Page 109 of Julian

“Nothing.”

“Julian.”

She’s trying to reach past the walls I’ve spent years building. And lately, with her, I’ve been letting her. But not today. Today is different. My grief split me open and leaves me exposed. “I’m fine,” I say more firmly.

She stays quiet, but I can see it plainly in her face. She knows I’m lying.

“This is different,” she says.

I say nothing.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says. “But I can tell something’s bothering you.”

The concern in her voice should comfort me. Instead, it presses against my every raw nerve, creating further discomfort. I do not want to discuss this. None of it. Not today, not ever. I do not want to unpack Kylie and Ben and dreams and guilt while Ben’s seventh birthday remains a “what-if” in a series of milestones that will never happen.

“Harper, I’m not going—”

“I’m just trying to understand why you’re suddenly so far away.”

She’s right—I am far away right now. That distance is what I’ve used because it’s how my dad coped with the losses in his life. It’s in my DNA. I’m retreating emotionally while standing directly in front of her.

Finally, she exhales softly and takes a small step backward.

“Okay,” she says. “I think maybe it’s best if I go.”

A loaded silence stretches between us. Then I hear myself answer, “Probably.”

I see the hurt flash across her face before she pushes it away with remarkable maturity because Harper is emotionally intelligent enough to understand this likely isn’t about her. She knows something larger is happening beneath the surface here.

But understanding it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Right,” she says. “I really was excited to tell you. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“I know, and it’s fine.”

But the damage is already done. She opens the right pocket door and slips out and I’m left alone, in the solitude I’ve created, perhaps where I belong forever.

Chapter 28

Harper

When I step out of the Penny Aura offices and onto Spring Street, I know one thing with absolute certainty: This role was tailor-made for me.

Reading people before they fully understand themselves. Knowing why a consumer buys a product once, and more importantly, why they come back for it again. Whether it’s consumer behavior or customer retention, I live for this. Rather than feeling like a pretender as I have in past jobs, it’s like I’ve finally arrived home.

The office itself is beautiful. Situated in the middle of SoHo, it’s got that industrial start-up charm that exudes energy and optimism.

And the people, my colleagues, are great. They’re collaborative and creative and genuinely excited about building a meaningful brand. By lunchtime I’m already sketching campaign ideas across a glass wall with the social media team while two women from brand strategy debate Gen Z purchasing psychology beside me. To me, this is the definition of fun.

I’m loving every second of it.

And yet, my personal life seems headed in the opposite direction. All day long—between meetings and brainstorming sessions and onboarding presentations—Julian lingered in my thoughts like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

It’s been two days since I stood in his study, our relationship teetering on a precipice.

I mean, we’ve texted. Technically. But his replies have been short, stripped of warmth. He’s pulling away. Maybe already pulled away completely.

Last night I finally called him after spending nearly an hour staring at my phone, trying to decide whether I was overreacting. He answered, but the entire conversation felt distant.