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F ifty-thousand plants, an aviary, two cats, and a partridge in a pear tree greet me as I traipse through the front door of my mother’s house with a bag of kitty litter. Macaroni, a high-strung macaw, squawks at me as I drop the bag in the entryway, while two tabbies, Jojo and Juju, curl around my ankles. “Mom?” I look around the small bungalow, drinking in the bold prints and eccentric knickknacks, as the smell of sage and incense wafts underneath my nose.

“Out back!”

I set down my duffel bag and wind around to the back of the house, exiting through a door off the kitchen. My mother is sprawled out in a lawn chair, sipping iced tea. “Hey. You look cozy.” I send her a smile as I gather my hair over my shoulder.

She smiles back through neon-red sunglasses and tips her head toward the sky. “You know what’s underrated?”

“Kinetic sand?”

She frowns, twisting toward me. “Good one. But I was going to say aging.”

I saunter toward her, plopping down in the adjacent chair that’s already stocked with my own sweating glass of tea. Fiddling with the straw, I follow her gaze as she peers back up at the cloud-spattered sky. “Yeah,” I murmur before taking a sip. “I’m on board with that.”

“There’s something so liberating about not giving a crap anymore, you know?” She drapes both arms over her head as sunlight bathes her in a golden glow. “I’ve gained twenty pounds, stopped dyeing my hair, and updated all my pictures on social media to a selfie I took last week, finally replacing that yearbook photo from high school. It’s beautiful.”

My mother is beautiful.

Right down to her soul.

Mom removes her sunglasses and glances my way, her eyes mirroring her smile. “How was the drive?”

I settle back in the chair and cross my leg over my knee. “Long. I was listening to a podcast about how spiders function as indicator species for habitats and ecosystems.”

“That’s my girl.” She chuckles under her breath as ice cubes clink against her glass. “I’m sure Festus is living his best life.”

Festus McGarrity IV is my pet tarantula.

The day I packed my meager belongings in my car and made the trek from Los Angeles to San Francisco to start over, I considered leaving the arachnid behind. After all, my mother had been taking good care of him during my absence, and I felt unfit to take care of anything with a heartbeat—including myself. In the end, I ran back into the house and gathered up the giant terrarium, bringing the pet I deeply missed with me.

I couldn’t leave another thing I cared about behind.

“He is.” I twirl my straw around in circles. “I miss you.”

The mood fills with melancholy as we both gaze up at the shimmying treetops. “You’re welcome over any time, Everly. It kills me that you’re so far. I understand it, but…”

“I know.”

The past year winds through me in a tangle of icy tendrils.

After my hospital stay, I moved in with my mother for four months, until a black cloud of depression, too many painful reminders, and a slew of zealous reporters obsessed with following my every move became too much to bear. I packed my things and hit the road, landing in the San Francisco Bay area. Nobody recognizes me there. I can be invisible, blend in.

It’s not the life I imagined while hidden away, trapped between four walls with only my name to keep me tethered to my identity, but it’s what I needed. The transition has kept me sane, functional, and alive.

The divorce was finalized two months ago.

I’m officially Everly Mayfield now: ex-model and ex-wife of renowned talent agent, Jasper Cross. The split was as amicable as it could have been, given the circumstances and my torn, obliterated heart. I never saw it coming. And I think those are the moments when you find out who you really are. What you’re made of and what you’re capable of overcoming. The blindsides keep us grounded, reminding us of our resilience.

Jasper still texts me.

Allison still calls.

I haven’t responded to either of them.

Mom’s sigh filters over to me, a doleful backdrop to my thoughts. “Allison stayed over for a few days to take care of the animals while I was in Puerto Rico. She asked about you.”

“I’m sure she did.” My lips flatten into a thin line. Part of me resents the fact that Allison is still a big part of my mother’s life. My mother is mine , and my best friend has already stolen so much from me. I don’t want her to have Mom, too. Still, there’s another part of me that claws for understanding and forgiveness. It’s a toxic teeter-totter of emotion that often gets the better of me. “I haven’t spoken to her since that day at the hospital.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe it’ll help you heal.”

“I’m healing in my own way.”

“Which sounds a lot like running.”

