The next day had been long—expectedly, yet uncomfortably long. I spent the whole day running around, preparing for Elon’s treatment at home. And for the first time, the house experienced a whirlwind of activities—medical equipment, phone calls, new people rearranging the house. It was overwhelming, but it had to be done. All at once, since I wasn’t really informed beforehand that it was going to be home-based.The same day, I asked Alice to look for two maids that could assist our doctor and Elon in the house. That automatically occupied all of our vacant rooms, but at least Dr. Advani, Elon’s oncologist from India would be more comfortable. And not that I was saving those rooms for specific people, anyway.Damian surprisingly helped me with all the necessary things needed to be done. From organizing the details, to keeping the doctor’s arrival in check by hiring some bodyguards to pick him up and drive him to our house. He also accompanied me in some of the errands, but it wasn’t the
The house was colder when Abby and I went back inside. The confrontation with my father had drained the last bit of energy I had left— even my appetite, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. The weight of his words clung deep to me, that all I could do was silently weep.The way he could easily throw those words like I was nothing to him spoke so much about how saw me— obviously, not as a daughter. Abby accompanied me. She didn’t say anything at first, and just simply walked beside me, like she was trying to communicate that I wasn’t alone. We reached the living room, and I feebly sank onto the couch, exhausted. Abby sat beside me, hesitating for a second before reaching out to take my hand in hers. There was warmth in it, and I wished I could take the time to pause all these emotions to appreciate her being here, but I was too gloomy."You did the right thing," she softly said. "They crossed you, Eleanor."I let out a shaky breath, then I wiped the tears on my left cheek. "I know. Bu
A week passed. The following days felt like a blur— taking turns between legal meetings, Elon’s needs, and nights spent staring at the ceiling. Elon’s treatment had started, and it came with a kind of tiredness that always worn me out at the end of the day— not that I I didn’t want to do it.My mornings were filled with discussions with Elon’s doctors and nutritionist, and I always listened carefully to every piece of advice they gave. I was cautious and on-hand. Damian, too. I guess we were finally seeing each other eye-to-eye. Somehow, I feel contented with the attention and effort he was showing to keepsafe our son. We were both thorough in making sure Elon had the best care possible.My afternoons, however, were spent buried in paperwork, finalizing decisions about the blocked payment that was now being redirected to a cancer charity. It had taken multiple visits to my lawyer and the bank, endless forms, signatures, and confirmations, but it was finally done. Evenings were just me
The good atmosphere embracing us in the garden slightly dimmed when Damian's car pulled up. I felt my shoulders tense involuntarily. My fingers slowly curled tighter around the wine glass I was holding. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over his face as he stepped out, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking in the scene before him—the decorated garden, the half-eaten cake, the lingering warmth of celebration.Perhaps, taken aback of the festive scene. For a moment, I had forgotten about him. Our eyes met across the distance. I’d say he looked surprised, maybe even a little lost, like he had stumbled to something he also didn’t expect to came upon. It was there and then I inwardly figured out what was that look for.It wasn’t the celebration— it was the realization that it was my birthday— that he had forgotten. I cleared my throat and looked away. Suddenly, the joyful look in my face slowly faded. And it shouldn't have felt like it was new, but it did—a small, sharp pain that
The golden rays of the sun slipped through my window pane, blinding me when I first opened my eyes. I blinked and tried to shield my eyes through my palm, slowly getting up. I immediately thought it was odd. I knew myself as a morning person, and I rarely wake up with the sun already this active.I yawned, stretching my arms. My eyes then roamed towards my side table to check what time it was, but what was sitting beside it stole my attention.The bouquet of roses and lilies— lying there in between my alarm clock and glasses, made me feel an unfamiliar weight. That reminded me of what happened last night.The warmth, the blissful feeling of being held dear, glasses that clinked a lot of times as we shared stories and laughed over the games we played. Hesitation crossed my chest, still, I reached for it. It pulled me back into the memories of last night— when the others leave, and when this flowers were given to me.I heaved a deep breath, stared at it for long seconds before I decide
I stayed in the room with Elon, smiling to him like everything was normal— even though my insides were a lot of emotions just by thinking what could happen now that Elizabeth was downstairs.My hands moved randomly, changing his clothes, brushing his hair, while my mind raced with a thousand thoughts, all centered on what they were about to do.Elizabeth.The thought of her being here—my sister, now Damian's lover, after everything that had happened—made me feel scared. Although, I kind of knew why she was here. After all, Damian finally had some free time after a busy week. I felt..a bit threatened.Probably because of the crazy thing she said the last time we saw each other.My heart was heavy when I brought my eyes to Elon, who was holding the small figurine clutched with his tiny fingers. He was playing with it. When he noticed my gaze, he looked up to me.“Is dad not coming back?” he asked, his eyes pure and innocent.“He has a visitor..” My voice was soft, but the weight behind
