CHAPTER 30
Elena
“I’ll take Haille for a walk along the beach,” My father said, adjusting Haille against his chest.
He looked at me for a brief moment, then offered a small, knowing smile. “Talk to your mother for as long as you need.”
I nodded.
I lingered on the porch, watching as my father set Haille back on her feet.
Her small hand immediately curled around his finger, her steps quick and eager, her voice bubbling nonstop about sand, waves, and shells she was certain she would find.
My father listened as if nothing else in the world mattered, laughing softly, matching her pace.
Then Mom came to stand beside me. She reached for my hand, her grip warm and familiar. I turned toward her.
Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, the way they always did when she didn’t want to rush me. “Do you want to talk?”
The question wasn’t an expectation. It was an invitation.
It was only natural they were beginning to wonder.
I had been here for nearly two weeks, and I hadn’t once spoken Adrian’s name.
Even Adrian himself felt distant in a way that was hard to define.
Instead of calling me directly, he contacted my father—asking about Haille, about me—as if circling around something neither of us knew how to touch.
I inhaled deeply.
“I don’t know what to talk about,” I admitted.
Mom studied my face, then lifted her hands. “A human heart is vast,” she signed. “But it was never meant to carry every burden alone.”
Her hand rested briefly over her chest. “That’s why we share, so it doesn’t grow heavy and suffocating.”
Something inside me tightened. My eyes burned.
She guided me toward the living room, her movements unhurried, patient, as if reminding me that silence was allowed here.
Her hands moved again. “I know you’re struggling,” she signed gently. “If you’re not ready to tell the whole story, that’s okay.”
She paused, her gaze steady. “But I know one thing. I don’t see you happy.”
I lowered my eyes, my fingers twisting together. “I don’t know where to begin,” I whispered.
Mom’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Whenever you’re ready,” she signed, “your father and I will always be here.”
Something inside me finally gave way.
“I don’t know how to forget,” I said, my voice shaking. “Or how to forgive. It hurts so much. Adrian hurt me... and I don’t know how to stand back up from that.”
My breath hitched, and I pressed my lips together, trying to steady myself. “I’m staying,” I said, tears beginning to fall. “But I don’t know if this is the right decision.”
Mom grew still for a moment before her hands moved again. “Does Adrian regret it?” she signed. “Is he still the same... or has he changed?”
I shook my head—then nodded, confused even by my own response.
“He’s changed,” I said quietly. “He’s trying so hard. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it.”
I swallowed. “But it hurts, because it feels like he’s the only one moving forward... while I’m still standing in the same place.”
Mom’s gaze held mine, calm yet searching. Her hands lifted again. “And now, what do you feel?” The question landed gently, but the answer wasn’t simple.
My voice broke. “I still love him. I still want him in my life.” I took a shaky breath. “But I’m tired... of living under the shadow of those memories.”
Mom exhaled slowly. “Those memories may never disappear,” she signed, calm but resolute. “But they cannot keep hurting you every time they surface.”
I looked at her, helpless. “How do I make that stop?”
“You share,” she answered simply. “You stop carrying it alone. If you can’t talk to me, or your father, or even Adrian... you can speak to someone else. Like therapy.”
I frowned.
“But I’m fine,” I whispered. “Why would I need therapy?” The question sounded defensive even to my own ears.
Mom smiled, tender and knowing. “Therapy isn’t only for people who are broken,” she signed. “It’s also for those who have been affected. You don’t go because something is wrong with you, but because you deserve to be heard.”
Her words settled slowly, gently, into my thoughts. Into my heart.
Her hands moved once more. “I’m not saying Adrian isn’t at fault. He hurt you,” she signed. “But whatever your decision...” Her eyes softened. “You deserve happiness, Elena.”
She tightened her grip on my hand, grounding me, before her other hand lifted to sign again. “And Haille deserves parents who are whole. Children can feel it when their parents are hurting.”
The tears came freely then. I broke down, my shoulders shaking as sobs tore from my chest. Mom pulled me into her arms, patting my back in that familiar rhythm from my childhood, grounding and sure.
