Chapter 16
POV: Amber?
I didn’t know why I came here.
That’s a lie.
I knew exactly why.
The house looked smaller than I remembered.
Quieter.
Like it had been waiting. Like it had been holding its breath for years, frozen in a moment no one had the courage to touch again.
My chest tightened as I stepped onto the porch, my fingers brushing over the worn wood. Memories hit me all at once—laughter, warm afternoons, the smell of coffee and something sweet baking in the kitchen.
Her.
Always her.
“Hi…” My voice broke the second it left my lips.
God.
I let out a shaky breath, my legs giving out as I sat on the steps, my hands braced on either side of me like I needed something to hold me together.
“I don’t even know if I have the right to be here.”
Silence answered me.
But it didn’t feel empty.
It felt full.
Heavy.
Like she was still here somehow.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered, my throat tightening painfully. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
My hand pressed against my chest, like I could physically hold my heart together.
“If I had known…” My voice cracked, breaking apart. “I would’ve been here. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve taken care of you, I would’ve—”
A sob tore out of me before I could stop it.
“I loved you.”
The words came out raw. Immediate. True.
“You weren’t just his mom.” My vision blurred, tears spilling freely now. “You were… you were family.”
My shoulders shook as I bent forward, covering my face with my hands, but it didn’t stop anything.
Nothing could stop this.
“And he didn’t let me say goodbye.”
That one came out sharper.
It cut.
“He didn’t let me be here,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “He didn’t let me love you the way I wanted to.”
A broken laugh escaped me, hollow and disbelieving.
“And the worst part?” I shook my head slowly. “The worst part is that I understand why he did it.”
That hurt even more.
Because it made it impossible to hate him the way I wanted to.
“I hate him for it,” I said, my voice rising, cracking under the weight of everything inside me. “I hate that he made that choice for me.”
My breath hitched hard.
“But I know me.”
A tear slid down my cheek, slow, heavy.
“I would’ve stayed.”
Always.
Every time.
“I would’ve chosen him,” I whispered.
Silence wrapped around me again.
Thick. Suffocating.
“I just…” My voice softened, breaking into something smaller, more fragile. “I wish you had known that I loved you.”
A pause.
“I wish I could’ve told you goodbye.”
“You did.”
The voice came from behind me.
Low.
Rough.
Broken.
My entire body went still.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t even think.
Because I would know that voice anywhere.
Slowly, like it hurt to do it, I turned.
Alexander stood a few steps away.
Like he didn’t dare come closer.
Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
His eyes were red. His chest rising and falling like every breath cost him something.
“You loved her,” he said again, softer this time, like the words were fragile. “She knew.”
My throat tightened.
“Don’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not,” he said quickly, his voice breaking. “I’m not trying to—” He stopped, dragging a hand over his face, like he didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
The space between us filled with everything we hadn’t said in twelve years.
“I heard you,” he said finally, quieter now. “I didn’t mean to, I just… I got here and you were—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t interrupt.”
Something twisted inside my chest.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, even though my voice didn’t hold any strength.
“I know,” he admitted immediately. “I know I don’t deserve to be.”
That hit.
Harder than I expected.
“But I’m here anyway,” he continued, his voice low, steady in a way that felt like effort. “Because I can’t let you walk away again without telling you the truth.”
A bitter laugh slipped past my lips.
“The truth?” I turned fully to him now, standing up too fast, my emotions spilling over. “You mean the part where your mom was dying and you decided I didn’t get to know? That truth?”
His face flinched like I had hit him.
“Yes,” he said anyway. “That truth.”
Anger surged through me.
Grief right behind it.
“You don’t get to decide that for me!” My voice broke, rising, shaking. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, what I would choose—”
“I know,” he cut in, his voice cracking. “I know, Amber.”
The way he said my name—
God.
“I was wrong,” he said, stepping closer, careful, like approaching something fragile. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“You weren’t.”
“I know.”
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
“I would’ve stayed,” I said, my voice smaller now, but no less intense. “You know I would’ve.”
“I know you would’ve,” he said immediately.
No hesitation.
That hurt more.
“That’s why I didn’t let you.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“I didn’t trust myself to let you go if you were in front of me,” he admitted, his voice raw, stripped bare. “If you had known, if you had stayed, I would’ve kept you. I would’ve let you give up everything.”
Tears blurred my vision again.
“So you took the choice away from me.”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No defense.
Just truth.
“And I have regretted it every single day since.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“You didn’t just take a choice away from me,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You took… everything.”
His eyes closed for a second, like he felt that.
“I know.”
“You took my goodbye.”
That one shattered something.
His breath hitched.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded wrecked. Real. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tears spilled over, hot and relentless.
“I loved her,” I said again, like I needed him to understand it.
“I know you did.”
“I would’ve been there.”
“I know.”
“I would’ve helped you.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
A sob escaped me, and this time I didn’t try to stop it.
Because I couldn’t.
Because everything hurt too much.
Because loving him still felt too big inside me.
“I did everything for love,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Everything.”
I shook my head, tears falling faster.
“And I don’t even know if I see it that way anymore,” he continued, swallowing hard. “I don’t know if hurting you like that was ever the right thing to do.”
He took another step closer.
“But I’m not sorry for who you became,” he said, his eyes locking on mine. “I’m not sorry that you went to Stanford. That you became everything you were meant to be.”
My breath stuttered.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered.
That broke me.
Completely.
Because I was angry.
God, I was so angry.
But I understood him too.
And that—
That was the worst part.
“I hate you,” I said, but it came out weak. Shattered.
“I know.”
“I understand you,” I added, and my voice cracked harder. “And I hate that even more.”
His face crumpled.
“I know.”
And then—
I didn’t think.
I didn’t decide.
I just moved.
Straight into him.
And he caught me like he had been waiting for it.
Like he had been holding himself back from it.
My hands fisted in his shirt as I cried against him, my whole body shaking.
His arms wrapped around me, tight, desperate, like he was afraid I would disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against my hair, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
I hit his chest once, weak, desperate.
“You don’t get to do that,” I cried. “You don’t get to love me like this and break me like that.”
“I know,” he said again, his voice wrecked.
But he didn’t let go.
And neither did I.
Because it was messy.
And painful.
And confusing.
And still—
It was us.
Love and grief tangled so tight I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
I let myself stay there.