I faintly sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the phone screen long after the call ended. My grip was tight, knuckles turned white, as his words echoed back at me.What do I want to do next? I didn’t know. Because ruining Elizabeth wasn’t the plan. I just… wanted to threaten her… make distance, wait until everything was over.So, I lied when I said I didn’t know anything about it. I lied on their faces when I denied it— and when I feign ignorance when she came because I knew damn too well why she was here.I pulled in a deep breath. My eyes wandered on the brown envelope lying open on my nightstand, its contents spilling onto the surface like a wound torn open. The photographs, glossy and damning, gleaming.I had sent them.The same day I told Alicia I would stop supporting my father, I called someone to do the favor for me. I set them up. The camera had been planted outside the restaurant where Damian and Elizabeth would meet that day, angled just right to capture their embrace—the
To think that I even woke up early thinking I’d get to do what I planned today. But upon that conversation with Alicia, I lost the will to continue.I sighed as I slouched in my swivel chair. When I went back here in my main office at the art gallery, I had been staring at the blank notepad in front of me. My mind buzzed with thoughts, but still, I wasn’t able to grasp a single one. I exhaled, then sit back straight. I tapped the end of my pen against the desk, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet room. The air smelled faintly of paint and varnish, and I have always liked how it created a comforting scent that reminded me of why I loved this place—but at that moment, I felt lost. It didn’t seem to work.A soft knock on the door pulled me out from my thoughts. "Come in," I called, thinking it was Alicia.The door swung open, and to my surprise, it was Mike who stepped inside, holding a paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His familiar, easygoing grin made me forget
The apartment was quiet when I stepped inside. I closed the door behind me, took off my shoes, and coat, draping it over the chair by the door instead of hanging it up. I had to go to bed. It was late and I was tired, but my mind would not relax.I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water because I wanted to keep my hands occupied. The lights of the city shone outside the window, distant and static. I drank slowly and leaned against the counter.My phone was vibrating on the table.Mike.You alright?I exhaled rapidly and shook my head. I didn't know why I was surprised. He always listened. Even when I didn't want him to.Yes. You?He responded after a few seconds.You know me. Always okay.I stared at the screen. I could imagine him saying it, that small smile in his voice, the way he always evaded answering without technically lying.I didn't respond. I had no idea what to say.I put my phone on the counter, had another sip of water, and shut off the kitchen light.
After dinner, the gallery quieted down to a comfortable hush. The takeout containers from leftovers were on the desk, and Alicia was scrolling through her phone, most likely reading the emails she'd put off eating. Mike settled back into his chair, his eyes straying in my direction every so often but not speaking much.Abby had already caught on.She always caught on."You're working late again?" she asked, putting on her coat.I shrugged. "Might as well. Got some things to wrap up."She looked at me knowingly but didn't push. "Alright. Don't burn yourself out."Alicia yawned, stretching her arms above her head before standing. "I should get going, too. Text if you need anything.""Will do."One by one, they left, their goodbyes soft in the quiet space. The gallery always felt different at night—still, untouched, like it existed in its own pocket of time.Mike hadn’t left yet.He was still in his chair, watching me. Not in an expectant way, not like he was waiting for me to say someth
I didn't want to continue argue with him. I didn't want to stay standing here, gawking at him, judging for whatever he would say because we both knew I'll never be able to believe him. There was no point.So, I gave him a once-over, before I slowly trudged in. But just as I was supposed to walked away from him, I felt a hand on my wrist."Are you not going to ask what happened to me? Aren't you curious?""Why would I be?" I asked, jiggling my wrist for release. "You're dead to me."Those words will hunt him. He probably didn't expect I'd say those after all these years we hadn't seen each other, but I couldn't care less.I was able to took back my arm from him, and when I did, I continued walking and didn't look back. He didn't pursue me any longer either— which was better for the both of us.We were nothing beside strangers now, and a conversation wouldn't do us any good.I headed back to my gallery after that, where Mike and Alicia were waiting for me. They were at the main office,
