Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~6 min read
Three months after the trial, Poppy went on her first date.
It was Rochelle’s idea. “You can’t hide at the beach forever. You need to start living again.”
“I am living.”
“Writing a book and avoiding human contact isn’t living. It’s existing.” Rochelle had pulled up a dating app on her phone. “Just one date. Low pressure. Coffee in a public place. If it’s terrible, you never have to see him again.”
That’s how Poppy found herself at a cafe in Portland on a Saturday afternoon, waiting for someone named Miles Bennett to arrive.
She’d seen his profile. Thirty-two, worked in software development, liked hiking and indie films. His photos showed a normal-looking guy with kind eyes and an easy smile.
Nothing like Dominick.
Which was exactly the point.
“Poppy?”
She looked up to find Miles standing there, even more normal-looking in person. Jeans, a simple sweater, nervous energy that suggested he was as anxious about this as she was.
“That’s me. Hi.”
They ordered coffee—her with too much cream, him black—and found a table by the window.
“So,” Miles began, stirring his coffee even though there was nothing to stir. “Full disclosure: I know who you are. The wedding video. The trial. All of it.”
Poppy’s heart sank. Of course he did. Everyone did.
“If that’s a problem, I understand—”
“It’s not a problem. I just wanted to be upfront. I’m not here because you’re internet famous or whatever. I’m here because your profile said you liked obscure horror movies and had opinions about pizza toppings.”
Despite herself, Poppy smiled. “Pineapple belongs on pizza. I will die on this hill.”
“Thank God. I thought I was the only one.” Miles relaxed slightly. “My ex used to say it was a crime against nature.”
“Your ex sounds judgmental.”
“She was. Among other things.” He grimaced. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t bring up exes on a first date.”
“It’s okay. I brought mine to the first date involuntarily. He’s kind of hard to avoid.”
That startled a laugh out of Miles. “Fair point.”
The conversation flowed surprisingly easily after that. They talked about movies—turned out they both loved psychological thrillers, the weirder the better. About food—Miles was an amateur chef who made his own pasta from scratch. About travel—places they’d been, places they wanted to go.
Normal stuff. Easy stuff.
And Poppy kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Miles to reveal some red flag, some sign that he was another Dominick in disguise.
But he just… wasn’t.
When Poppy mentioned her job stress before Dominick, Miles commiserated. Didn’t try to fix it or minimize it.
When she said she was staying at the beach working on a book, he asked what it was about—and accepted “it’s complicated” as an answer without pushing.
When the check came, he suggested splitting it. No grand gestures, no insistence on paying to prove his worth.
Just… normal.
It was terrifying.
“Want to walk?” Miles suggested after they’d finished their coffee. “There’s a bookstore a few blocks from here that has a great used section.”
Poppy hesitated. A walk meant more time together. More chance for something to go wrong.
But it also meant more of this easy conversation. More of feeling like a regular person on a regular date.
“Sure. Yeah, let’s walk.”
The bookstore was exactly the kind of place Poppy loved—cramped aisles, stacks of books everywhere, the smell of paper and possibility. Miles wandered toward the sci-fi section while Poppy browsed literary fiction.
“Find anything good?” he asked, appearing with an armful of paperbacks.
“Maybe. I’m trying to read more fiction. I got kind of stuck in nonfiction for a while.”
“True crime?”
Poppy laughed. “God, no. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. More like self-help and memoir. Trauma processing through reading about other people’s trauma.”
“Makes sense.” Miles showed her his stack—three sci-fi novels and a cookbook. “I process through cooking and escapist fiction. Everyone copes differently.”
They bought their books and walked back toward where they’d parked. The afternoon sun was warm, the street busy with Saturday shoppers and couples and normal life happening all around them.
“This was nice,” Poppy said when they reached her car. “Really nice. Thank you.”
“Thank you for taking a chance on a random guy from a dating app.” Miles shuffled his feet. “I’d like to do this again. If you would.”
This was the moment. The decision point. Say yes and risk getting hurt again. Say no and stay safe but alone.
Poppy thought about Dominick. About how he’d seemed perfect at first. How she’d ignored warning signs because she wanted to believe in the fairy tale.
But Miles wasn’t Dominick. And more importantly, Poppy wasn’t the naive woman she’d been two years ago. She knew what manipulation looked like now. Knew the signs of control and abuse.
She could do this. Could try.
“I’d like that,” Poppy heard herself say.
Miles smiled, genuine and warm. “Great. I’ll text you?”
“Please do.”
She drove back to the beach cottage with a strange feeling in her chest. Not quite happiness—that felt premature. But something lighter than the constant grief and anger she’d been carrying.
Hope, maybe. Or the possibility of hope.
Her phone buzzed as she pulled into the driveway. A text from Miles.
Miles: Thanks again for today. For what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly brave. Not because of what happened to you, but because you’re still willing to trust people after everything.
Poppy stared at the message for a long time.
Brave. There was that word again.
But maybe he was right. Maybe the bravest thing she could do was keep trying. Keep opening herself to the possibility of connection, even when it scared her.
Poppy: Thank you. That means more than you know.
Miles: Pizza next time? I know a place that does pineapple and jalapeños.
Poppy: Now you’re speaking my language.
She set down her phone and walked out to the deck. The ocean stretched before her, constant and changing, terrifying and beautiful.
Like life. Like love. Like the risk of trying again.
Poppy wasn’t ready for a relationship. Might not be ready for months or years. But she was ready to try. To take small steps toward a future that wasn’t defined by Dominick or Rosa or trauma.
A future that was just hers.
Starting with pizza and a second date with a nice guy who made his own pasta and didn’t try to control her.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
And for now, something was enough.
So has Mark been planning to switch the girls after he married Lexi??
No—Mark’s manipulation started long before the wedding. He maintained two lives with Anna and Lexie in parallel. His plan wasn’t to “switch” them but to keep both relationships compartmentalized for as long as possible, exploiting their uncanny resemblance and shared vulnerability for his own control.