Jessica’s friends weren’t cruel. They were just comfortable in the story she’d told. They didn’t know me, and they’d accepted her version because she delivered it confidently.
The world is full of people who will believe whatever story is told with enough certainty.
That doesn’t make them evil.
It makes truth valuable.
When I left that night, Jessica walked me to the door again.
“I’m trying,” she said quietly.
“I can see that,” I replied.
She swallowed. “Do you think we can ever be… okay?”
I thought about it honestly.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know what I need to even try.”
“Boundaries,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “And consistency.”
She nodded like she was committing it to memory.
Months passed.
Jessica paid on time. Every time.
Aiden stopped flinching when I walked into a room. He started talking to me again in that serious kid way—telling me facts about sharks, asking if I knew the moon was moving away from Earth every year. Emma climbed into my lap at Easter and fell asleep with her bunny pressed to her cheek.
My mother, strangely, got quieter.