ONCE MORE, WITH YOU

XXVIII

Summer Preston

The drive home felt like a fever dream.

I had expected to feel relieved—proud, even—that I had stood my ground, that I hadn't let Solené's words pull me back into something uncertain.

Instead, I felt hollow.

Like I had ripped out a part of myself and left it behind in that apartment, curled up next to her on the couch where she had been waiting for me.

I squeezed the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white.

She had waited for me.

She had looked like hell, and maybe a small, selfish part of me had wanted that. Had wanted to see the weight of her guilt written all over her face, to know that she was suffering as much as I was.

But another part of me—one I refused to acknowledge—had just wanted to hold her.

To crawl into her lap, bury my face in her neck, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But that wasn't reality.

Reality was that she had lied. That she had married someone else and let me walk around, blind and oblivious, like a fucking idiot.

I had trusted her.

I had chosen her.

And she had made a choice, too.

Just not me.

Not when it mattered.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, my head was pounding. I turned off the engine and slumped back against the seat, exhaling shakily.

I told her to prove it.

I told her to fix it.

Now all I could do was wait.

Nolan and Adrianna were waiting for me when I walked inside, their faces tense.

"How did it go?" Adrianna asked cautiously.

I kicked off my shoes and threw my bag onto the couch before flopping down beside it. "I told her to get a divorce."

Nolan let out a low whistle. "Damn."

"And if she does?" Adrianna pressed.

I hesitated. "Then maybe—" My throat tightened. "Maybe we can figure things out."

"And if she doesn't?"

Silence.

I didn't have an answer for that.

Because if Solené didn't go through with it—if she didn't choose me fully—then what the hell was I supposed to do with all of this love still burning inside me?

Adrianna sighed, plopping down beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "You did the right thing, Summer."

"Then why does it feel so fucking awful?" My voice cracked, and I hated it.

She squeezed me tighter. "Because love isn't supposed to hurt like this. But sometimes, it does."

I swallowed, leaning into her. "I don't want to lose her."

"Then let her prove she's worth keeping."

*

Days passed.

Then a week.

Then another.

And Solené didn't reach out.

I told myself I wouldn't check her social media. Wouldn't stalk every little update. Wouldn't drive past her apartment just to see if her car was still there, if she was home, if she was okay.

I told myself a lot of things.

And I broke every single promise.

Every day that passed without a call, without a text, was another reminder that maybe she wasn't fighting for me after all.

Maybe she wasn't choosing me.

Maybe I had been right to walk away.

But if that was true, then why did it still hurt this much?

*

It was almost three weeks later when she finally called.

I was sitting on my bedroom floor, mindlessly flipping through a book I hadn't really read a single word of when my phone vibrated beside me.

I didn't even have to look. I felt it.

My heart stuttered.

For a long moment, I just stared at the screen.

Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I answered.

"Hello."

A sharp exhale on the other end. Then, "Can you open your door?"

I hesitated. "Sol—"

"Please, Summer."

My chest tightened.

I should have said no. Should have told her that if she had something to say, she could say it over the phone. Should have protected myself instead of letting her in again.

But I wasn't strong enough for that.

So I got up, walked to the door, and opened it.

And there she was.

Standing on my doorstep, looking wrecked, looking beautiful, looking like she hadn't slept in days.

She lifted a shaking hand, holding up a thick stack of papers.

"I did it," she whispered. "I filed for divorce."

I swallowed hard, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"Say something," she pleaded.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Because this—this was the moment I had asked for.

So why did it still feel like my heart was breaking?