Maya’s porch light was a soft glow in the night—warm, familiar, and nothing like the place I’d just left behind.
I stood on her steps for longer than I should’ve, trying to get my s**t together. But all I managed was wiping mascara smudges off my cheeks with the back of my sleeve and pretending my heart wasn’t in shreds.
I didn’t knock.
I didn’t have to.
She opened the door before I even reached for the handle, like she’d been watching through the peephole.
“Jesus,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug that nearly undid me all over again. “You look like a gothic raccoon.”
“I am a gothic raccoon,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “One who made terrible life choices.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She stepped back just enough to look at me. “We specialize in terrible life choice
