07 Might be what I needed

Isabel’s POV

I booked a bolt to Canyonville to see my parents.

The drive to canyonville always felt like a journey back in time, each mile taking me closer to the life I’d left behind.

As we drive into the familiar gravel road leading to my parents’ house, I can’t help but feel the weight of everything that has happened.

My divorce from Alexander was still fresh, the pain sharp and unrelenting, like a wound that refused to heal.

I thought to myself, how am I going to face my parents? 

They had put so much effort into making my life better, they made sure I lacked nothing, even though we weren’t rich.

They hustled day and night, to see that I never lacked, and made sure I attended one of the best high schools in LA. I made them proud by getting a scholarship to continue my university education.

I had dreamed of a future filled with love and happiness. I had always wished to make lots of money to assist my parents also, but here I am with nothing to show for it.

“We have arrived Ma’am,” The driver says, jolting me from my thoughts.

I stand at the gate, looking at our house in Canyonville. The sight of the small, weathered house brought a lump to my throat. 

Nothing had changed here; the chipped paint on the porch, the crooked mailbox, even the old swing set in the yard, all stood as they always had. 

It was as if time had stood still in Canyonville, even as my life had unraveled in the glittering chaos of Los Angeles. I scoffed, giving a sly chuckle.

As I stood by the door, I could sense the eyes of the neighbors on me—heavy, prying, and full of unspoken questions. Their gazes carried suspicion, mixed with a hint of whispered gossip that lingered beneath their curious looks.

I could almost hear their thoughts: Isn’t that the girl who’s married to a billionaire? How is she here with her luggage? Seems like her rich husband is now tired of her? 

But I don’t let that get to me. I ignored them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of knowing how their looks made my skin prickle with discomfort.

The door creaks as I open it.

The sound of the screen door slamming shut brought my mother, Celyn, to the front porch. 

Her face lit up with a smile that’s both warm and tinged with concern.

“Isabel, you’re here,” she says, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief. 

She wiped her hands on her apron, the same one she’d worn for as long as I can remember, and hurried down the steps to embrace me. 

I held onto her tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. 

“Hi, mom,” I managed to say, my voice thick with emotion.

She pulled back, her eyes searching mine. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. “We’ve missed you.”

I nod, not trusting myself to talk.

The words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat, heavy with the burden of explaining what I'd been through.

My father, Joe, appeared in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a quiet smile on his face. He didn’t say much—he never did—but the warmth in his eyes tells me he’s glad that I’m home.

“Come inside, bel,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given me when I was a little girl. 

“Your mother is going to make you your favorite—chicken pot pie.” 

I smile, a small, fleeting thing that barely touches the sadness in my heart. “Thanks, Dad.”

Inside, the house smelled like home—like comfort and safety, like the memories of a simpler time.

The walls lined up with old photographs, snapshots of a life that had once seemed so full of promise. 

I glanced at a picture of my younger self, standing proudly in my graduation gown, my parents beaming on either side of me. It was a stark contrast to the woman I am now—disillusioned, heartbroken, and unsure of what the future holds.

Time seems to slow as the aroma from the kitchen fills the house. After a while, Mom comes out from the kitchen with the chicken pot pie, setting them on the table with a warm smile. “I’ve made your favorite,” she says.

“Thanks Mom, I’ve missed having your meal.” I say with a smile. 

Dad can’t help but smile back at us.

As we sat down to dinner, my parents tried to fill the silence with light conversation, asking about my drive, the weather, anything but the elephant in the room. 

I know my parents are just trying to keep things normal, even though we all know there’s nothing normal about the situation.

Finally, my mother couldn’t hold back any longer. “Isabel,” she began gently, “how are you really doing?”

I hesitate for a moment.

My eyes met hers, as if trying to escape talking about it all, but I knew there’s no way I could escape talking about it.

I looked down at my plate, the food suddenly unappetizing. “I don’t know, Mom,” I admitted. 

“I thought I had it all figured out, you know? But now… everything’s just falling apart.” I say, tears rolling down my eyes. 

My father reaches across the table, his hand resting on mine. He wipes the tears away with his thumb as he says, “you’re strong, Bel. You always have been. You’ll get through this.”

I sigh deeply, the weight of his words sinking deeply. 

I nod slightly, grateful for his unwavering belief in me, even when I couldn’t find it in myself. 

“I hope so,” I whispered.

As the night falls, I lay in my old bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

The familiar sounds of the night—crickets chirping, the distant hum of cars on the highway—lulled me into a strange sense of peace.

Maybe, just maybe, Canyonville was exactly where I needed to be right now. A place to heal, to figure out who I was without Alexander, and to rebuild my life from the ground up.