priceless

part 2....

continuation.....

"Hey, Michelle," I say, voice softer than I mean it to be.

"Totally understand if you're off the grid right now… but if you're around and not currently being serenaded by ocean waves wanna come over later? Wine, maybe takeout? I promise I won't talk about business acquisitions or ex-boyfriends if you don't want to."

I don't even leave my name. I just hang up.

I sit there, thumb resting on the sofa, and finally let the quiet settle around me like a question instead of a punishment. I'm not sure what I'm running from this time a headline, a memory, a feeling I haven't quite learned to name.

But I know I need distraction that isn't shallow, isn't cheap, isn't a swipe right or an empty bed. I need laughter that's real, opinions that aren't filtered, presence that requires no performance.

Hermione's confirmed. Michelle might be on honeymoon, might not even see the message until tomorrow, might laugh and say she's free and come running anyway who knows? Either way, it's a start. It's something warmer than the cold glow of television screens and half-remembered dreams.

I get up, stretch, and make coffee black, no sugar feeling a small flicker of something practical, something tenable, something like possibility.

By mid-afternoon, the apartment feels too quiet again, like it's waiting for something to go wrong. I shower, change into jeans and a loose sweater, and tie my hair back with more intention than necessary. The mirror catches me pausing not to admire myself, but to check that I look normal. Grounded. Like someone who buys snacks for a sleepover and doesn't spiral because an ex's face showed up on national television.

In the kitchen, I find Mary Anne (maid) wiping down the counter, her movements efficient, practiced. I lean against the island.

"I'm heading out," I tell her. "I'll be back before seven. Hermione's coming over, so you can have the night off."

She turns, eyebrows lifting slightly. "You're sure?"

I nod. "Positive. Please. Go enjoy your evening."

A smile softens her face grateful, genuine. "Thank you, Miss Cora."

The door clicks shut behind me a few minutes later, and for once, I don't call the driver. I want to feel the city today. I slide into the car myself, windows down, Auckland moving around me in its steady, unbothered way. No one here knows about Malcolm's headline or the knot it twisted into my chest. No one cares. I find that comforting.

At the grocery store, I push a cart down the aisles like this is the most normal thing in the world. Wine first two bottles, because Hermione always says one is optimistic. I add sparkling water, the fancy olives she likes, crackers that cost more than they should, and a block of chocolate, popcorn, face masks , scented candles lastly princess which will absolutely be eaten. I hesitate in front of the freezer, then grab ice cream too. Chocolate chips & blue Berry cheese. Balance.

My phone buzzes.

Hermione: On my way later. I'm bringing pajamas and judgment.

I smile despite myself.

At checkout, the cashier asks if I'm having a party.

"Something like that," I say, and it feels true.

By the time I'm back at the penthouse, the sun is already starting to dip, the harbor catching light like it's been polished just for me. I unload the bags, line everything up on the counter, and for the first time all day, I feel… capable. Not fixed. Not healed. Just capable.

I change into something softer leggings, an oversized tee shirt and light a candle in the living room. Lavender. Hermione hates it, but she tolerates it, which feels like love in its own way.

At exactly seven, Maria's shift ends. I thank her again, watch the door close, and let the quiet settle not heavy this time, just expectant.

Hermione will be here soon. Michelle might call back, might not. Either way, there will be wine, food, laughter, and the simple relief of not having to be impressive or invincible for a few hours.

And for tonight, that's enough.