Chapter 34 Selene
THIRTY-FOUR
SELENE
The house was dark.
Not the kind of quiet dark stillness that soothed, but the kind that pressed in from all sides. As if the walls themselves knew something had shifted and were holding their breath along with me.
Winnie’s breathing had finally deepened, soft and rhythmic from the other room.
I’d kissed her forehead three times before tucking the blanket higher on her shoulder.
She didn’t stir. Winnie had whispered something incoherent in her sleep and curled tighter onto her side, completely untouched by the crack that had split the night wide open.
I was glad for her capacity to forget so quickly, to rebound like a rubber band while I felt like shattered glass wrapped in tissue.
I stepped quietly down the hallway, fingers brushing the wall as I went.
On the other side, I could still feel him.
Not in any literal way—but like an echo caught in the drywall, pulsing low and persistent.
Austin. Just a few feet away, separated from me by nothing more than plaster and paint and everything I didn’t say.
I paused outside my bedroom and closed my eyes.
A wave of something thick and hot curled through my chest. It was grief, but not clean. It was stitched through with shame, with anger, with that sick twist of embarrassment I hated more than anything.
Because I’d hoped.
I’d let myself believe—really believe—that I could have something different this time. That he was different. That maybe we were building something steady. Something real. Something that could last longer than the breathless beginning.
He loves me.
I turned the knob and pushed the door to my bedroom open.
The room felt unfamiliar in the dark. Maybe it was me who didn’t belong anymore.
I moved by muscle memory, stepping around a laundry basket, reaching for the edge of the bed before my hand dropped to the basket instead.
I crouched and pulled out the shirt that I had tossed in earlier that week—something Austin had worn when he had stayed over last.
I pressed it to my face.
It still smelled like him. Like cedar and sunlight and salt. Like sweat and soap and something I hadn’t let myself name until now.
Home.
I sank to the floor.
Just folded down onto the hardwood like my body couldn’t bear its own weight. The shirt was crushed against my chest, my arms locked around it like a shield. My spine curled, my forehead met my knees, and I stopped pretending.
The sob that broke free was ugly. It cracked open my throat and left me raw.
I tried to muffle it into the cotton—tears swallowed down so Winnie wouldn’t hear—but another followed, and another. There was no fixing it, no gathering the pieces into something presentable.
I cried the way a woman cries when she’s been too strong for too long. When her body forgets how to carry it all without collapsing under the load.
When she realizes, too late, that she let someone in past the gates.
I should’ve known better. I did know better. Every instinct had warned me, and still I’d done it—I’d let my guard down. I’d let him in. I’d let myself fall in love and believe in a future I hadn’t dared imagine before.
And for what?
It wasn’t even about the missed performance.
It was about letting myself down. It had become achingly clear that the pattern was me.
The one where I gave and hoped and controlled everything around me so I couldn’t be let down again.
I was making the same mistakes all over again, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
I’d gotten comfortable with Austin’s help. For so long I’d waited for someone to meet me halfway that I forgot how painful it was to realize that no one was rescuing me but myself. I had desperately wanted things to be different.
Being a mother meant that I needed to be stronger than that.
I gasped through a sob, breath hitching hard in my chest. The shirt slipped from my hands, crumpling in my lap.
I wasn’t mad at Austin because he didn’t show up. I was mad because I’d counted on him to, and I was madder still that some part of me still wanted to count on him.
The wall beside me stayed quiet. No footsteps. Just silence.
But I swore I could still feel him there, just on the other side.
Like maybe he was sitting with his back to the wall, too, wishing the distance between us was easier to cross. I stayed curled on the floor until the tears slowed, then stopped. My face was hot, sticky, and raw.
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to go to bed. I didn’t want to be strong again tomorrow.
But I knew I would. Because Winnie would need breakfast. Because the world would keep spinning.
Still, tonight . . . I let myself sit there, alone in the dark, holding the shape of something I almost had but was too scared to hold.
The morning came slowly, like the world knew I couldn’t take the sharp edges of the day.
Sunlight filtered through the kitchen curtains in lazy beams, striping the floor in pale gold. The scent of coffee filled the air, rich and grounding. I stood at the counter in an old sweatshirt and pajama pants, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, letting the warmth soak into my palms.
Winnie sat at the kitchen table in a pink hoodie, legs swinging beneath the bench as she nibbled at a piece of toast slathered in strawberry jam. She hummed to herself between bites, completely unfazed by last night. Her hair stuck out in a dozen directions, eyes soft from sleep.