I woke up to the gentle hum of the just city beyond my window, the sun's first light filtering through the drapes. It was a quiet morning, free of the weights of workloads. I stretched, breathed deeply, and reveled in the smell of fresh linens and paint in the air—a home aroma that I had missed.It had been weeks since Mike and I returned. The transition had been smoother than I had imagined. The city was the same, the streets still throbbed the same, but I was different. I was no longer the fractured woman who had leave to heal. I had healed. I had crossed seas, strolled through ruins, and walked beneath skies Elon never had the chance to wander. And in going through it all, I wrote in his journal. Each letter, each dip of my pen, connecting me to him. My travels became his, my memories akin to what could have been his if only he lived.And somehow, it was as though he was present with me in every break of dawn and every foreign street.Mike accompanied me during those times— for mor
What Mike had said stuck with me. I stewed over it for days and let the words occupy the vacant space I didn't realize existed.It was a peaceful morning. Sun streamed through the blinds of our tiny rental apartment in a city I enjoyed but would eventually abandon. That was when I made a choice and half-heartedly told Mike that it was time to head back home.I did not want to go, really. I had learned something special this year—something good and freeing. But it was not going to last. I knew that the entire time. Maybe, in a sense, the trip had already done what it was supposed to: heal me from all the pain and trauma.At some point, we couldn't keep doing this—traveling. And I knew that. So, we booked our tickets home, packed our bags, bought souvenirs.The city did not shift when we returned. That was the first thing I noticed, and perhaps the most strange. It was as if it had waited for us, as if nothing had been disturbed. People still walked the streets, the same coffee houses s
The next day, I really left.The first night out of the town was strange to me—like freedom and something I couldn't quite comprehend myself. We rode a plane that soared through the air in silence as we departed, and when we arrived, the air gave me a different feeling. It was thicker and foreign. It was as if I had entered someone's dream. It was as if I had entered Elon's.We didn't really have a plan. We had a list of places that Elon had written in. Cities he circled in travel guides, underlined in the newspaper, and spoke of as if he knew he'd never live to see. So, I wrote for him. I started writing in his journal—first, just scribbles. Dates. Places. How the sidewalk felt beneath my feet, how the ocean echoed in a city he never visited. Then it became more. I wrote to him, as if he could read my words, as if he could follow me in the pages. By taking his journal and making it mine, I hoped to allow him to travel through me.The months went by like that. The ink from my pen tra
Morning came slowly, and sunlight dragged through the windows as an afterthought. And then my head throbbed, but not like grief did. Too many drinks, too much laughter, and just too much life for the first time in what seemed like forever left a dull ache.My body weight felt different. So I guess it was just not like the air was settling into my mattress and destroying me with images of a life that never happened.And then he appeared—Mike.Jacket and boots were tossed over the couch. His chair across from me was crossed with arms and a head tilted back—he was asleep. Peaceful. Thinking of him in that way made me feel something weird in my chest that I had not felt in a while. Comfort. Safety.Sitting up too quickly made me feel sick—nausea turned my stomach. That motion probably got him awake because he cracked an eye open and smiled lazily."You look like hell.""Thanks." The sleep and dehydration made my voice rough. I swallowed, rubbing my eyes. "What time is it?""Little past te
The night air was cold against my skin on the porch as I wrapped my fingers around a pot of tea. Distant cars hummed, leaves rubbed against each other, and it was the silence I had grown accustomed to. The last few weeks, I had been locked in this state, crying in a house that was more mausoleum than home.Yet somehow, tonight felt different. Perhaps it was the pain of carrying so much suffering for so long, or maybe the silver moonlight bathing the street lit something I had gone blind to. Whatever the reason, the words flew off my lips before I could stop them."I can't do this again."That realization settled in my chest—heavy, liberating. But it never felt complete—yet. As if drawn by something unseen, I stood and walked inside slowly but deliberately. My feet carried me up the steps, through the hall, and to the attic door. I hesitated before pushing it open, the musty scent of old wood and forgotten things greeting me.My fingers searched against dusty shelves for something—anyt
"You really want to pick yourself up, Eleanor?"I stared at him, my fingers floppy around the edge of the blanket, my mind sluggish from days of barely moving, barely eating. The weight of his question sat between us. Did I? Did I want to be better, or was I just pretending because I was tired of seeing his disappointment? My lips parted, but I hesitated. And then, slowly, I nodded.Mike studied me, unreadable. He took a deep breath and leaned back slightly, his gaze moving toward the ceiling as if debating something. When he finally spoke, his words were unexpected."Run away with me. Leave this town."I saw him blink. I scoffed—a weak, breathy sound barely above a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Mike."He didn't correct me. He just watched as I shook my head and brushed it away like it was nothing. Perhaps, to him, it wasn't nothing. But to me, it was absurd. Leaving the place that held every shattered piece of me was never an option. I could barely dream.This was my punishment. Stayi