Chapter 18
18
TOM
The room is still cloaked in darkness when I wake, the faintest hint of dawn barely starting to edge its way through the curtains. I lie there for a moment, my arm draped over Clara, her body warm and soft against mine, and I let myself just feel it—this stolen moment, this fragile, fleeting thing we’ve built together. Her breath is even, her face relaxed in sleep, and I can’t help but stare, committing every detail to memory.
I know I need to get up. My flight is in a few hours, and I still need to pack the last of my things, but I can’t bring myself to move. I’ve been dreading this morning since the second we agreed to stay in yesterday, since the first kiss we shared. There’s a tightness in my chest, a heaviness that makes it hard to breathe, and all I want to do is pull her closer and pretend that we have more time.
But we don’t.
Slowly, I slip my arm out from under her, careful not to wake her as I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Clara shifts in her sleep, her hand reaching for me unconsciously, and it almost undoes me. I sit there, watching her for a moment, and I can feel the pull to lie back down, to forget about flights and obligations and everything waiting for me on the other side of this morning. But that’s not real. What’s real is the job I have to figure out, the daughter I miss more than anything, and the mess of my life that I need to sort out before I can even think about trying for something—-anything—more.
I get up, moving as quietly as I can, grabbing my clothes from the floor and pulling them on. My suitcase is by the door, half-open, and I start shoving the last of my things inside, the sound of the zipper too loud in the silence of the room. I glance over at Clara, half expecting her to stir, to wake up and catch me in the act of leaving, but she doesn’t. She just sleeps, her face turned towards the window, and I feel a pang of guilt so sharp it almost knocks the breath out of me.
I don’t want to leave her like this. Not without saying something, not without one last kiss, one last promise. But if I wake her up, I know I won’t be able to walk away, and I have to. I have to figure out my life before I can even think about asking her to be a part of it.
I sit on the edge of the bed and reach my hand out to her hair, tucking a piece neatly behind her ear. She stirs and whatever I just did comes undone immediately as she turns to face me.
“Tom,” she mumbles and reaches out her hand towards mine. I thread my fingers through hers and squeeze, one, two, three times.
“Sweetheart.” I move closer to her face, my words low and calm. “I have to leave,” I whisper, and the last syllable catches in my throat. She hums and nestles into the covers, as if she’s in a drowsy state of mind, not quite here with me but instead somewhere else. “I’m going to miss you.”
I take one last look at her, memorizing the way the morning light touches her hair, the way her fingers curl into the sheets, and then I turn and walk out, each step feeling like it’s taking me further away from something I didn’t know I needed until now.
“Me, too,” I hear from the bed as I’m reaching the door, and then she stirs again, switching sides and falling back into a deep sleep.
The villa is quiet, almost eerily so, and my footsteps echo as I make my way to the front door. I hesitate, my hand to the knob, and for a second, I consider turning back, crawling back into bed and letting the rest of the world wait. But that’s not an option. Not when there’s so much I need to sort out, so many pieces of my life that need fixing.
I step outside of the lobby, the cold air hitting me like a slap in the face, and I stand there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on my shoulders. The sun is just starting to rise, casting the first pale rays of light over the mountains, and it’s beautiful in a way that feels almost cruel. I shove one of my hands in my pocket, my breath fogging in front of me, and start walking toward the shuttle that’s waiting to take me to the airport.
Each step feels heavier than the last, and I can’t stop the flood of thoughts rushing through my mind—Ellie’s face when I tell her about the trip, the way she’ll ask a million questions about what I did, down to the minute, about the snow, about everything. She should have been here with me, and the guilt of that sits heavy in my chest. I haven’t been the dad I want to be, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I need to figure out how to be better, for her.
The shuttle driver is waiting by the door, a cheerful older man who greets me with a smile. “Heading back home?” he asks, and I nod, my voice caught in my throat. Home. It doesn’t even feel like a place anymore, just a series of airports and hotel rooms, the endless rotation of work and travel and never settling anywhere.
“Yeah,” I manage, climbing into the shuttle and sinking onto the seat. I glance back at the hotel, my heart twisting when I see the soft glow of lights through the windows. It’s like I can still see Clara there, wrapped up in the blankets, and it takes everything in me not to tell the driver to wait, to give me just five more minutes.
The shuttle pulls away, and the building fades from view, and I’m left with nothing but the memory of her smile and the ghost of her touch. I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes as the scenery blurs past, and I try to focus on what comes next—my job, Ellie, the life I need to put back together.
The flight is a blur, the hours slipping by in a haze of sleeplessness and second-guessing. I watch the clouds outside the window, the world passing by beneath me, and all I can think about is the way Clara felt in my arms, the way she looked at me like I was something worth holding on to. I want to believe that we can figure this out, that maybe this isn’t the end, but the reality is that there’s a whole world between us, and I don’t know how to bridge that gap.
I start typing a message, something simple, something that doesn’t make me sound like a complete mess.
Hey, I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I jus t
I stop, staring at the words, and then delete them. It’s not enough. It doesn’t say what I really want to say, what I’m not ready to admit. Because it seems fast, doesn’t it? Only ten days to fall in love with someone? I close the app, shoving my phone back into the seat pocket, and lean my head back, closing my eyes.