“Tonight,” I say, “I’ll go on a date with the man who broke my heart. And for the first time, I don’t feel ashamed about still loving him. Doesn’t mean I trust him yet.”
“Baby steps,” Trish says.
“No,” I smile. “High heels. I’m dressing up tonight.”
Laughter bubbles around the table. But the weight of what was said stays. Quiet and warm.
After a while, we hug goodbye. These women have become my lifeline in a chapter I never thought would be written. A chapter I didn’t ask for, but one I’m finally learning to live in.
Opening the closet, I sigh. It’s cramped, stuffed with things I should’ve donated months ago, and not a single item feels likemetonight.
Every hanger I touch leads to an oversized shirt. My go to outfit. I toss one hanger onto the bed. Then another. Then a hoodie that still smells faintly like baby detergent.
Tonight isn’t about comfort.
It’s about trying.
I pull out a black wrap dress I haven’t worn in years. It still fits, barely, and the neckline is a little deeper than I remember. But I stare at myself in the mirror and something flickers. Not quite confidence. But something close.
I run my fingers through my hair, put on a little mascara, and slide my feet into strappy sandals that make me feel like a woman again, not just a mother or a therapist’s favourite project.
Then I wait.
For the knock.
It comes soft. Two taps, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to show up here.
I walk to the door. My hand pauses on the knob. I take a breath, then open it.
Kyle stands there in a button-down and jeans, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He’s holding a box, and I recognize the label immediately.
He stares at me.
“Wow,” he says.
I smile, quiet. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, then swallows. “You look… amazing.”
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
We stand there for a beat too long before he thrusts the box in my direction, “Your favourite.”
Smiling, I take the box of chocolates with a quietthanksand set it on the table beside the door. Then I grab my purse.
“Ready?”
He nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
As we head down the steps, I feel my heart thud a little louder. This isn’t just a date.
It’s a test.
Of who we’ve become. Of whether love is enough to rebuild trust.
The restaurant isn’t fancy. Brick walls, dim lighting, quiet music humming in the background. Its familiar. Kyle had picked it once on a whim, years ago, when we were still figuring each other out. I’d teased him then for ordering the wrong wine, and he’d pretended to know the difference. He still doesn’t.
We’re seated in a booth by the window. Our menus sit unopened for a long minute.