Chapter 26 #2
“It doesn’t matter," I cut him off, but gently.
“Not anymore. I have to live my life the way I want, not as a consequence to your decisions. Thinking back… I waited for you so long. The moment I was offered the chance to return to Chicago, I took it. I told myself I accepted it because it was a step ahead in my career and I missed Chicago and Jane and Silvia. But—if I am being completely true to myself—a small, well hidden part of me, hoped to see you again.”
My eyes are holding tears as I turn towards the water, my fingers finding the ruby. He lifts his hand, like he’s trying to touch me, but he stops. He knows this torrent has to run its course.
“For five years, I've been a ghost. Hiding.
Running from myself. Putting on a mask of success, while I was dead inside.
I only survived because I shoved everything—the attack, the pain, the loss—in a triple locked drawer in my head and made myself not feel.
Never talked about it. Then I came back, and you.
.. you made me feel again. The time at the lake house was a dream I dreamt since I woke up from that coma.
.. I thought you were my savior. I thought you will be the one to 'fix' me. "
I take a deep breath, the salty air stinging my lungs.
"But last night... hell happened again. That feeling of being helpless, the hate, the pain… sent me back to Andy’s attack. And it's all tangled up with you. With your past. I look at you, and I see the man I love, but I also see the man whose life almost got me killed. Twice.”
“Della, I never thought I could put you in danger. I want to protect you” he insists, his voice ragged with fear.
“I need to protect myself, Dorian. I know you would do anything to keep me safe but, right now, I am not safe with you. Not until, I untangle myself from my past."
"I'll help you," he says, his voice desperate. "We'll get therapists, we'll—"
"I—I have to do it," I say, cutting him off gently. "Called a therapist already. I have to save myself. I need to find the Della I lost, the one who loved her life, who danced, who wasn’t afraid of feeling.”
“What are going to do?” he asks, voice low.
“I’m taking a leave from work till the transfer is being processed; I talked to Greg. I will have to return to Romania for the work visa.” I reply in a steady voice.
“You cannot leave. Not again, Della” he argues, a note of command creeping into his tone.
“I am planning on staying, Dorian,” I reassure him. “Build the life I once dreamed of. But if that’s the process, I will follow it.”
He looks broken.
“I don’t want to lose you, Della. What can I do for you?” he whispers, finally surrendering.
My eyes lock on his as I take his hand.
“There is something… I thought we could do. Together.”
My fingers tremble as I take off the necklace and place the warm ruby in his open palm.
“What are you…?” he asks, his eyes wide with confusion.
“I never mourned for our baby," I whisper, the words tasting like rust and salt. “I never had the chance to say… how unfair and cruel it was to lose her—in my mind, I always imagined a girl. And… how much I would have loved her.”
The tears are falling freely now, but I don't wipe them away. I close his palm over the ruby with both of my hands.
"And I realized, Dorian... neither have you. Will you do it with me? Now?"
A raw, broken sound rips from his chest. He can't speak. He just nods, his own tears streaming down his face, mirroring mine.
And so, we sit on the beach, two broken people, and we finally cry. We cry for the baby we never held, the life we never lived, and the dreams that died five years ago in the dark.
We hold the ruby together, pressed between our palms—part Dorian, part Della—and our foreheads meet while our tears land on the sand.
When all the tears have been shed, he looks at me and he understands the offering I make.
I open our hands, lift the ruby, and press it to my lips.
He leans down and kisses the stone, too.
A farewell.
Together, we walk to the water and, with a shared breath, we give it to the ocean. The stone of love—our love—vanished in the waves.
Dorian wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest, and I let him. I rest my head against him, feeling his heart race.
“I love you, Della," he whispers into my hair. "My heart and mind are colliding. I want to take you in my arms and fly straight to Chicago, but… I understand."
He lifts my chin gently.
"What can I do? What do you need?"
I tilt my head back, my gaze steady on his.
“Time. Just time.”
* * *
Dorian
Time. She wants time. Every instinct in my body screams No. The male, the protector, the man who just got her back from the brink of death—it all roars in my head. Chain her to your side. Don't let her go. Protect her.
My muscles tense. My hands clench. I want to argue. I want to command.
But then I really look at her. I don’t see the ghost, nor the Della from the lake house. This is a woman, standing on her own two feet, choosing the hardest possible path.
She's not running from me. She's walking toward herself.
And I realize, in one devastating, gut-wrenching moment, that this is the final test. Proving my love isn't holding on with any cost. It's letting go freely.
The fight drains out of me, replaced by an ache so profound it hollows me out. "You're right," I whisper, the words breaking me.
I just stand in front of her, memorizing her face. "How long?"
"I don't know," she whispers, tears in her eyes. "Until I'm... me again."
I nod, a single, painful jerk. I lean in, and I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in.
"I will wait," I vow, my voice a raw promise. "As long as you need. I’ll wait."
I pull back. I kiss her forehead. A chaste, heartbreaking press of my lips that is pure promise and pure pain.
And then I do the hardest thing I've ever done.
I turn. And I walk away.