Page 23 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Twelve

KAMIRA

I stood before my closet, like it was a witness stand. A black dress hung over my arm and the stiletto heels beside me gleamed on the plush rug. A nervous flutter twisted in my stomach. Soon after, guilt crept in, reminding me of all that I should be prioritizing.

This is wrong. Just stay home. Be the good fiancée.

With a heavy sigh, I placed the dress on the bed, staring at it as if it held the answers to my conflicted heart.

I hit Danica’s name before I could talk myself out of it—she picked up on the first ring.

“Alright, little sister—what’s going on? Your spirit’s loud!”

I exhaled. “You busy?”

“For you? Never. Is this about the pop-up ‘boys trip’ your fiancé announced at breakfast?”

I sat on the bed and answered, “No.”

“Mmm. Okay. And this tone means there’s more.”

“Roman asked me to come over after work,” I announced, my heart fluttering with anticipation. “He… said he has a surprise.”

Silence, then the tiniest smile in her voice.

“Okay! I like surprises… good ones. You know… you’ve been… lighter since you saw him. Don’t lie.”

I traced my thumbnail along my lip, lost in thought.

“It’s just that I feel… really seen when I’m with him or hell… talk to him. But at the same time, I can’t shake this nagging guilt for even thinking about it.”

“Stop,” Danica said, her tone a blend of gentle reassurance and firm authority.

“You aren’t married yet. There’s no sneaking around involved, no questionable decisions that would leave you feeling ashamed if they were on display for the world to see.

A man who abruptly left town with merely five minutes' notice has forfeited his right to dictate how you choose to spend your evening.”

I let that sink in. “It still feels… messy,” I admitted, my brow furrowing as I contemplated the situation.

“Messy is lying and pretending,” Danica countered.

“You’re being honest—both with yourself and with me.

If you decide to go, establish clear boundaries.

Drive yourself there so you can leave whenever you want.

Share your location and agree on a specific time that you’ll return home.

And if anything feels off, you leave. Simple. ”

A laugh broke out of me. “You’re giving me field trip rules,” I teased, shaking my head in amusement at the practicality of her advice.

“No… I’m giving you love,” she clarified. “Also—wear the black dress. You know, the one that hugs your figure and encourages you to hold your head high. Lately, you’ve been bending and shrinking in the shadows to make others feel at ease. But tonight isn’t about them; it’s your time to shine.”

I glanced over at the dress and saw my posture answer her before my mouth did.

“You really think I should go?”

“I think you need a night where you’re not begging your own body to relax,” she replied blatantly, her voice steady and soothing.

“Talk, eat, laugh—truly remember who you are beyond all the stress. You’re allowed to have a friend.

And if things evolve into something more later, that will be in another time.

But tonight is about giving yourself the gift of breathing.

Text me his address, share your location, and check in at ten with a single emoji.

If you send a peach, I’m calling the cavalry. ”

I chuckled. “A peach?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Diane’s preserves,” she replied with a deadpan expression. “Trauma fruit.”

A laugh escaped me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” she insisted. “Last thing—don’t bind yourself with vows of guilt. Instead, make choices rooted in peace. If you feel peace as you’re walking out the door, keep walking.”

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now go and put on your war paint—just a touch of light eyeliner, a glossy lip, and the classic silver hoops. That should do the trick. Call me when you park.”

Once we hung up, the silence in my home shifted; it felt as though I had just opened a window to let in a refreshing breeze.

As I stepped into my dress, it slid over me with ease, as if it recognized my form and celebrated it.

I secured the clasp at the back and slipped on my favorite heels.

A clean line of makeup accentuated my eyes, followed by a soft shade of lipstick that made my lips pop.

I hung the hoops in place and added a spritz of perfume at my wrists.

Reaching for my phone, I quickly texted Danica the address where I was headed; she responded almost instantly with a heart emoji, followed by a sword emoji and a pair of prayer hands, boosting my courage further.

Then, I opened the thread with Roman.

Me: Leaving now. See you soon.

His reply appeared almost instantly, the dots signaling his immediate response.

Roman: Drive safe. The elevator code is 18231. I’ll meet you at the door.

With a sense of anticipation swirling inside me, I picked up my bag, did one last check in the mirror, and caught a glimpse of my mother’s reflection looking back at me.

Standing at the door, I paused for a moment, listening intently for any whispers of guilt—but none came. Instead, I felt the comforting embrace of peace enveloping me.

“Okay,” I voiced softly to the stillness of the house. “Let’s go breathe.”