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When Izzy wasn’t busy, the quiet caught up to her. The moments when Maggie was asleep or the kids were at school were when her thoughts spiraled. It wasn’t like she could ask Kiera to stay in Denver on her account — Izzy knew that. Kiera had kids, a life to rebuild, real decisions to make. But still, the sting of it surprised her. Just as she’d finally let herself imagine something here, something real — Denver, Kiera, all of it — the ground shifted again. And what was worse was how selfish it felt to even be upset. This wasn’t about her. But knowing that didn’t make the ache go away. It just made her quieter about it. Like if she kept her disappointment small enough, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much when Kiera left.

Of course. Ofcourseshe’d fallen for someone who might leave. Izzy wanted to laugh at herself, but it wouldn’t come out right. She should’ve known better —didknow better — and still, she’d let herself hope. Let herself picture something solid this time, something mutual. But Kiera was already slipping through her fingers, and Izzy was left wondering if she’d learnedanything at all. It was the same pattern in a prettier disguise: want the person who can’t stay. And then act surprised when they don’t.

"I want to tell you not to take that job, but that’s not my place, and I’m scared of what might happen if I push too hard, too fast."

She had typed those words more times than she could count. Every time, she deleted them before she hit send. It had felt exciting to see that Kiera told the group first… Maybe that meant she was ready for more.

It felt wrong to be thinking about Kiera while Maggie was buried in grief, but Izzy couldn’t help it. Her mind kept pulling back to Denver — to the way Kiera had looked at her before that first kiss, to the quiet hesitation in her voice when she said she wanted more. Izzy could still feel the press of Kiera’s hand at the small of her back, the way she’d leaned in like it meant something. She tried to push it aside. This wasn’t the time. Not when Maggie could barely get out of bed, not when Gwen couldn’t make it through a conversation without shutting down. But the feelings were there anyway, sharp and persistent, threading their way through every quiet moment.

The back door creaked open behind her. Izzy turned her head just enough to see Gwen stepping onto the porch, her salt-and-pepper hair slightly mussed, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. She was still in the clothes she’d worn the night before, the fabric wrinkled from sleep — if she’d even gotten any. She’d been sleeping in the family room again.

Gwen blinked at Izzy like she was surprised to see her there. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up yet,” she murmured, her voice still rough from sleep.

Izzy shifted in her chair, setting her coffee down on the armrest. “I’m an early bird.”

Gwen nodded and rubbed at her face before crossing the porch to lean against the railing. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The cicadas droned on, filling the silence.

Izzy watched her from the corner of her eye. Gwen was usually so meticulous, so put-together, but she seemed to be unraveling at the edges. Her sharp, architectural mind was always oriented toward solutions — finding a flaw in the design, fixing it before the cracks could spread.

Izzy watched Gwen yawn and rub at her eyes. “You should go back to bed,” Izzy said after a moment.

Gwen let out a hollow laugh. “I can’t sleep. Not much point in trying.”

Izzy frowned. “Gwen?—”

“I don’t know what she needs from me,” Gwen interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never not known how to fix something with her before.”

The admission was unexpected. Izzy had been prepared for Gwen’s usual stiff silence, the way she held herself just far enough away from things to maintain control. But this? This was something else.

Izzy shifted forward in her chair, resting her forearms on her knees. “I don’t think she knows either,” she said. “

Gwen sighed. “She won’t talk to me. Barely looks at me. I know she’s grieving, but it feels like… like I’m not even here.” Her fingers drummed on the deck railing. “Like she’s already decided I’m part of what she’s losing.”

Izzy bit her lip. She had noticed it, too — that strange, intangible space Maggie kept between them, like something had already broken that neither of them could name.

Gwen shook her head, a rough sound escaping her throat. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”

Izzy sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t think you can.”

Gwen finally looked at her then, brow furrowing. “You’re shockingly bad at pep talks.”

Izzy huffed a soft laugh. “I mean it. This isn’t something you can fix with logic. Maggie’s going through something bigger than either of you and all you can do is be there for her.”

Gwen swallowed. “Waiting for her to come back to me is making me feel insane.”

As Gwen said it, the words hit harder than Izzy expected. Because wasn’t she doing the same thing with Kiera? Sitting back, waiting, hoping things would sort themselves out — just like she always had. Letting other people lead, afraid to want too much in case they didn’t want her back. But watching Gwen hesitate, stay silent, refuse to move even when everything was falling apart — it made something snap into focus. Izzy didn’t want to float through this. She didn’t want to keep waiting for Kiera to wake up one day and suddenly see her standing there. She wanted to be chosenon purpose. And she was done pretending that wasn’t what she needed.

Gwen dropped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. She turned fully to face Izzy, something searching in her expression. She hesitated, exhaling. “It’s like I’m clinging onto what we had with all our might and she’s not even trying. Has she said anything to you about it?”

“She hasn’t,” Izzy said honestly. “But I do know Maggie still loves you, and if you still love her, then there’s still something worth fighting for.”

Gwen fell silent, staring up at the trees for a long moment.

“Did you know that cicadas live on all continents except Antarctica?” Izzy offered.

Gwen glanced back over her shoulder toward Izzy with a confused expression.

“They only leave the ground when it’s 64 degrees,” Izzy added.