15. Vivienne #2
"That's what my mom said too." The simple statement hits like a physical blow. "She promised she'd call all the time and visit on holidays. But she never did."
I struggle to maintain composure, my heart breaking for this child who's experienced too much abandonment in her short life. "Lily, I—"
"Is it because of Uncle Jaxon?" she interrupts. "Did he make you sad? He's been really grumpy since you left. He pretends he's not, but I can tell."
Out of the mouths of babes. "It's complicated, sweetie."
"Grown-ups always say that," she says with considerable contempt. "But it's not that complicated. If you love someone, you stay with them. If you don't, you leave."
The oversimplification contains a kernel of truth that pierces my carefully constructed rationalizations. Is it really that simple?
"Sometimes people who love each other still can't be together," I try to explain. "Sometimes they want different things."
"What do you want?" she asks, the directness of the question startling me.
What do I want? Not London, not really. Not the impressive title or the generous salary. Those are just means to an end—independence, recognition, purpose.
But I've found purpose here too, haven't I? In the Lumina campaign that's reshaping beauty marketing. In Sunday board game nights with Lily. In the way Jaxon's eyes light up when I challenge him, when I see past his carefully constructed walls to the man beneath.
"I want to be happy," I tell her honestly. "I want to be somewhere I belong."
"You belong here," she says with a child's certainty. "With us."
If only it were that simple. "Your uncle and I have some things to figure out first."
"He misses you," she confides. "He plays your song every night after I go to bed. I can hear it through the walls."
The revelation sends a pang through my chest. The song he wrote for me, the one he performed on stage before kissing me in front of a thousand people. He's still playing it, even now.
"Would you like to show me your new science project?" I ask, needing to change the subject before my emotions betray me.
Lily brightens, pulling me into her room to see the solar system mobile she's constructing. For the next hour, I lose myself in her world of planets and stars, of unicorn collections and school stories. The simplicity of her joy is a balm to my conflicted heart.
When it's time to leave, her face falls again. "Will you come back?"
"I'll try," I promise, unable to commit to more.
"Before you go to London?"
I hesitate, then nod. "If I decide to go, I'll come say goodbye properly. I promise."
She studies me with those too-perceptive eyes. "I think you should stay. Uncle Jaxon is happier when you're here. And so am I."
The simple truth of her statement follows me as I leave the mansion, heart heavier than when I arrived. How did I get here? How did a strategic arrangement transform into emotional attachments so deep that the thought of breaking them causes physical pain?
Back at Laura's apartment, I find the London offer still spread on the coffee table, demanding a decision. Beside it sits my phone, screen lighting up with a text notification.
It's from Jaxon:
Mrs. Patterson said you visited Lily today. Thank you. She needed that.
Not "I needed that." Not "I miss you." Not "Please don't go to London." Just acknowledgment of a kindness to his niece.
I stare at the message, waiting for more, but nothing comes. No declaration of feelings, no plea to reconsider, no suggestion of compromise. Just polite gratitude, carefully distant.
Another text arrives, this one from Gerald Lumina:
Looking forward to your decision tomorrow. London team eager to welcome you.
The contrast couldn't be more stark. On one hand, a clear professional opportunity with enthusiastic support. On the other, a man who can't—or won't—express what he wants from me, for us.
I pick up the London offer, carefully reading through the details again. The position is everything I've worked toward professionally. A fresh start, free from my parents' influence. Freedom from the emotional turmoil of loving a man who may never fully let me in.
My phone rings, Laura's name flashing on the screen.
"Have you decided?" she asks without preamble.
"I think so," I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.
"And?"
"I'm taking the London position."
Laura is silent for a long moment. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
"It's what makes sense," I reply, sidestepping her real question. "I can't keep waiting for Jaxon to figure out what he wants. I need to move forward with my life."
"Did you talk to him? Really talk to him, like we discussed?"
I think of his text—polite, distant, emotionally unavailable. "He had his chance. He knows the London offer expires tomorrow. If he had something to say, he would have said it."
"Unless he's as scared as you are," Laura suggests gently.
"I can't make decisions based on what he might feel but won't express," I say firmly. "I've spent my entire life trying to please people who can never be satisfied. I won't do it again, not even for him."
"Okay," she says simply. "I support whatever you decide. Just make sure you're running toward something, not away from it."
After we hang up, I draft an email to Gerald accepting the position, finger hovering over the send button. One click, and my path is set. London. New job. New life. Clean break from the emotional complications of the past few months.
I think of Lily's face when she asked if I was leaving. Of Jaxon's song playing through the walls at night. Of the moment on stage when he kissed me without pretense or calculation.
But I also think of his silence when I asked what he wanted beyond our arrangement. Of his immediate pivot to practicalities after we made love. Of today's text, carefully avoiding any mention of his own feelings.
With sudden clarity, I realize Laura was right. I've been expecting Jaxon to scale my emotional walls without giving him a map. I've demanded honesty without offering it first. I've asked what he wants without clearly stating what I want.
But his emotional distance today, after everything we've shared, tells me all I need to know. Whatever feelings exist between us, he's not ready to acknowledge them, much less act on them.
Sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes timing is everything. And sometimes, you have to choose yourself before you can truly choose someone else.
I press send on the email to Gerald, the decision final. Then I text Jaxon:
I've accepted the London position. Starting next week. I'll come say goodbye to Lily this weekend if that's okay.
His response comes almost immediately, three words that confirm I've made the right decision:
Congratulations. Well deserved.
No protest. No declaration. No suggestion of alternatives. Just polite acknowledgment, as if I'd mentioned a weekend trip rather than a life-altering move across an ocean.
I set down my phone, a strange calm settling over me. The decision is made. The path is clear. In one week, I'll be in London, starting fresh, leaving behind the complications and heartache of these past months.
It's the right choice. The sensible choice. The only choice, given Jaxon's continued emotional distance.
So why does it feel like I'm making the biggest mistake of my life?