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Danica had been her anchor for years, the person she called when things cracked or collapsed. But lately, their conversations felt careful, like their connection was fragile and precarious all at once.

She thought about Telluride. About how fast everything had unraveled. Back then, she hadn’t known Danica had broken off her engagement. She’d only seen the way Danica and Pete moved around each other — too close, too easy — and something in her had buckled. It had reminded her of the lie she’d lived in for so long with her husband’s affair, of holiday parties and polite smiles, of everyone knowing before she did.

So she’d done something she couldn’t take back. She’d reached out to Danica’s ex, told him maybe he should come. At the time, it had felt like the right thing — like fairness. Like truth.

She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but intentions didn’t matter much after impact.

She hadn’t known it was betrayal until it was too late. And even now, the weight of it lingered. Quiet. Unresolved.

She typed out a reply, slow and measured.

Kiera

Yeah, I’m excited to be there. It’ll be a nice break from real life.

Danica responded almost immediately.

Danica

Seriously. Work’s been crazy. Looking forward to this weekend, though. It’ll be good to see everyone.

Kiera hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She started to typeLooking forward to reconnecting,then deleted it.

Kiera

Yeah, it will.

She placed the phone face-down and leaned back into the couch. The room felt quieter now, despite the continued rustling and chatter from the fort-in-progress.

She couldn’t shake the sense that this trip was less about fun and more about proving something—to them, maybe even to herself. That she could still be part of the group. That she could belong, despite what happened.

Despite Izzy.

Later that afternoon,Kiera sat on the floor of her childhood bedroom, legs crossed beside the open suitcase on the bed. Clothes were half-folded, half-forgotten in small piles—tank tops, a swimsuit she hadn’t worn in years, a dress she wasn’t sure still fit.

She wasn’t thinking about packing. Not really.

Her thoughts circled Izzy, uninvited and persistent. She hadn’t meant to dwell. But the quiet of the room made it harder to ignore the knot in her stomach, the flickers of memory that caught her off guard.

Izzy hadn’t reached out. Not since Kiera had called her in a panic, asking how she could make things right between Danica and Pete, and they’d conspired to get the two back together. Now, a year later, Kiera had been too ashamed to make the first move. That silence had settled between them like dust, coating everything with a thin layer of discomfort.

The idea of seeing Izzy again — of sharing a house, a table, a conversation — made Kiera’s palms sweat. Would Izzy still look at her like she was someone to be tolerated more than trusted? Would she look at her at all?

Kiera tried to picture the version of Izzy she remembered best — head tilted, lips curled into a half-smile, that rare, genuine laugh that softened everything sharp about her. It came back a little too easily.

She folded a shirt more forcefully than necessary and muttered under her breath, “It’s not about Izzy.” But it was, a little. It always had been.

Her gaze drifted toward the dresser. A photo sat in a slim white frame — her and Danica on the Oval at CSU, arms slung around each other, mid-laugh, wind-tossed and sun-drenched. They looked like people who still believed everything would work out.

She didn’t feel like that person anymore.

A quiet knock broke the stillness. Her mom stepped into the room holding a mug.

“I thought you could use this,” she said, setting the tea down on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Kiera murmured.

Her mom sat beside her, folding her legs like she might stay a while. “The universe will provide a path forward. Have you been practicing that manifestation ritual I taught you?”