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I think I notice hurt in her voice, and it makes guilt stab at my chest, because I’d be the same way if she told me she’s been suffering with something for years and has never shared it with me.

“Yes,” I respond, voice small. I force myself to keep my eyes on her and not on the people around us.

“I…I don’t really remember life without them, but I was always able to manage them.

But after this year—the injury and losing dance and the miscarriage.

All of it just kept piling up, and I couldn’t take it anymore. ”

Jade is quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Does Beau know about them?” She looks like she already knows the answer, like she’s piecing the puzzle together in her head.

I shake my head, throat too tight to reply.

She nods, like my answer only confirmed her suspicions. “You didn’t want him to know—to see you like that.”

I meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft, understanding, without an ounce of judgment in them. Once again, I feel the bitter taste of regret. I should have told her years ago. I should have told Beau. Keeping it from them only hurt us all.

“No,” I manage to get out, staring at my lap. “And so I asked him to leave. I was always going to tell him to come back, beg him if I had to.” I shake my head, stomach twisting. “It’s stupid, I know that now, but I wanted to be better for him. I didn’t want to be broken. He doesn’t deserve that.”

When I finally look back up at her, there’s a sheen of tears behind her eyes, and they threaten to loosen the last hold I have on my composure.

“Els,” Jade whispers, her hand finding mine across the table. She links our fingers together, holding tight enough to hurt, but I don’t let go. “You’re an idiot.”

A laugh shoots out of me, unexpected. “I know.”

Her hand squeezes mine. “But I understand. I wish you hadn’t gone through all this alone, that you’d trusted us to help, but I understand.”

I hold her gaze. “You do?”

She inclines her head. “I don’t agree with it, but I know you, Els.

I know the kind of home you grew up in and the kind of person you are.

I know how strong and independent you are, and how much you hate asking for help.

I’m sure nothing has ever made you feel more vulnerable, and you hate feeling vulnerable. ”

I let her words sink down into my skin, into the places inside me that feel raw and bruised and battered.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t.”

“But there’s a certain kind of strength in sharing your vulnerabilities, in letting people know where you’re soft.”

I blink back the tears that threaten to break loose, unwilling to let the other people in the restaurant see me cry. “You think so?”

A smile tugs at the edges of her lips, small and tender. “Has this been easy? Talking about this?”

“No.”

“But you did it anyway,” she says, letting go of my hand. “You did it, and I think that required a lot of strength.”

I assess her words while a server brings our food, rolling them over and over again in my head.

She’s not wrong. Telling her about my panic attacks, something I’ve kept to myself for so long, was one of the scariest things I’ve done—scarier than mastering fouettés, scarier than telling my parents I was getting married weeks before I was supposed to leave for Utah for my first professional ballet job, scarier than the moment I knew I’d injured myself too badly to recover that day in rehearsal.

I want to have the strength to tell Beau the way I just told Jade, to let him know the real reason I asked him to leave, but I’m not sure I’m there yet. But for the first time, I think, one day, I might be.

The minute the waiter leaves, Jade reaches for one of my fries, dipping it in the sauce on my plate before shoving it into her mouth. I’m not even a little surprised; she always does this. “We should throw you a baby shower.”

This , however, does surprise me. “No,” I say before she can get carried away. This idea needs to be shut down quickly.

Her brows pinch together. “Why not?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I clasp my hands together beneath the table hard enough for my knuckles to hurt. “Because no one would come.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “What do you mean no one would come? Everyone would come.”

I dart my gaze around the room, watching for eyes on us, people overhearing this conversation that makes me want to melt into the ground. I don’t know how she hasn’t noticed the looks people give me when we’re out, the way people have avoided me for months.

“Jade, seriously,” I say quietly enough that only she can hear. “Everyone in town hates me for leaving Beau.”

She blinks at me. “You cannot be serious.”

I stare at her, at a loss for words.

“Elsie, no one hates you.”

“Can we just drop this?” I ask, tightening my hands beneath the table, knuckles popping beneath the pressure.

She drops her sandwich onto her plate and wipes her hands on a napkin, her eyes never leaving mine. “No, we can’t.”

I fight a sigh. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Elsie.” She sounds exasperated. “No one is mad at you. Why would you think that?”

My voice drops to a pained, harsh whisper. “Because everyone is always giving me dirty looks, and no one ever talks to me anymore. They cut me off the second I asked him to leave, and I can’t even blame them.”

She looks at me for so long that I feel the heat creeping back into cheeks and staining my chest with color.

“I had three people ask me last week how you’re feeling.

Last month, Jean Riley ran into me at Bud’s and asked if you already had a crib because her baby just grew out of his and she was planning to sell it but wanted to check with you first. My mom asked me yesterday if you had a registry, and I overheard one of your students’ moms at the grocery store talking about how much her daughter loves you and how grateful they are that you came back here to teach. ”

Embarrassment tightens my throat, and my head swims, because none of this can be real. I feel like I’m choking on the words when I say, “You don’t need to lie to me, Jade.”

“I’m not,” she promises. She sounds so sincere that I almost believe her.

As if she can read my hesitation, she says again, more firmly, “I’m not.

I don’t know what kind of narrative you’ve built up in your head about Larkspur, Els, but everyone here loves you just as much as they always have.

And they want to support you and Beau. You’re just as much a part of this place as he is.

” She pauses, eyes assessing me. “You belong to this town, and nothing you do could ever change that.”