Chapter 15
POV: Marina
I stared at the screen, then typed back:
“Sorry I stayed at Angela′s and will have a night shift, I will pass at home to change, see you.”
Lie. Half-truth. Something in between.
Brennan watched me with quiet intensity.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
He hummed, like he was filing that information away for later. He kissed my temple, then pulled me back against his chest, his arm locking around me.
“Stay,” he murmured, like a command to the universe. And I obey.
When it was time, he didn’t argue. He didn’t stall. He just moved—efficient, controlled.
He handed me a paper bag with my clothes from our first night, I completely forgot about this. Skirt. Blouse. Perfectly pressed.
“You’re terrifying,” I said, smiling despite myself.
He shrugged. “Prepared.”
I hesitated, remembering. “I completely forgot about this, and your shirt is still at my parents’ house. I’ll try to bring it back.”
He paused, then his expression softened in a way that felt dangerous.
“Keep it,” he said. “I like that you have something of me.”
The words landed too deep.
I walked into the house still floating, still wrapped in him. My mother was in the kitchen, sitting at the small table, a mug in her hands, the late afternoon light catching the gray strands in her hair.
“Coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot slightly.
“I already ate,” I said, but the words felt automatic, disconnected from my body.
She hummed, the kind of sound that meant she’d make it anyway.
“Come sit. I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
My chest tightened. Of course she did. Mothers always knew. Mine especially.
She pulled out a chair beside her, poured the coffee, slid the mug toward me. I sat, my fingers wrapping around the warmth, grounding myself.
“It’s just a word,” she said gently. “As your friend. Not your mother.”
I almost laughed at that. She’d always been both. My anchor and my soft place to land.
“Of course, Mom.”
She studied me for a moment, her eyes too perceptive, too loving. Then she inhaled slowly, like she was about to touch something fragile.
“Marina… I’ve seen you in every phase of your life,” she began. “I saw you grow up. I saw that light you carried everywhere. I saw you decide to become a doctor. Then a cardiologist. I saw you chasing answers, chasing cures, because of him.”
My throat burned. I stared at the coffee, watching the faint steam curl upward.
“I saw you fighting with the disease with him,” she continued, her voice steady but softer now. “And I saw grief swallow you. I saw that light go out.”
My vision blurred. My fingers tightened around the mug until the ceramic bit into my skin.
“When he died, you disappeared, Marina. You were here, but you weren’t here.”
The words landed heavy. True. Brutal. Undeniable.
Tears slid down before I could stop them. I exhaled slowly, like if I breathed too fast, I would shatter. I brushed them away, refusing to look weak, refusing to break.
She reached out and squeezed my hand.
“And I know you,” she said. “I know you hate sleeping out. I know you hate staying at someone else’s house. You barely managed to stay the first night at Jonathan’s, remember? You like your routine. Your control. Your solitude.”
A faint, painful smile tugged at my lips.
“You’re your father in that way,” she added softly. “But not with me. You never hide from me.”
I swallowed hard.
“And lately…” Her eyes searched mine. “I see your light coming back. Day by day. But these last two, three days? It’s brighter. Different.”
My heart started to race.
“I don’t need to know his name. I don’t need details. I don’t want them.” She squeezed my hand again, stronger this time. “The only thing I want you to know is that I’m glad someone is bringing you back to yourself. I’m glad someone is making you you again.”
My breath hitched.
“You deserve that, Marina. You deserve to feel alive again. You deserve to want someone. To be wanted. To laugh. To feel warm. You don’t owe anyone grief forever. Not even him.”
Her thumb brushed my knuckles, slow and soothing.
“You don’t need to tell me anything. Just… be happy. And don’t punish yourself for it.”
She leaned in and kissed my forehead, lingering there like when I was a child and nightmares used to keep me awake. Then she took a sip of her coffee, stood up, and left the kitchen like she hadn’t just dismantled me.
I stayed there, staring into my cup, my chest aching, my heart racing.
Maybe I wasn’t insane for wanting Brennan this much.
Maybe I wasn’t betraying a ghost.
Maybe I was just… coming back to life.
And that terrified me more than grief ever had.