“You feeling okay, bug?” I asked, voice still raw at the edges.
“Yep.” She shrugged and licked jam off her thumb. “I’m good.”
She didn’t even mention the performance. There was no lingering sadness. No weight in her chest. Just toast and a morning hum and the blissful magic of childhood resilience.
I blinked and looked down at my coffee. The floor felt too solid under my feet.
A knock came at the front door, and before I could move, it creaked open.
Elodie’s voice filled the space, low and cheerful. “You decent?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered, though the knot in my chest loosened.
She stepped inside with Levi behind her, already unzipping his coat. “We’re stealing your kid for a bit,” she announced. “The goats are restless, and Levi made blueberry muffins.”
Levi held up a Tupperware with a proud grin. “We even remembered to let them cool this time.”
“Levi!” Winnie scrambled off the bench. “Can I go, Mama? Please.”
I hesitated for half a breath—then nodded. “Of course, baby. Just put on your boots.”
Levi helped her get ready in the mudroom, leaving Elodie to watch me from across the room.
Her gaze lingered too long.
“You look like you’ve been hit by a train,” she said, eyeing me gently and stepping toward the counter.
“Thanks,” I murmured, sipping my coffee. “I was going for functional wreck.”
She reached for the second mug I’d left beside the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “Did you talk to him?”
I didn’t answer right away, staring out the window where frost clung to the glass in thin threads.
“He came by late last night,” I said finally.
“And?” Elodie’s brows were in her hairline.
“He told me he loves me.” I swallowed. “I told him I needed a little space.”
Elodie blinked. At first she didn’t speak, didn’t push. She sipped her coffee and waited.
“I thought I was smarter than this,” I whispered. “I thought I was past hoping for something I couldn’t rely on. He’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake.”
“You know his age has nothing to do with this.” Elodie’s face softened as her head shook. “You didn’t mess up by loving him back, Selene.”
The words landed like a warm hand to my back—steadying. Not healing, but grounding.
I blinked fast. My eyes still gritty from last night’s tears.
“Do you love him?” she finally asked.
“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “But I’m afraid.
I just keep thinking about Brian,” I said.
“About the time he didn’t show up for that doctor’s appointment when I was pregnant.
The nurse asked if my husband would be joining us, and I laughed like it was a joke, and then I sat there alone, listening to her heartbeat. ”
Elodie’s jaw tensed.
“I didn’t even cry,” I said quietly. “I just sat there and smiled because I didn’t want the nurse to feel awkward.
I’ve spent so long making things easier for everyone else that I forgot I was allowed to need something.
It was the first of many, many times that Brian was too caught up in something to show up for me. ”
“That’s because he’s a dick,” Elodie shot back.
I gritted my teeth and gave her a plain look.
She raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll take a break from Brian bashing for one day.” Her hand settled on her hip. “But needing someone isn’t weak,” she said. “It’s human. Plus, Austin is not Brian. It’s unfair to compare them.”
“I know that.” I nodded, throat tight. “Honestly, I don’t think this is about Austin missing one thing,” I said. “I think it’s about how fast I felt real panic. Like it proved all my worst fears. That I was alone again. That I’d always be the only one showing up.”
“Maybe you set an impossible standard,” Elodie said in a way that only a sister could. “You don’t need him to be perfect. Just . . . present.”
I stared at her, my hackles going up in immediate defense of Austin. “He has been. Every time. Except this one.” I blew out a breath, knowing she was absolutely right. “Shit. Maybe I overreacted.”
Elodie reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. “I’m proud that you’re standing up for yourself. I am. You’ve had to do a lot by yourself, and that’s bound to change a woman. But . . . you do tend to be a little rigid.”
My chin wobbled and I nodded.
“You said you love him,” she continued. “So find the courage to tell him that. Talk to him, Selene. Don’t let fear of being wrong steal something good.”
My phone buzzed on the counter.
I didn’t have to look to know who the text was from.
Still, I picked it up.
Austin
I need to say it again. I’m so sorry. Not for missing the performance—but for not seeing how much it meant. I’d like to say it in person when you’re both ready.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I didn’t respond, not yet, but I didn’t delete it either. Instead, I stared until the screen faded to black and sat there in the quiet, feeling the faintest hum of something I hadn’t felt since before last night—not pain, but hopeful possibility.