couldn’t have described it, but memories are powerful enough to fuck with your senses. To make you believe it’s not your imagination when a small detail comes rushing back and hits like a goddamn helmet to your knees.

“I don’t guess it’s healthy for anybody to be alone too long,” I say, nodding at the sisters as I walk toward the door, not meaning to dismiss them, but not wanting to hear more of their spooky life lessons either. It’s too much. My hand turns the doorknob, but I realize I can still smell her, so I hold still.

I hold on.

She’s here, but there’s an unseen force pushing at my back, a voice telling me I have to go, that the past isn’t a home. It’s a photograph. A moment in time captured in an image. Millions of beautiful moments preserved in millions of beautiful images. All forever unchanged.

I’ve spent the past four years trying to remain unchanged, knowing all along that life isn’t meant to be like that. It makes no sense to know something with absolute certainty, but still doubtit with everything you’ve got. Denial is easier sometimes, but the truth doesn’t change.

People change. It’s how we’re meant to be. Moving, but with purpose—not trying to outrun pain, but learning to grow past it without looking away from it. To leave it behind without running from it. So many things I’ve known, yet refused to accept.

But not needing to run? That’s more than a shift in perspective. That changes how I breathe. It shoves the boulder off my back, not because I choose to accept it, but because it makes the choice for me. It leaves me like a fever breaking—cold sweat, weak limbs . . . sudden clarity.

I wasn’t just running to escape. It was the only way I ever knew to be. I’ve never felt like I wasn’t in a race—whether it was to stay at the front of the pack so my dad would see me or to escape the reach of his sight when I wanted him to stop focusing on me or to keep the cruelest pain from gaining on me.

Until this beautiful moment right now.

I’m standing still. All of me. And I’m okay.

Even here in Ivydell, hidden away from responsibilities and obligations, I’ve been running. But right now, I don’t feel like I have to do anything bigger or better or faster or harder, or hide or fight. There’s no fear or anger thrumming in my veins. No strategizing for survival.

No need to run.

I step back to the mirror for another look. Because I need to see it in my own eyes to trust it.

The change is undeniable. I see it for myself.

Petra

Scaling Back

The tone of theknock alerts me it’s April. The moment I shut her down in the meeting, I knew she’d be showing up at my casita to finish making her point. I fling the door open, ready to shut her down again.

“Oh, Ivy. Hi. I thought you were going to be someone else.”

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