Chapter 41
Ella
Another day in pajamas, caramel ice cream for breakfast, and reruns playing in the background. Dr. Doom sits on the shelf judging me. Stuart, the betta fish, is thriving. I am… not.
At some point, lying here stops feeling like rest and starts feeling like sinking.
I stare at the ceiling for a while, then at the wall, then finally decide that doing anything is better than doing this.
So, I check the mail.
The hallway feels too quiet. The elevator ride feels long. I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall and barely recognize the girl staring back.
There was a time when elevator rides meant something. When checking the mail meant something.
Now it’s just… movement.
The mailbox is mostly junk. Flyers. Bills. A coupon for something I will never buy. I carry the small stack back upstairs and dump it onto my counter, flipping through without much interest.
And then I see the return address. My breath catches—the big cat sanctuary. I already know what it says. Of course. Another no. Another thank you for your interest.
I almost don’t open it, but I do.
I slide my finger under the flap, pull the letter free, and start reading. Halfway through the first paragraph, I can’t believe it.
We are pleased to inform you that due to a recent cancellation, a position has become available…
I read it again. And again. My heart starts pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. They’re offering me the spot.
They’re actually offering me the spot.
I sink onto the edge of the couch, staring at the letter like it might vanish if I blink. This is it—the thing I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. My hands are shaking when I grab my phone. I call Ashton.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey—”
“I—I—I got in,” I blurt.
“Got into what?”
“The—the—the big cat sanctuary. I got in. I finally got in.”
There’s a half-second of silence.
Then Ashton screams. Like, actually screams.
“You’re kidding me. You’re kidding me. You’re not kidding me. Oh my God, Ella!”
I laugh, breathless. “I’m not kidding.”
“This is huge. This is everything. You’ve wanted this forever.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Okay, I’m done at the bakery in a bit. I’m coming over. We’re celebrating. You’re going. We’ll figure it out. Your mom can help me. You are not turning this down.”
I smile, real and wide, for the first time in days. “Okay.”
“Okay?” she repeats. “No. Yes. I’ll see you soon.”
True to her word, Ashton shows up ready for war.
“Put on something cute,” she announces. “We’re going out.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know if I’m really in a—”
“You’re going to be gone for weeks,” she says. “I’m going to miss you. And you’re celebrating whether you want to or not.”
So we go.
The bar is loud and warm, smelling like too many perfumes layered on top of each other. Ashton orders for both of us and refuses to take no for an answer. We laugh. We drink. I try—really try—to let myself feel this.
At some point, Ashton nudges my arm.
“Three o’clock,” she says. “Blondie. Definitely coming over.”
I don’t even have time to protest before he’s there.
He’s tall, with an easy smile and a confidence that feels practiced. “Hi. I’m Adam.”
“Ella,” I say.
“Mind if I join you?”
Ashton is already scooting over. “We were just saying we needed someone to buy us drinks.”
He laughs and signals the bartender like it’s muscle memory.
Ashton excuses herself to the restroom, leaving me alone with him.
We talk. He’s nice. Normal. Works in finance. Recently moved to the city. The kind of guy who knows how to make small talk feel like something more.
Then his phone lights up on the bar.
He glances at it and smiles, the expression softening in a way that’s different from everything else about him.
“Sorry,” he says, turning the screen toward me. “Proud dad moment.”
It’s a little girl.
Maybe four. Maybe five.
She’s missing one front tooth. Smiling so hard her eyes are nearly closed. One arm thrown around his neck.
Something inside me caves in.
The bar noise fades. The music dulls. The lights blur.
All I can see is Ivy.
All I can see is Nathan on his floor, surrounded by pictures and maps and years of not knowing.
All I can think is, I still haven’t gotten through to him.
Something twists beneath my ribs. Guilt rushes in so fast, it makes me dizzy.
“She’s beautiful,” I manage.
He grins. “Thanks. She’s my whole world.”
I nod, but I’m not really here anymore.
I’m thinking about a man who hasn’t held his daughter in years.
I’m thinking about a message that hasn’t gone through. I’m thinking about time. And how much of it is already gone.
“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly, standing. “I have to go.”
He blinks. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I say, already backing away. “You didn’t. I just— I need to go.”
I find Ashton near the bathroom. She takes one look at my face and doesn’t argue. We leave.
Later, alone in my dark apartment, the dull buzz from the drinks is still in my veins when I open my email. Did he see it? Did he read it? My heart starts racing as I scan the inbox. And then I see it.
Delivery Status Notification (Failure).
The email never reached him.
I try again. Nothing.
Then I check his contact. Blocked.
Everywhere. The word lands like a verdict.
My vision blurs. Rage and heartbreak crash together in my chest. I throw my phone. It hits the wall, missing Dr. Doom by inches.
I collapse onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. Hopeless. Heartbroken.
Lost.