Page 27 of Shattered Promise

The weight of what he’s not saying lands square between us.

I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Jake.” It comes out quiet. Automatic. But not dishonest.

Iamsorry he got hurt. I’m just not sorry I left.

Ending things was right. Long overdue, even if it wrecked him in the process. If I’m being honest, it felt less like heartbreak and more like cutting the last fraying tether on something I’d been holding onto for too long.

“Wrong time, right?” he says with a grin that doesn’t land. It's misshapen with something bitter around the edges.

“Right.” I nod once, throat dry. The inflection makes me pause. Like he’s repeating back to me something I must’ve saidthat day.

The day everything burned too hot, too fast. When my skin felt like it was on fire, like the heat from the candlelit tables and the pressure of every eye on us had fused into one unbearable blaze. He knelt in the middle of the restaurant, just before dessert. Pulled out the ring like it was a punchline to a joke I didn’t understand. I kissed him and let him slide it on my finger. Because I didn’t know what else to do.

A week later, I told him I couldn't marry him. And then I told him goodbye.

He didn’t take it well.

This is only the third time I’ve seen him since. Myparentsstill see him more often than I do.

That’s the thing about Jake. He was always polite, clean-cut, the kind of guy you could bring home to dinner. Even now, I wouldn't be surprised if he still tried to stop by to help Dad with yard work, or picked up a pie for Mom at the farmer's market like nothing ever happened.

His gaze drops to my cart, lingering on my suitcases. “You in town for a while?”

Panic prickles at the base of my neck. Because if Jake sees me, it’s only a matter of time before my parents do. And they can’t. Not like this. Not tired and unraveling and wearing sunglasses inside a grocery store like I’m hiding from the world.

They’ll ask questions. They’ll look at me too long. And I can’t take that. Not right now.

I paste on a quick smile. “Actually, I’m heading back to the West Coast. Just picking up a few things to leave at my sister’s place before my redeye.”

The lie tumbles out with the kind of ease that should bother me more than it does.

Jake nods slowly. “Right. Well—when you’re back, let me know. We could grab a drink. Or dinner. Whatever you want.”

“Absolutely,” I say, already taking a step back. I won’t. And it has nothing to do with laying low at the cabin I inherited. "I gotta go." I tilt my head a little and pivot at the end of the aisle.

"It was nice to see you, Abs," he calls to my back.

I toss up a finger wave as I walk away. My heart pounds, and I don’t stop moving until I’m in the frozen foods section, wedged between the ice cream and a display of toaster waffles. The freezer air brushes cool against my overheated cheeks, and I grip the cart handle with cold fingers, grounding myself in the sensation.

Somewhere I can breathe. And where no one will look too hard if a girl in sunglasses stares at a pint of cookie dough like it might bite her.

My phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime from Mom. I freeze, thumb hovering. If I let it ring out, she’ll call again. And if I miss our weekly check-in, she’ll know something’s off. Shealwaysknows. I sigh and swipe to answer, flipping the camera off as it connects.

“Abby?” Mom's voice is warm and familiar, a balm to my frayed nerves. “Honey, I can't see you. Can you see me?”

I wince and pull another white lie out like I’ve got a whole collection stashed in my back pocket. “Oh, um—I’m probably in a dead zone. Service is weird here, you know that.” It rolls out so easily it makes my stomach knot.

I'm telling so many little lies today that I'm going to get caught. It's the law of averages at this point.

“Oh of course, honey. I just wanted to check in. I know how busy you've been with the event, but I thought we could chat for a few minutes tonight. Mason brought Theo for Sunday dinner,and Abby, let me tell you, that boy is gettingsobig. I swear he ate an entire piece of lasagna by himself."

She chuckles, pure fondness laced through every word. The sound lands in my chest with a soft, aching thud.

I feel it then. A pinch of something I can’t quite name. Longing, maybe. For her. For the comfort of Sunday dinners and too much food and familiar voices layered over one another.

Or maybe it’s just Theo. Because pictures don’t do him justice. And I miss him more than I probably should, considering how little I’ve actually seen him in person.

Mason sent me a photo a few days ago. A blurry shot of Theo in a high chair, cheeks full of cereal and eyes wide with mischief. I texted back a heart emoji and a joke about breakfast foods.

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