Page 8 of Returned Mail

“Okay, what?”

“I took a few days off.”

I stare at her. “You what?”

“I’m staying here.”

“Lyann.”

“You need company, food, and probably sunlight.”

“Lyann, you didn’t have to do that. I’m okay. Really, I’m⁠—”

“You look like Victorian tuberculosis.”

I blink. “I— what?”

“You look like you've been dying near a nice window.” She glances toward the living room. “Which, luckily, you have a few around here.” A surprised laugh escapes me. The first real laugh in days.

Lyann points at me immediately. “There she is.”

That's all it takes.

She's trying to make me laugh. Trying to make me feel like myself. And somehow, that makes me want to cry more than Sebastian leaving did. The tears start instantly. “Oh, fuck,” I whisper.

Lyann drops the grocery bags onto the counter and opens her arms. I practically collapse into them. She doesn't tell me to calm down. She doesn't say everything happens for a reason. She doesn't tell me I'll find someone better. She just holds me.

She just lets me grieve.

I cry into her shoulder until I can barely breathe. Until my face hurts. Until I'm embarrassed by the amount of fluid one human body can apparently produce. When I finally pull away, she hands me a tissue.

“Done?”

“No.”

“Okay. We can schedule another crying session later.”

I laugh through my tears. Then immediately start crying again. Lyann sighs dramatically. “I swear to God, if I ever see Sebastian in public⁠—”

“Ly.”

“I'm just saying.”

“No felonies. He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, he’s absolutely not. But I can't make any promises.” I shake my head, and a tiny smile appears despite the ache sitting in my chest.

Then the question comes out before I can stop it.

“What if I wasn't enough?”

The room goes quiet. Lyann looks at me for a long moment. “Then why did he stay for six years?”

My eyes drop. I can't face her right now. “Maybe he realized too late.”

“Or maybe he's just an asshole, Mia.”

I let out a broken laugh.