Vanessa called Sienna in August.
"I know you probably don't want to hear from me," Vanessa said when Sienna answered. Her voice was quieter than Sienna remembered. Less certain. "But I wanted to reach out. To see how you're doing. To see if—if maybe we could talk. Not about the past. Just about moving forward."
Sienna stood in the middle of her kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, sunlight cutting through the windows in warm, late-summer stripes. Her first instinct was immediate and sharp: no.
No, because Vanessa had been part of the worst chapter of her life.No, because trust, once broken like that, didn't just rebuild itself because someone asked nicely.No, because peace had come hard-won, and she wasn't eager to disturb it.
But beneath Vanessa's words, there was something unfamiliar. Not manipulation. Not polished charm. Something raw. Almost fragile.
Sienna exhaled slowly.
"Okay," she said finally. "Coffee. Next Tuesday. Same place we met before."
