Lyra
I didn’t know what to feel about Liam remembering that memory.
The sadness in his eyes as he spoke, the quiet weight behind every word… it did things to my chest that I had spent a year making sure it couldn’t do anymore.
This was exactly what I had been afraid of.
But I couldn’t be angry at him for it either. He hadn’t done it intentionally or to get to me. The question had been asked, and his answer had quietly rescued me from the judgment already gathering in that room. The same women who had whispered about me came over afterward to ask gently if I had suffered from postpartum depression and if that was why the memory had slipped. I hadn’t known what to say, so I nodded, and they softened immediately, saying they understood and that they had been through it too.
It was almo
