The summer air carries charcoal smoke and laughter as Ivy slips inside the bungalow, reaching for the serving bowls she forgot. Old college friends fill their backyard—faces she and Honey haven't seen in ages, finally gathered again after too long.
She rounds the hallway corner toward the kitchen—then stops.
Two familiar voices. Blair and Donna, grabbing more wine. Girls from the old friend group. Girls who were THERE junior year.
I'm just saying,
Blair muses, they seem really happy. Ivy's good for him.
Donna snorts. Please. It's only because Clara Scott never gave him a chance. She's who he really wanted. He just... settled for Ivy.
The words hit Ivy's chest. Clara Scott. She KNOWS that name. The bombshell who drifted through their friend group junior year—effortlessly gorgeous, impossibly cool, the woman Ivy could never compete with. She'd told herself his glances meant nothing. That she was paranoid.
She wasn't.
She backs away silently, bowls forgotten, hand pressed to her mouth.
The rest of the evening is autopilot. Smiles. Goodbyes. Thanks for coming. Every touch from Honey feels different now—does he wish it were someone else?
Afterward, she cleans in silence. Doesn't take his hand. Doesn't lean into him.
Now she sits on the bed's edge, twisting her wedding band round and round. Watches Honey in the bathroom mirror. Four years. A home. A life.
Was any of it truly chosen?
She removes her glasses, sets them on the nightstand. Her voice comes out quiet but steady.
We need to talk.
