Blame it on me

16

Zia is not like her sisters. She is the sweet timid one.

She wishes she wasn't .

She wishes she was anyone else but herself.

Because maybe if she was different-if she was smarter, bolder, prettier, less her-maybe she wouldn't be here, in a campground shower, drowning in questions she's too afraid to ask. Maybe Austin would have never strayed in the first place. Maybe Emery wouldn't have caught his eye. Maybe he wouldn't have looked at another woman like that. Like that.

She should shut him out. Lock her heart behind steel and deny him her body, her affection, her everything. She should hold him accountable for the way he's made her doubt her worth.

But the truth guts her.

She's terrified he'll leave. That he'll walk away without hesitation. No fight. No regret. Just a closed door and silence.

She loves him.

She loves him so damn much that she'd rather bleed in silence than lose him. She'd rather break herself into smaller and smaller pieces just to keep him close. To pretend, even for a moment, that things are okay. That they are okay.

The nausea hits like a wave.

She stumbles out of the stall, feet slipping against the wet tile. Her hand slams against the wall as she barely makes it to the toilet in time. Her knees hit the floor. Her stomach convulses. She vomits hard, her body wracked by dry heaves and sobs that scrape her throat raw.

It's not just grief. It's fear. Paralyzing, gut-deep fear. Of being unloved. Of being replaced. Of being left behind.

And in that cramped, cold cubicle, with her hair plastered to her face and her body trembling, Zia clutches the edge of the toilet bowl like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

She doesn't want to be this woman.

But she doesn't know how to be anyone else.

Zia tells her sisters everything. Every stupid little detail of her day, from the color of a client's nail polish to the way her toast burned that morning. They're her people-her anchor when life gets too loud. But this? This suspicion that's been rotting in her chest like spoiled fruit? She hasn't said a word. Not to Jada. Not to Lucy. Julie, her best friend, knows but only because she found Zia during a brake down in the back room of the salon. She has sworn Julie to secrecy.

Jada is all for salvaging the marriage, cheering Zia on with the kind of aggressive optimism that always made her feel like she could fix anything. And Lucy? Lucy has chalked it up to drifting. A rough patch. A lull. She tells Zia to reconnect with Austin, to find their way back to each other. If Mary were here, she wouldn't hesitate. She'd tell Zia to talk to Austin outright and tell him she is sad.

They've all said it in their own ways-Stand your ground, Z. Challenge him. But Zia's never been that girl. Her soft heart and scatterbrained ways don't have room for confrontation. That was always her sisters' domain. They are the fighters. The voices. The ones who stand up when she can't. Zia once hugged the girl who bullied her in school because she thought she looked like she needed one-that was her solution to conflict. Love it out. Soften the edges.

How would she ever be able to confront Austin?

If she told Jada or Lucy the truth, if she even hinted that she thought Austin might be sleeping with someone else-Emm-the-Easy-they'd lose their damn minds. Jada would be on the phone with every one of Austin's brothers within five minutes, and Lucy would have already written out a speech for their parents. And then the storm would come-rage, disappointment, shouting matches, everyone looking at Austin like he was scum. The whole family would turn on him.