The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Five

“She’s growing faster every time I see her,” Maya said, brushing a crumb from Isla’s chin. “Didn’t she just turn three?”

“Going on thirteen,” I murmured, sipping the last of my tea. “Some days she’s all cuddles, other days it’s negotiations and dramatic sighs.”

“She takes after you,” Maya teased. “Fierce, clever, a little dramatic…”

I gave her a look over my mug. “You’re not wrong.”

Isla wandered over to her basket of toys in the corner, pulling out her wooden fox and raccoon figures, humming a tune she clearly made up on the spot. It was off-key and adorable, and I felt something in my chest soften watching her.

Maya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “So. Are you nervous?”

“Nervous about what?” I asked, wiping crumbs from the table.

She raised her eyebrows. “The project, the gallery crossover, being back in that world again—even if just a little.”

I sighed, glancing toward the kitchen window. Outside, the clouds moved like old lace, slow and low over the trees. “Maybe. I haven’t really let myself think about it too much yet.”

“But you will.”

“Eventually.”

Maya didn’t push, just nodded like she understood, which of course she did. She’d seen me at my most hesitant and most determined—helped me move into this cottage, unpacked boxes with me in silence when talking was too hard. She knew the weight of the past didn’t always need to be spoken aloud to be real.

“Are you staying for lunch?” I asked, changing the subject.

“If you’re cooking, yes,” she said immediately.

“Leftover tomato soup?”

“With your bread?”

I gave her a smug smile. “Of course.”

She rubbed her hands together. “Then I’m definitely staying.”

While I reheated the soup and sliced the last of the sourdough from yesterday, Maya kept Isla entertained by pretending the raccoon figure was a villain in a dramatic forest saga. Isla, who had decided the fox was the ‘princess mommy’, demanded a plot twist every thirty seconds.

The living room filled with tiny giggles, mismatched voices, and the faint clinking of bowls and spoons. Outside, the wind rattled against the windowpanes, and inside, everything felt safe.

I glanced over my shoulder once, just for a second, and felt a curious flutter in my chest—not quite nerves, not quite excitement. Just… something shifting.

Maybe Maya was right. Maybe it was time for a new page.

Maya suddenly gasped, loud enough to make both Isla and me jump.

“Oh! I nearly forgot!” she said, eyes wide with excitement as she reached for her phone. “There’s a sale today at Marigold’s—the little boutique down near the harbor. It’s today only. I saw the post this morning, but it completely slipped my mind.”

I tilted my head. “Marigold’s? The one with all the dreamy linen and overpriced candles?”

“Yes! And the scarves, and the baskets, and the hand-painted mugs we definitely don’t need but always end up buying anyway.”

I laughed, already shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

Maya grinned. “Come on, you haven’t been out in ages. Not properly. Just a short walk, a little browsing, maybe some tea after. You need it.”