CHAPTER THREE
LUNA
The air hit me like a soft sigh the second I stepped off the plane.
Warm. Saturated with moisture. A tropical balm that clung to my skin and slipped beneath my clothes like a whispered promise.
The flight from Sydney had ended hours earlier in Honolulu, a blur of customs lines and too-bright terminals that smelled of metal and jet fuel.
I’d boarded a smaller plane after that, one that felt more fragile, more human, the kind that trembled against the sky as though it knew it didn’t belong there.
I’d watched the Pacific glitter beneath us under the rising sun until the island appeared like emeralds rising out of blue eternity.
By the time the wheels touched down in Kauai, my body was heavy with exhaustion, my mind stitched together with too many thoughts that refused to quiet.
It was the opposite of the arctic sterility I’d spent hours inhaling, dry, synthetic, laced with anxiety and memories I couldn’t outrun.
Here, the air smelled alive.
Sweet plumeria. Crushed leaves. Sea salt curling off the wind. Earth and heat and something that smelled almost like forgiveness.
I let my eyes close for a second, just to feel it. Just to breathe it in like it might stitch me back together.
But peace was a fleeting thing. My heartbeat quickened again as I merged into the steady tide of passengers flowing toward baggage claim, my carry-on cutting into my shoulder, my body aching with stiffness and the weight of too many what-ifs.
She was here.
She would be waiting.
My mum.
It had been six months since I’d last seen her. Since our last hurried goodbye in an airport much colder, much grayer than this. A long-distance relationship in ten-minute video calls and texted hearts, stretched across time zones and oceans.
And then I saw her.
She was a burst of color against the monotony of travel, a sunset-orange sundress billowing around her legs, a white lei nestled against her collarbone, her blonde hair in a loose braid that made her look younger than she had any right to.
The airport, dull and beige and blinking, dimmed around her.
She smiled.
And just like that, something in me broke.
“Luna!”
Her voice cracked open something in my chest.
I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe.
I dropped my bag, just let it thud to the floor, and ran.
Her arms wrapped around me before I even reached her. Warm. Familiar. Safe. Like they’d been waiting, just like I had, for this exact moment to exist.
I buried my face in her shoulder and held on like the wind might try to tear me away again.
Vanilla. The scent of sunscreen and skin. Her scent. Home.
She held me tighter. Fingers stroking the back of my head. One hand gripping my shirt like she needed the anchoring just as badly.
“My beautiful girl,” she whispered, and her voice wasn’t smooth, it trembled, raw around the edges. “God, you’re really here.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The lump in my throat had become a stone, heavy and unmoving. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. Not now. Not when I’d already shed everything else.
She pulled back a little, her hands cupping my face, eyes scanning me like she needed to memorize every inch of what she’d missed. Her thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, gently, as if she could erase the shadows life had drawn there.
“You look tired,” she said softly.
I nodded, managing a small, wobbly smile. “Long everything.”
Her smile broke wider, even as tears shimmered at the corners of her lashes. “But you’re here. That’s all that matters. Luna, it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you terribly.”
“I missed you too,” I whispered, voice barely audible over the buzz of reunions and announcements echoing around us.
She pressed a kiss to my forehead like it could protect me from whatever was coming next.
“Let’s get your suitcase,” she said, slipping her arm around my shoulders, guiding me like I was still small enough to be tucked under her wing. “Then we’ll drive to the resort. I’ve got so much to tell you, and I want to hear everything. All of it.”
I nodded again, letting her lead, my past packed tight and zipped shut.
What I didn’t tell her, what I couldn’t say just yet, was that I didn’t know if I’d ever truly feel ready.
To be here.
To meet them.
To step into this new life where I was no longer just her and my father’s daughter, but someone elses. Someone’s stepsister. Someone’s disruption.
But I didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
For now, I let her hold me. Let the scent of flowers and humidity sink into my skin. Let myself pretend, for a few more minutes, that paradise wasn’t a lie.
As we walked through the terminal, arms linked like we hadn’t spent half a year apart, something inside me loosened. It wasn’t gone, not the ache, not the fear, but it shifted. Quieted.
Mum looked… different. Lighter somehow. Not just thinner or tanned in the flattering way sunshine kisses skin, but bright.
