Chapter 28
28
AMELIA
T wo months had passed since I’d left Miami.
It felt like forever since I’d been in the Miami sun.
Clair told me I was lucky to miss August. I was going to take her word for it.
Although I was pretty sure I would have preferred the Florida heat and humidity over what I’d been doing.
After getting my mother home and arranging the funeral and doing the million other things that came with handling a person’s death, I felt like I’d been running a marathon.
I was physically and emotionally drained.
But the end was in sight.
I was sitting in a solicitor’s office in London waiting to be called in.
I checked the time, hoping to be called back soon.
I just wanted it to be over with.
It was time to close this chapter.
“Miss Pritchard.”
I slowly stood, feeling the usual wave of dizziness that had been plaguing me for weeks.
The stress was getting to me.
I didn’t correct him about my proper title.
In this context, it didn’t matter.
I went into the office and was told to take a seat.
“Hi, Amelia.” The older man smiled.
“Hello.”
“How are you doing?”
I forced a smile.
I had been asked that a hundred times in the last couple of months.
No one really wanted an honest answer.
Because truthfully, I wasn’t doing great, but that would just make everyone uncomfortable.
“I’m doing okay,” I said.
“Thank you for asking.”
He handed me a large envelope.
“This is everything,” he said gently.
“Your grandparents left you some money, as you know, but the bulk of their estate passed to your mother, which will now pass to you. It’s not much, I’m afraid—just some family photographs and documents. But it’s yours now. The deed to the flat is in your name.”
I nodded, my throat tight as I took the envelope.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“For everything.”
He gave me a small smile.
“Of course. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
I stood up, clutching the envelope to my chest, and left the office.
It was a strange feeling as I walked out.
It was the end of so much.
And although I knew this day was coming, I couldn’t believe it was actually here.
No amount of preparation could have prepared me for this.
I walked the once familiar streets of London.
It was a typical bustling afternoon.
The sidewalks were packed, the smell of rich espresso hung in the air mingling with the constant scent of damp.
It was home. And familiar, but I felt disconnected from it all.
My mind was elsewhere, back in the council flat I’d grown up in.
It was the last piece of my family’s history, the last place that still felt like home.
And now, it was time to say goodbye.
I took a cab to the flat, my heart heavy.
I stepped inside. The place was small and worn, the walls covered in faded wallpaper and the furniture old and mismatched.
But it was filled with memories—of my grandparents, of my mom, of the life we’d built here.
I walked through the rooms, running my hand over the familiar surfaces, and felt a lump rise in my throat.
The flat smelled of dust and old wood, a scent that was both comforting and achingly sad.
My feet sank into the worn carpet that hadn’t been replaced in decades.
The light from the single window in the living room spilled across the floor, catching dust that floated lazily in the air.
The place had sat empty for a long time.
With my mother in a home and me traveling and then moving to Miami, the place had been neglected.
I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago, but I couldn’t let go.
I walked to the couch, its floral fabric frayed at the edges.
The cushions suffered permanent indentations.
I sat down, sinking into the spot I had sat countless times.
My fingers traced the armrest where my mom used to rest her tea cup, leaving faint rings that had become part of the furniture’s history.
I could still see her there, curled up with a book, her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
She’d always hum under her breath, some tune she’d heard on the radio or a melody she made up on the spot.
I stood and moved to the small dining table by the window.
The surface was scratched and stained, but it had been our gathering place—where we’d eaten meals together, where I’d done my homework as a child, where we’d laughed and argued and shared stories about our days.
The chairs wobbled slightly when I pulled one out to sit, just as they had when I was a kid.
The kitchen was only a few steps away.
It was cramped and outdated but filled with memories as well.
The faded yellow cabinets still held mismatched plates and mugs, one of which had a chip on the rim from when I’d dropped it as a teenager.
And I wanted none of it.
Everything was being donated and the flat would be put on the market.
I should have done it earlier, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye.
I had wrestled with the idea of moving back to the flat.
Back to London.
But it felt like going backward instead of forward in life.
My mother wouldn’t have wanted that.
Not that she knew much about who I was or what I did, but I liked to believe there was a part of her that was locked inside that brain of hers.
She would be cheering me on and telling me to continue my research.
Her story was over, but there were so many others that might have a chance at avoiding her fate.
That’s what I had to do.
I had to keep pushing on.
If I could save one little girl from the same heartache I faced, it would be worth it.
“Goodbye,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
I took one last look around and walked to the door.
“I’ll miss you. All of you.”
I didn’t particularly believe in ghosts, but if my mother’s and grandparents’ spirits were lingering, it felt appropriate to say goodbye.
