Page 177 of Silent Shadows

“I liked who I was there.”

The words come out small. Smaller than I expect. Marissa doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. So I keep going.

“I know that sounds insane.”

“It doesn’t.” She snorts.

“But…” I stop. God. Why is this harder than the breakup? Because this feels like telling on myself.

“I wasn’t thinking all the time.”

Her brows lift slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration spikes. “Like⁠—”

I gesture helplessly around the apartment.

“This.”

She glances around.

“Your terrifyingly expensive taste?”

“My life.”

The words come out sharper than I mean them to.

“The posting, the angles, knowing how everything looks, always being on. I gave myself space and time to just be.” My throat tightens. “I didn’t realize how loud it was until it stopped.”

Something shifts across her face then. She gets it. And that’s when I realize, Marissa sees me, too.

Another tear falls down my cheek.

“But I liked her. The version of me there,” I whisper. “I liked her. She cared about weird things.” A laugh catches painfully in my throat. “She got excited about thermal footage.”

“You?” Marissa says, scandalized.

“I know.” I laugh despite myself. “She wasn’t trying so hard. And I think fourteen-year-old Daisy would like her better than podcast Daisy. It’s just hard for me to believe anyone else could feel that way, too.”

The admission hurts. Because suddenly I can see it. Ten years. Ten years of angles and polish and jokes and confidence sharpened into armor.

Then came Miles. The woods. The Mystery Machine. A ridiculous group of cryptid weirdos. And I accidentally stopped editing myself.

Marissa’s gentle voice interrupts my thoughts. “So…”

I already hate the way she says “so.”

“What do you want to do with all of this?”

“Fuck if I know!” I laugh. It comes out sounding hysterical, my sad tears mixing with exhausted ones.

She starts laughing too, shaking her head.

I wipe my nose. “What if I make the podcast the way I actually want to?”

Her brows knit.