Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Julianna
Leaving the practice early isn’t something I usually do, but today, it’s necessary. There’s too much happening in my head, too much weighing on my heart, to be present in my classes. How can I help others heal when I feel like I’m unraveling? Sure, my sister and I became estranged eight years ago after Mom died, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay losing her like this.
What happened? I should’ve asked the lawyer, but I didn’t. The words sat on the tip of my tongue, too raw to push out. And why call me at the studio? There’s my house number. Maybe Simone is right—I should get a cell phone again.
The faint hum of Seattle surrounds me, the city’s rhythm familiar but distant, like a soundtrack I’ve learned to tune out. I focus instead on the cadence of my steps as I make my way to my apartment. The walk isn’t far—just a few blocks of tree-lined streets, trendy coffee shops, and boutique stores displaying hand-lettered signs in their windows.
Freelancers and artists linger over overpriced lattes, hunched over laptops or sketchbooks. That used to be me, staying up late in a coffee shop, chasing a dream. Just one more project, one more hour, one more shot at proving myself. A bigger bonus. A promotion. Recognition.
It was never enough.
I push the thought away as I reach my building. My hand trembles slightly as I unlock the door, the faint clink of keys filling the silence. The weight of grief and guilt presses against my ribs, stealing my breath.
Mom.
Elena.
Dad leaving.
The litany of losses crashes into me like a wave. This is why I threw myself into the corporate world and disconnected my heart from my mind. It was all work and responsibilities. I didn’t have to think about anything else. Until . . . until things unraveled.
It seems like a pattern in my life, doesn’t it? Something big has to happen for me to change once again, but I don’t want this. Should I call Oscar? My brother always had a way of grounding me, but we’ve drifted, too, in the way siblings often do.
And then there are the questions popping in my head: Why me? Why would Elena name me to care for her daughter instead of him? Why wouldn’t she reach out to me if she knew this would happen? Why now?
I don’t know the first thing about raising a child.
I stop at the row of mailboxes in the lobby and pull open mine, the familiar squeak of the hinge breaking the quiet. Among the usual flyers and bills, one envelope catches my eye. The handwriting is instantly recognizable.
Elena.
My breath catches as I clutch the letter, the script blurring slightly as tears threaten. I hold it tightly as I climb the stairs to my apartment.
Inside, I drop my bag onto the kitchen counter and turn on the kettle. The small space is mine—a haven of light and life. Plants line the windowsills, thriving even with the occasional missed watering. Shelves overflow with books, their spines soft from countless readings, and the walls are adorned with prints and paintings from friends and artists I’ve met along the way. It’s not grand, but it’s home.
It’s mine.
The letter sits on the counter, daring me to open it. I stare at it for a long moment, the kettle’s low hum filling the silence. Finally, I clumsily tear it open.
Inside is a single folded sheet of paper. Her handwriting is familiar yet strange, like seeing a ghost.
Julianna,
It’s been too long since we’ve talked, and I know that’s my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so greedy, taking everything for myself. I just wanted to keep Mom alive somehow, and I felt like you and Oscar didn’t need her as much as I did. If I had shared, maybe things would’ve been different. But the past is the past, isn’t it?
I hope you’re doing well—truly. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. About us. There’s so much I wish I could say in person, but I guess I ran out of time. We never think about how much time we have until it’s gone.
Now, I have to say goodbye.
Take care of Rayne. She’s my everything, Julianna. She’s the best thing I’ve ever done, and I trust you’ll love her the way she deserves.
Elena
My heart stutters, the words hitting me with the force of a sledgehammer. Take care of Rayne. A child I’ve never met. A niece I didn’t know existed until today.
Elena’s name at the bottom of the letter blurs as tears fill my eyes. My fingers tremble, and the letter falls to the counter as memories rush in.
The last time we spoke, her words sliced through me, raw and furious. She accused me of abandoning her when she needed me most. Maybe she was right. But I couldn’t ignore the bitterness that had taken root since Mom died—the way she clung to every possession, every memory, as if hoarding them could somehow reverse the inevitable. Back then, it felt like I was losing Mom all over again. And the way she treated Oscar and me, like we didn’t matter? That cut the deepest.
Our family was never simple. She’s Mom’s first daughter, the one who never knew her father. Dad began dating Mom when Elena was five. By the next year, they were married, Oscar was born, and a few years after that, I arrived. But even as a kid, I knew the truth: she was the storm that unraveled it all. She was the reason our parents’ marriage crumbled, why Dad packed his things and left one day without a word—without ever looking back.
The kettle’s shrill whistle snaps me out of my thoughts, and I flinch, my hand instinctively pressing to my chest as if I can quiet the turmoil within. I fold the letter carefully, almost reverently, and slip it back into the envelope.
For a moment, I stand frozen in the middle of the kitchen. The grief feels too big, too jagged to process all at once. I should make the tea. I should call Oscar. I should . . .
But the weight of everything presses in, and instead, I sink to the floor, my back against the cabinets. The tears come hard and fast, the kind of crying that feels like it will never stop. My chest heaves with sobs as years of anger and regret pour out of me, mixing with the raw ache of losing her for good.
Elena is gone.
And I wasn’t ready.