Page 182 of Mason

“You’re not broken, Shelby,” she says, calm but relentless. “You’rehurt.You’retraumatized.But that doesn’t mean you’re beyond repair.”

Tears sting behind my eyes. I blink them back, hard. My voice splinters.

“And what if Ineverheal?”

Mia doesn’t flinch. “Then you never heal.”

The simplicity of it stuns me.

“But you still get to live,” she says, firm. “You still get to have people who love you. You still get to bemorethan what happened to you.”

My breath hitches.

I want to believe her. I want to believe there’s a version of me that exists beyond the bruises and assault and fear.

But the doubt is louder.

“I don’t know if I can be with him like this,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can face what we were. It’s too painful.”

Mia’s expression softens. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around mine with warmth I forgot existed.

“Then don’t,” she says. “Not yet. Come stay with me and Brando for a while. Just beclose.No pressure. No expectations. Just a safe space. You shouldn’t be alone, Shelby.”

I stare at her.

It’s tempting. Too tempting. It feels like oxygen after drowning. But it terrifies me.

“And if I never go back to him?” I ask.

Mia’s smile is sad and solid, the kind you give someone when you know they’re on the edge but not ready to fall.

“Then I’ll tell him to let you go,” she says. “But at least he’ll know you’re okay. And that?” She squeezes my hand. “That might just save him.”

I let out a shaky breath.

And for the first time in weeks, I feel the walls inside me crack—not collapse. But shift.

Maybe I haven’t been running from Mason.

Maybe I’ve been running from the version of me that thought I had to heal alone.

I stareat the small suitcase sitting by the door like it might bite me. Like if I get too close, it’ll snap shut and seal me into a life I’m not ready to live.

It’s barely full—just a few changes of clothes, my toothbrush, and the hoodie I stole from Mason’s house the night I left, like some part of me couldn’t leave empty-handed. It still smells like him… sandalwood, cedar, and the kind of trouble you ache for even when it’s the reason you’re bleeding.

I sleep with it every night, curled around it like a lifeline, like if I hold it tight enough, maybe it’ll hold me back. Maybe it’ll remind me how it felt to be protected, even if that protection came with sharp edges and unfinished promises. His scent clings to the fabric, to my skin, to my memory—soothing and devastating all at once.

It’s pathetic, probably. Sleeping with a hoodie like some lost teenager. But I can’t let it go.

Because if I do… it’s admitting he’s no longer mine. And I’m not sure I can survive that.

Mia’s pacing my tiny living room like she’s about to drag me out by the ankles. She hasn’t said anything in five minutes, but every breath she takes screamsdon’t back out on me now.

“I’m not sure about this,” I murmur.

She stops pacing. Her look is immediate. Unforgiving. “We’re not doing this again.”

I fold my arms. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s too soon.”

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