I grind my molars so hard my jaw aches. Mom has always been honest, to the point of contention sometimes. I don’t want her honesty. I did what I needed to for survival, and survival can be ruthless. No one knows what an uphill, knuckle-bleeding battle it is until they’re in the thick of it. “You should be on my side,” I tell her, my words shaky. “I’m your daughter.”

“Sweetheart, I am on your side. Always and forever. But I see both sides, too. I’m only offering a different perspective.”

“And I’m living on the side nobody wants to be on. I was held captive for years while my husband and best friend declared me dead, then started screwing each other behind my back. It’s a betrayal I can’t fathom, a pain that will never go away.”

Tears glitter in my mother’s eyes as her face falls, her light brows gathering into a desolate frown. “They grew close when they lost you. It was traumatic for everybody. They latched on to each other because of you, not to spite you. It wasn’t planned; it wasn’t a calculated arrow to your heart. It was just…a common thread. A form of solace.”

“I can’t listen to this again.” I stand from the chair as tea splashes over the rim of my glass. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Everly.”

“Please. I can’t.” I falter, my back facing my mother. “Maybe I should stop coming over every month. It’s too…hard. These reminders and lectures.”

She sits up in the chair. “Don’t say that. These visits mean everything to me.”

“Then maybe you should stop tainting them with your misplaced opinions.”

“I’m only trying to help,” she reasons, her voice hitching.

“Help whom? The two people who shredded me to a pulp? Who ripped my future out from under me like a dirty old rug?”

“ You. Always you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Standing, Mom steps over to me, her bare feet rattling the deck planks. “I know you, honey. I know your heart, your soul. I know this is killing you, and that kills me.” She reaches for me, her ring-laden fingers curling around my wrists. “You’re a forgiver. An empath. You’ve always spun your pain into peace, and I know, deep down, you’re not at peace. Your light is gone.”

I stare at her, internalizing her words and trying to make sense of them. But none of this makes sense. I’ve lost everything: my husband, my best friend, my career, my home. Even Isaac, the only person who understood what I’ve gone through. There’s no peace in that. There’s only a bleak chasm of missteps and no-way-outs. “My light isn’t gone,” I mutter, wriggling my arms free from her grip. “It just dimmed.”

Her eyes close as I pull away and turn to enter the house. The cats follow me into the foyer when I go to retrieve my duffel bag, then shuffle down the hall to the spare bedroom. I take a shower, trying to cleanse myself of the last ten minutes. When I return to the bedroom in a bath towel, I sift through my bag and pull out an assortment of night gowns. The sun begins to set behind mulberry drapes as I lay each gown atop the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles.

All ivory.

All made of silk and lace.

None of them are right. I’ve searched high and low, looking for the perfect one, but they all fall short.

An hour later, my mother knocks on the door, stepping inside the room with a plate of chicken and rice. “I brought you dinner.”

I glance up from the book I’m reading. “Thank you.”

Hesitating for a beat, she fully enters, setting the rose-patterned plate on the nightstand. She takes a seat beside me as I inch up the headboard and toss the book beside me on the mattress.

I stare at her. Mascara streaks line her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red. My heart stutters at the sight. “I’m sorry.” Extending my hand, I link our fingers together. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are. I’m trying, too.”

“I never expected it would be this hard…living on the other side of that place.”

She nods, knowingly. “Expectation is a thief of joy—it hinders living. You need to take every moment as it comes, knowing some moments will be difficult and some will be beautiful. We only thrive when we’re fully present.”

My thumb dusts over her sun-spotted knuckles. “I’m starting a new job next week. I’m nervous.”

“Really?” A smile hints. “I thought you wanted to take some time off.”

“I was getting antsy. Bored. I need the distraction.”

“That’s understandable. Are you getting back into modeling?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not sure that’s the right path for me, or if it ever was.” Too many cameras, bright lights. Gossip and superficial smiles. While it was fun and exciting at the time, it was never something that made my soul sing. “I want to put myself out there again. Be seen. Hiding out in my apartment for the last few months hasn’t been the therapeutic remedy I imagined it would be.”

I miss people.

Connections.

I don’t want anyone to know who I am…I just want them to know I’m still here.

I still matter.

“Tell me about the new job,” Mom implores, settling back on the bed. “I need details.”

My pulse quickens as I bite my lip, my hand trembling in hers. Nerves race through me. Indecision. “Let me see how this first night goes.” Clearing my throat, I look away, wondering if this new direction will be a life-altering mistake. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”