Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Silas
The kiss on the Ferris wheel was like a seed of hope taking root in my chest. Yeah, Anthea had turned me down when I asked for another shot, but she didn't push me away either. I still had a chance.
The next few days, she was buried in grading papers. I didn't show up, didn't interrupt her life—just watched her through the cameras, quiet and out of sight.
One morning, around three a.m., I was checking the feed from her room when I heard Olei cry out. I was up and moving before I even thought about it. When I pushed open his door, he was curled up tight in bed, sobbing in his sleep. His pillow was soaked through.
"Olei." I kept my voice soft, rubbing his back.
The crying tapered off. His eyes cracked open, red and swollen. The second he saw me, his lip trembled. "Dad, I miss Mom."
He looked so damn small. My chest felt like someone had dropped a boulder on it—heavy, crushing. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him into my lap. He was warm, too warm, but he was shaking.
"You dream about her?" I wiped his face with a tissue.
He nodded, burying his face against my chest. His voice came out muffled. "I dreamed she left again. She didn't want me anymore..."
My hand stilled. He hadn't seen Anthea in days. Even with their nightly phone calls, he had no sense of security. He was sensitive, always had been. Overthought everything.
"She's not leaving you." My voice came out rough but gentle. "She's just busy right now. She needs some time to herself."
"But I miss her." His fingers twisted in my shirt. It was rare for him to ask me for anything like this. "I want to see her every day."
I held him tighter. Didn't say anything.
The next morning, I had the private doctor come check him out. Something was off. He woke up, looking miserable, and wouldn't touch his breakfast. Normally, he was easy—ate what you put in front of him, no fuss, no coaxing.
"Separation anxiety," the doctor said, frowning. "A child this age, suddenly getting his mother back and then losing her again—it triggers this kind of response. Loss of appetite, sleep disturbances, low mood... If we don't intervene, it could turn into something worse."
"How do we intervene?" I asked, tension creeping up my spine.
"The best thing? Let him be with his mother." The doctor paused. "At least until he stabilizes."
I called Anthea.
"Silas?" Her voice was guarded. "What is it?"
"Olei's sick." I kept my voice level, pushed down the guilt gnawing at me for not taking better care of him. "Separation anxiety. He won't eat, he's shutting down. He needs to see you. Every day."
"How did this happen?" She sounded frantic. "He was fine at the amusement park."
I could hear the worry for Olei—and the blame aimed at me.
"Don't worry, Anthea." I tried to sound calm. "The doctor says if we catch it now, it won't become a bigger problem. But Olei needs to be with you."
Silence on the other end. Long, tense silence. I could hear her breathing—fast, uneven. I didn't rush her.
"I'll pack and come over." Her voice shook.
"I'll send someone to pick you up." Relief flooded through me. At least she wasn't saying no because of me.
Two hours later, she arrived. Her luggage got hauled upstairs to the guest room.
She was wearing a light gray dress today, paired with a thin white cardigan. Hair pulled back loose, no makeup. But even like this—simple, plain—my heart was pounding. She looked just like she did when we first met.
"Where's Olei?" she asked the second she stepped inside.
"Upstairs. Last room on the right." I moved aside to let her in. "He heard you were coming. Finally drank some milk."
She took off running up the stairs. I followed, watching her push open Olei's door.
"Mom!" Olei shot out of bed and threw himself at her.
Anthea caught him, dropped to her knees, and ran her hand down his back.
"I'm here." Her voice was so soft, like she was soothing a baby. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Really?" Olei looked up at her, eyes already wet. "You won't leave again?"
"No." She kissed his forehead. "I'll stay with you."
I stood in the doorway, watching them, something heavy and sour settling in my chest.
For six years, Olei had woken up crying like this. He'd call for his mom. And all I could do was hold him awkwardly and tell him she was far away. Now, she was finally back.
Olei clung to her neck, wouldn't let go. His face was still streaked with tears, but he was smiling now. "Mom, I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too." Her voice cracked. "Every day since the park, I've been thinking about my baby."
When Anthea moved in, the whole manor came alive. Olei was like a different kid—laughing, running around. He stuck to her like glue, wouldn't let her out of his sight.
"Mom, look at this painting—I made it!"
"Mom, let me show you my toys."
"Mom, can you sleep with me tonight?"
