A Day in the Life of Amy

Amy hesitated at the door, wiping at her cheeks, but when she finally opened it, Fiona was there—hair pulled back, wearing a loose sweatshirt and jeans, her camera bag slung over one shoulder like she’d come straight from work.

Her eyes softened instantly. “Amy.”

Amy tried to smile, but it faltered. “Sorry, I didn’t text back. I just—”

Fiona shook her head gently, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You don’t have to explain yet.” She set her bag down and closed the door behind her, sealing the world out.

The condo smelled faintly of lavender from the candle Amy had left burning, but the air was heavy with her sadness. Max padded over, tail wagging, then curled up again as Fiona crossed the room.

“Rough day?” Fiona asked, her voice low.

Amy nodded, throat tight. “I ran into Mark.”

Fiona’s jaw shifted slightly, but she didn’t press. Instead, she sank onto the couch beside Amy, close but not crowding, and let the silence settle like a blanket. When Amy leaned into her, Fiona wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steady and sure.

For the first time all day, Amy felt like she could breathe.

“He’s hurt,” Amy whispered. “And I hate that I did that to him. I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to go this way.”

“I know,” Fiona murmured. She tucked a curl of Amy’s hair behind her ear, her touch delicate. “But you can’t live your life trying not to break anyone else’s heart. Sometimes choosing yourself hurts people. That doesn’t make it wrong.”

Amy closed her eyes, letting those words sink in. Fiona always had a way of cutting through her spirals, giving the storm in her head a center point.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for all this,” Amy admitted.

“You don’t have to be,” Fiona said, her voice firm but gentle. “Not all at once. You just have to keep choosing what feels true. One step at a time.”

Amy turned to look at her then, really look—at the steadiness in her eyes, the quiet strength she carried so effortlessly. And for a moment, the noise of Napa, Rose, her mother, even Mark, all fell away.

It was just them.

Amy leaned forward slowly, and Fiona met her halfway, pressing her lips against Amy’s forehead, not rushing, not demanding—just there. Grounding her.

And Amy thought: maybe this was what she’d been searching for all along.