Page 133 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

I’m not here to drag anyone down.

I just want to say: I’m done performing. I’m done being a version of myself that makes people comfortable.

I’m learning how to be human again.

I hope you’re doing the same.

Merry Christmas.

Riley.

No hashtags. No links. No curated photo. Only black text on a white background.

I stared at it for a long time, then clicked post.

The moment it was live, I placed my phone on the nightstand, face down. My hands were shaking, but not from fear. It felt like the end of something I didn’t need to carry anymore.

I sat there for a moment longer, breathing in the quiet.

It wasn’t some cinematic, soul-cleansing release, but it was real. I’d set something down, and my hands didn’t quite know what to do without the weight.

Outside, Lucy was singing off-key again, this time something wildly off tempo and suspiciouslynota Christmas carol. I smiled to myself, the edges of my nerves softening.

Okay. Time to get dressed.

I peeled myself off the bed, padding across the creaky floorboards to my suitcase. I didn’t have much to choose from, only the clothes I’d grabbed in a panicked rush when I fled LA, but I’d picked up a few things in Medford. Simple and cozy.

I pulled on a soft sweater the color of warm pine and black leggings.

My hair was still slightly damp from the shower, curling a little more than usual, and for once, I didn’t fight it.

I added a little blush, a soft swipe of mascara, and a warm nude lip.

Not for a photo. Not to impress anyone. Just because it made me feel good.

And then, because I couldn’t help it, I glanced toward my phone.

It sat there on the nightstand like a little grenade.

Don’t check it. Let it breathe. Letyoubreathe.

But curiosity was a tricky thing. It didn’t come screaming, it whispered.

Look. One peek.

I picked it up.

Notifications. So many notifications.

My heart thudded in my chest. I swallowed, thumb hovering.

Then I opened the app.

The first comment I saw had me blinking hard.

Wow, Riley! Good to hear from you!

Riley, I’m sorry I ever believed the noise. You didn’t deserve that.

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