Three

Raegan stood in front of the café mirror, smoothing down her windblown hair with the palm of her hand. It refused to cooperate, springing back into soft chaos the second she let go. She studied her reflection for a moment longer than necessary. She looked tired. Not in the dramatic, under-eye circles and caffeine-craving kind of way, but in that deeper, quieter way that made her bones ache. The kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix. The kind that settled into your posture, pulling your shoulders forward like you were bracing against something unseen.

Still, she pressed on with a smile. One she’d perfected over the years. Soft. Pleasant. Convincing enough.

It was Friday. Coffee-with-Marley day.

They’d started the tradition in college, back when Fridays felt like possibility instead of recovery. Every Friday at ten, rain or shine. Even when their lives grew busier, when internships turned into careers and carefree nights turned into responsibilities, they kept it. Some weeks, they only had twenty minutes to talk between meetings and phone calls, but those twenty minutes always mattered. They were sacred. A pause button in the chaos.

Marley had a way of looking right through her. Not in a scary, invasive way. In an I-love-you-too-much-to-pretend-you’re-okay-when-you’re-not-way.

Raegan spotted her at their usual table by the window, already sipping something iced and overcomplicated, topped with whipped foam and a drizzle of something unnecessary. Marley looked like she always did; bright-eyed, wide-smiled, wearing something effortlessly cool that Raegan could never pull off without feeling like she was playing dress-up. Today it was a vintage denim jacket over a fitted black dress, gold hoops catching the light when she laughed.

“You look like you slept three hours and argued with the ceiling fan all night,” Marley said, raising a brow as Raegan slid into the seat across from her.

Raegan snorted despite herself. “That’s… actually pretty accurate.”

Marley smiled, but her eyes lingered. Not judging. Assessing.

They paused. Marley didn’t push. Raegan didn’t explain. This was their rhythm. Light sarcasm. Heavy silence. Honesty waiting patiently in the wings until Raegan was ready to invite it in.

Finally, Marley leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Talk to me.”

Raegan wrapped both hands around her coffee cup like it was something solid she could anchor herself to. She stirred it slowly. Avoided eye contact. Watched the cream swirl until it disappeared.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said quietly. “Or maybe I do. It’s just… I don’t feel like me anymore.”

Marley’s face softened instantly, the joking ease melting into something gentler. “Raegan,” she said, careful, “you haven’t felt like you in a while.”

The words landed harder than Raegan expected. Not because Marley meant them cruelly, she never did, but because they confirmed something Raegan had been desperately trying to outrun.

“I think I’m disappearing,” she whispered. “Like… piece by piece. And Owen doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.”

Marley reached across the table without hesitation and covered Raegan’s hand with hers. Her touch was warm. Steady. Real. “You don’t need his permission to come back to yourself.”

Raegan blinked fast. The tears surprised her. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone in months. Not even Owen. Especially not Owen. Crying had started to feel like something she had to justify.

“I used to write,” she said, voice cracking. “I used to laugh loudly, and go on night drives just to feel the wind in my hair. I used to want so much more than this.” She swallowed. “Now I wake up and all I think about is surviving the day without feeling like I’m suffocating.”

Marley didn’t interrupt. She didn’t rush to fix it or soften it. She just listened, like Raegan’s words mattered enough to take up space.

“And I keep thinking,” Raegan continued, “if I could just hold on long enough, maybe he’ll remember why we fell in love. Maybe I’ll remember. But every time I try to talk to him, he looks at me like I’m asking too much. Like I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re not asking too much,” Marley said gently. “You’re asking the right questions. And that’s terrifying but it’s also brave as hell.”

Raegan looked up, eyes glassy. “So what do I do?”

Marley squeezed her hand. “I think you stop waiting for someone else to save you, and you start saving yourself.”

The words hit deep. They weren’t poetic. They weren’t wrapped in metaphors. But they were true. Somewhere in Raegan’s chest, something stirred. Not just the familiar ache of being unseen but a flicker of wanting more. Of remembering that she was allowed to want more.

They sat like that for a while, the noise of the café humming around them. Outside, the sky was overcast, clouds thick and heavy, threatening rain. Raegan watched people pass by the window, living lives she couldn’t see fully, and for the first time in weeks, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

Marley was right.

She didn’t have a plan yet. She didn’t know how or when or what came next. But she was asking the right questions.