I locked the door behind me and headed back to my hotel, feeling slightly ill.
I’d been feeling this way for weeks—out of body, unwell, like I was floating through life without really being present.
I chalked it up to grief, to the weight of losing my mom and saying goodbye to the only home I’d ever known.
But deep down, I knew there was more to it.
I just didn’t want to admit it.
It was easier to reason away the symptoms.
I got back to my hotel and ordered tea and biscuits.
It was comfort food, and I hoped it would settle my stomach.
Tomorrow was a big day.
I didn’t want to be ill for the long flight back to Miami.
The next morning, I woke up early, my stomach churning.
I packed my bags and headed to the airport.
I made it through security and sprinted to the gate.
The flight was boarding.
I had hoped to have a light breakfast before the flight, but life had other plans.
I couldn’t find my shoe.
Then the zipper broke on my suitcase.
And of course because it was London, it was raining, which made it next to impossible to get a cab.
I was certain I had a curse hanging over me.
As soon as I sat in my seat, a wave of nausea hit me.
I hopped right back up.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.
Puking in an airplane loo was humiliating.
And extremely uncomfortable.
My ass was pushed against the door, my body filling the tiny space.
“Excuse me, you’ll need to take your seat please,” the flight attendant said outside the door.
That only served to add to my humiliation.
I got to my feet and did my best to look presentable.
I stepped out and noticed the entire plane had been seated.
Everyone was waiting on me.
This day just kept getting better.
I walked down the aisle and felt the stares.
They were all looking at me.
When I returned to my seat, the elderly woman sitting next to me gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Are you alright, dear?” she asked, her voice kind.
I nodded, forcing a smile.
“Just a bit of a rough morning.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of crackers and a small bottle of water.
“Here. These might help.”
I thanked her and nibbled on the crackers as the plane took off.
The woman was quiet, reading her book and looking completely at ease.
I on the other hand was calculating the distance to the restroom and wondering just how long it would take me to make it.
“You know, almost everyone feels unwell in their first trimester. But it’ll pass.”
I froze, my stomach dropping.
“I’m not pregnant,” I said quickly, my voice a little too sharp.
She laughed, her eyes twinkling.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You just have that glow about you.”
I forced a laugh, but my mind was racing.
I did some quick math, my heart pounding.
It had been over two months since my last period.
There had been two encounters with Jared without condoms.
That was so careless.
But there was no way I was pregnant.
It couldn’t be. Not now.
Not like this.
I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to believe it was just the stress.
But the seed of doubt had been planted, and I couldn’t shake it.
I leaned back in the seat and tried to nap.
Unfortunately, my brain was in overdrive.
I was calculating dates and picturing the fetus in my womb.
I couldn’t believe it.
I mean, I could, but I knew women that had unprotected sex for years and never got pregnant.
I took one, okay two, walks on the wild side and I got pregnant?
I was thirty-one and had always been led to believe time and biology were not on my side.
When the plane landed in Miami, I felt the change in the atmosphere despite being inside the airport.
People were dressed in floral shirts, shorts, and sandals.
I was wearing jeans and a jumper.
“One of these things is not like the other,” I murmured as I walked toward baggage claim.
“Amelia!”
I recognized Clair’s voice.
I knew she was picking me up, but I couldn’t see her in the sea of faces.
She waved her hand. “Amelia!”
I smiled and waved back.
She rushed me and practically tackled me with a hug.
“I’ve missed you so much!”
I hugged her back, forcing a smile.
“I’ve missed you too.”
She helped me grab my bags and led me to the car, chattering excitedly about everything I’d missed at the lab.
I listened, nodding along, but my mind was elsewhere.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of being pregnant.
About Jared. About how much my life would change, assuming the worst was true.
As we drove to the private airport to catch a chartered flight back to the lab, I stared out the window.
Clair was still talking, but I barely heard her.
All I could think about was Jared.
The way he’d looked at me, the way he’d kissed me, the way he’d let me walk away.
It stung. More than I wanted to admit.
But I couldn’t let myself dwell on it.
Not now. Not when I had so much else to figure out.
When we arrived at the campus, Clair helped me with my bags and walked me to my condo.
“You should rest,” she said, her tone gentle.
“You’ve been through a lot. You look exhausted.”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
“Thanks, Clair. For everything.”
She hugged me again, then left.
I looked around my condo.
It was exactly as I left it.
I was honestly surprised they saved it for me.
It meant a lot that they did.
I was back. Back to my job, my life, my reality.
But nothing felt the same.