Anthea answered every single request with that same gentle patience. I stood off to the side, watching, and for the first time in a long time, I understood what "home" meant. Just watching them live like this—normal, easy—made me feel something close to happiness.
The next morning, I woke up before the first light broke through the fog. Or maybe I never really fell asleep. Knowing Anthea was just down the hall, behind one wall, breathing the same air under the same roof—it kept my brain buzzing all night.
Since Olei got older, the kitchen staff usually handled breakfast. I was too busy. But today, I wanted to do it myself. I walked into the kitchen and waved off the cook who was already prepping.
I opened the fridge, pulled out eggs, bacon, and toast. Tossed the bread in the toaster, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.
Butter hit the pan with a sizzle, filled the air with that rich, warm smell.
I cracked an egg into the pan, waited for it to set, and flipped it clean—perfect sunny-side up.
Bacon went in next, fried until it was crispy and dark.
Once everything was plated, I walked out the back door and headed for the garden. Morning dew soaked through my pant legs. The air smelled like dirt and flowers. The garden was a sea of white. Thousands of white dahlias swaying in the breeze, so pure it almost hurt to look at.
I walked through slowly, carefully picking a few of the most perfect blooms. Back in the dining room, I arranged them in a crystal vase and set it in the center of the table. Dewdrops still clung to the petals, catching the light.
"Are those... dahlias?" A voice came from behind me, surprised.
I turned around. Anthea was standing in the doorway, staring at the white flowers on the table. She was wearing a simple beige loungewear set, blonde hair a little messy. Completely unguarded.
"Morning." My voice came out rough. "Just picked them from the garden. Want to go see?"
She hesitated for a second. Then nodded.
I led her through the hallway and pushed open the door to the back garden. She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Why... why are there only dahlias left?" Her voice was tight, eyes wide.
White dahlias covered every inch of the garden, stretching from our feet all the way to the horizon. The morning breeze rolled through, and the flowers moved like waves—like a sea of clouds.
I stopped beside her, my fingers brushing over the dew on a petal without thinking.
"Because you love them." I looked at her, my voice catching a little. "These past six years, when I missed you, I came here."
She turned her head. Our eyes met. I could see the shock in hers—and something softer underneath. We stood there, staring at each other. Neither of us spoke.
The morning light hit her face, and I could see the fine golden fuzz on her skin. Sexy as hell. Cute as hell. The scent of dahlias mixed with her faint body warmth, and it made my head spin. I swallowed hard.
"Mom—!" Olei's voice rang out from inside the house, shattering the moment.
Anthea flinched like she'd been startled awake. "Olei's up."
She turned and hurried back toward the house, her skirt flaring out behind her, showing a flash of her ankle. I watched her go, smiling to myself.
Run all you want. It's only a matter of time.
At the table, Olei sat right next to Anthea, eyes glued to her like she might vanish if he looked away.
I set down the eggs, bacon, and toast, then poured two glasses of milk. Added a little honey to Olei's—he liked it sweet.
"You made this?" Anthea stared at the plate.
"Surprised?" I poured myself a cup of black coffee. The bitterness hit my tongue, sharp and familiar. "Try it."
She picked up her fork, cut off a small piece of egg, and took a bite. Her expression shifted.
"It's really good. I thought..." She paused, choosing her words. "I didn't think you'd be good at this. But your cooking's actually great."
"I've learned a lot in the past six years." My eyes locked on her lips as she swallowed the food I'd made for her.
She didn't answer, just looked down and kept eating. But I saw her ears turn red.
Olei was shoveling bacon into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days. "Dad makes the best breakfast!"
Anthea looked up at me. "Guess you cook for him a lot."
"When I'm not busy." I set down my coffee. "Yeah."
She didn't say anything else, but I saw the way she looked at me—softer than before.
After breakfast, the three of us ended up in the entertainment room. Olei picked some animated adventure movie. Anthea and Olei curled up together on the couch, laughing at the screen every few minutes. And I realized I wasn't watching the movie at all. I was watching her.
She looked so bright when she smiled. So good. Six years ago, she smiled like that too—like she didn't know darkness existed in the world.
By nightfall, Olei finally crashed. Anthea tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and turned off the bedside lamp. I stood in the doorway, watching her move around him with such care, such ease—like she'd done it a thousand times before.