Page 48 of American Beauty

“Good girl,” Violet says.

I chew, forcing down another bite. Then another.

She stands across from me, watching with those sharp eyes of hers. “You’ve lost too much weight.”

I shrug. “Breakup diets work.”

“Breakup spirals don’t. You scared the shit out of me.”

My eyes fall to the half-eaten sandwich on my plate, my fingers curling around the crust. “I think I was born with a broken heart, like there’s something in me that’s always going to be cracked.”

Violet doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give me pity eyes or rush to fill the silence. She watches me for a beat and leans in with something softer in her eyes. Something fierce. “Possibly, but you were also born with teeth.”

I blink at her, confused.

“You were born tough. Even when you don’t want to be. Even when it hurts. That heart of yours might’ve come with fractures, but it also came with fire. And you’re still here. That counts for something.”

“I’m not sure how to stop hurting like this.”

Violet reaches across the counter, her voice gentler than it’s been all day. “Maybe today isn’t about not hurting. Let’s shoot for… feeling different.”

I swallow hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes. “How?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Start by doing the thing that always makes you happy.”

I furrow my brow. “Work?”

Violet nods. “You’ve always come alive when you’re creating. Designing. Organizing. Making beauty out of chaos. That’s your thing. And if there’s anything that’ll remind you who you are, it’s that.”

I stare at her for a long moment, then look down at my hands. They’re trembling. But maybe—just maybe—they still remember how to build something.

Violet clears the plates and tidies my kitchen while I stay perched at the counter, still bundled in clean pajamas, damp hair, and a raw heart.

She half turns, her gaze catching mine. “How is your money situation?”

I arch a brow. “You want a breakdown of my net worth?”

She tosses a dish towel at me. “I wanna be reassured that you’re not one missed-rent payment away from sleeping on my sofa.”

“I’m fine. You know me. I’ve been smart. I have investments. Decent savings. I won’t be on your couch anytime soon. Promise.”

Violet nods, satisfied. But I can tell the what’s coming next before she ever opens her mouth.

“And work?”

I wince. “No clue. I haven’t looked. I know I need to, but I––” I trail off, trying to find the right words.

She picks up the thread for me. “You’re afraid of giving your heart to another company, another boss, only to be tossed out again like you never mattered.”

I nod. “Right.”

We’re quiet for a beat, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound.

Violet leans forward on the counter. “It could be time for you to stop giving your heart away and build something that’s yours.”

I blink. “Meaning what? Start a business?”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

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