There was a flicker in her eyes I hadn’t seen in years, not since before the divorce.
Back when things were still held together by dinners at the table and long talks over tea that I used to eavesdrop on from the hallway.
Now, she practically floated beside me. Her steps were buoyant, as if her feet had learned how to never touch the ground.
And despite everything crashing inside me, it was beautiful to witness.
Her happiness.
A small, fragile comfort in the middle of my storm.
We slipped into easy conversation as we waited at the carousel, surrounded by the tired hush of other reunions and vacationers fresh off the plane.
She dove into wedding details with the breathless energy of someone truly in it, florists who brought the wrong color orchids, last-minute seating plan dramas, a missing shipment of candles she’d sourced from some bespoke shop in San Francisco.
Her hands moved as she spoke, animated and alive.
I listened. I smiled. I gave her pieces of myself too, but carefully. I told her about finishing the term, about the boring exams and the indifferent cafeteria food. But I left out the things that mattered.
The way Chiara had clung to me, mascara streaked and fierce, whispering promises that felt like lies.
The way Sienna had slipped a bracelet into my hand, saying, Don’t forget who you are when everything changes.
And I definitely didn’t tell her about the messages.
No. I kept that tucked inside. I didn’t want to fracture the bubble my mother lived in now, not when she finally had something close to joy.
The belt groaned into motion, suitcases tumbling out like discarded memories, and I spotted mine, battered, loyal, smeared with airport stickers from a childhood lived half in the air.
I tugged it free, and she didn’t even let me carry it.
“Come,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Marcus sent a car.”
Outside, the heat wrapped around us like silk, heavy and sweet. A sleek black SUV waited at the curb, its windows tinted obsidian, reflecting palm trees and the still blushing sky.
“Marcus arranged it,” she said again, like the name still tasted new on her tongue. There was something almost girlish in the way she said it, part pride, part disbelief, like she hadn’t quite accepted this version of her life was real.
Comfortable.
That was the word she used.
But the luxury felt foreign. Unfamiliar. The car’s interior smelled of new leather and something spicy, expensive. A stark contrast to the worn cloth and dust of Dad’s ancient Subaru.
I climbed in and stared out the window as the island unfolded around us.
It was beautiful. Devastatingly so.
The road curved like a ribbon through a world that looked too vivid to be real.
Lush jungle pressed in on either side, bursting with wild green and flowers so bright they looked painted.
Hibiscus in blood reds and electric yellows.
Banyan trees draped in moss. The occasional blur of wild chickens pecking at roadside gravel.
And the ocean, oh, the ocean.
It glittered in the distance like a secret. Endless turquoise framed by black volcanic cliffs, waves rolling in slow, seductive rhythm.
Mum kept pointing things out. The historic lighthouse perched on a cliff, the fruit stand where she and Marcus had once bought the sweetest mangoes, a secret beach only locals knew how to find. Her voice was light, almost singsong, and I couldn’t help it. My lips curved.
I smiled. For real.
Not the forced, practiced kind I’d worn in the airport. But the kind that slipped in when you forget you’re supposed to be unhappy.
This.
This was the part I’d missed most.
Her.
We arrived just as the morning settled into itself, the sun already high enough to turn the clouds to white fire and the sea to liquid glass.
The resort rose up before us like something out of a fever dream.
Not just a hotel, but a world unto itself.
A cluster of open-air buildings carved from wood and stone, all fluid lines and soft lights.
Unlit tiki torches lined winding pathways of crushed coral and lava rock.
Waterfalls tumbled between staggered terraces, and bridges arched over koi ponds so clear you could see every ripple in the water.
Every inch of it whispered wealth.
The kind of place designed for people with lives curated like magazine spreads.
I followed Mum through the hushed elegance of the lobby, past a fountain shaped like a lotus, past staff who greeted her by name.
My room was at the far end of a private wing, tucked behind heavy wooden doors carved with native patterns. Inside, it was…
Breathtaking.
Polished hardwood floors gleamed under my feet, leading to a bed draped in white linen that looked too perfect to touch. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a private lanai, and just beyond it, framed perfectly by swaying palms, was the ocean.
Vast. Infinite. Alive.
“Wow…” I whispered, stepping out onto the lanai, the warm sea breeze threading through my hair like a sigh.