Her hands moved against me. “You are a strong woman, my love. You’ve proven that by surviving this far. And I am proud of you.”
She brushed my cheek gently with her thumb.
Somehow, in that moment, I found the peace I had been needing. And maybe, the beginning of a way forward… one I would have to walk without him.
— ? —
Adrian
She texted me the night before.
We’re landing tomorrow afternoon.
Around four.
Can you pick us up?
I didn’t hesitate.
Of course. See you soon.
That was all I sent. No questions. No extra words. Just certainty.
The next day, I arrived at the airport an hour before their plane was scheduled to land. Not because I needed to. Because waiting at home felt unbearable.
I stood near the arrival gate, hands in my pockets, eyes fixed on the glass doors that slid open and shut every few seconds, releasing families, couples, reunions I had no right to envy. Every laugh, every embrace felt louder than it should have.
I checked the board again. Landed.
My pulse quickened.
Then, after some time, I saw her.
She was still a few meters away, walking slowly, Haille balanced on her hip, a backpack slung over one shoulder as she pushed a suitcase beside her. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun. She looked tired. But different. Lighter, somehow.
And then, impossibly, she lifted her head.
Our eyes met.
The crowd didn’t matter. The noise faded, and for a brief second, the world narrowed to that single point of recognition. Muscle memory. Instinct.
After everything, we still found each other.
She paused, just slightly. Not startled. Not guarded.
Just... aware.
I started walking toward her at the same time she stepped forward.
Up close, Haille noticed me first.
“Daddy!” she squealed, her entire face lighting up as her arms reached out instinctively.
I didn’t even think. I took her from Elena’s arms immediately, holding her close, pressing a kiss into her hair like I’d been saving it up for days.
“Hey, bug,” I murmured.
She laughed, already telling me something excited and half-unintelligible about sand and shells and Papa letting her eat snacks before dinner.
I shifted her to one arm and reached for the suitcase with the other.
“Adrian—” she started, hesitating. “You don’t have to carry everything. I can—”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ve got it.”
She studied me for a moment, like she wasn’t sure whether to argue, then let it go.
We stood there for a second longer than necessary.
“I...” I began, the words pressing against my chest. I missed you.
Before I could finish, she smiled.
Not the careful one. Not the restrained, polite curve of her lips she’d worn like armor for so long. This one was softer. Freer. Like it hadn’t been filtered through fear first.
The words dissolved in my throat. So I looked at Haille instead, brushing my thumb gently along her arm as I held her. “I missed you,” I murmured to her. “So much.”
Elena didn’t say anything. But she didn’t look away either.
— ? —
The drive home was quiet. I didn’t push or try to fill the silence, but it didn’t feel like it was about to break.
Haille filled the space between us with her voice, answering my questions about the beach, about Nana and Papa, about running and shells and the park. Elena listened, occasionally adding something small, her tone easy, natural.
When we pulled into the driveway, Elena unbuckled Haille and stepped out first. I grabbed the suitcase from the trunk. She walked inside, and I followed a step behind. Just past the entryway, she slowed, her gaze drifting around the space.
The house was clean. Not spotless, lived-in, but orderly.
Her brows drew together slightly. “Did you... not stay here?” she asked. “Or did you clean?”
I set the suitcase down. “I tried,” I said simply. “A bit.”
She looked at me, something like disbelief flickering across her face. Then she smiled again. A real one.
I felt it settle somewhere deep in my chest, not relief, not victory. But hope.
It made me wonder something I hadn’t dared to ask myself out loud. Could this still be us? Not the version we were… but something quieter. Something honest.
I didn’t know the answer, but as I watched Elena move through the house with Haille, as if she belonged here again, not out of obligation, not out of fear, I allowed myself one fragile thought.
Maybe staying wasn’t the same as being trapped. Maybe, if I learned how to hold space instead of control… we might still have a chance.
And this time, I would not reach for certainty.
Only for care.