“I can’t,” I whispered to my mother, freezing on the steps. “I can’t say goodbye to him, too.”
Zeus padded up to me, pressing his head against me. I sank down, burying my face in his fur as silent sobs wracked my body. He’d been my constant companion on the island, my protector during those early days, when everything had been new and uncertain.
“He’ll be okay, Tia,” my mother murmured, though I could hear the sympathy in her voice. “Animals adapt.”
“But they remember,” I said, pulling back to look into Zeus’s eyes. “They remember everything.”
Like I would. Every touch, every promise, every lie.
The sound of voices from the study made me stiffen. I recognized Santo’s agitated tone, followed by his father’s deeper, calmer response. I couldn’t make out the words, but the desperation was clear.
“We should go,” Mom said, helping me to my feet. “The car is waiting.”
I gave Zeus one final pat, then straightened my shoulders and continued down the stairs. Kayla emerged from the adjacent room, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I’ll miss you,” she said softly.
“Thanks for being my friend, Kayla.” I stepped forward, embracing her tightly.
“This isn’t goodbye, Tia. Whatever happens between you and Santo... I still consider you family.”
The words threatened to unravel my fragile composure. I pulled away, afraid that any more kindness might break me completely.
Outside, the brilliant afternoon contrasted my pain, its beauty indifferent to my suffering. Mom squeezed my hand as we walked toward the waiting car.
“Breathe,” she reminded me. “Just keep breathing.”
I did, even though each breath felt like inhaling broken glass. One step, then another. Away from the mansion, away from Santo, away from everything I’d foolishly believed was mine to keep.
A week later, I was curled on the window seat of our Montrose home, staring blankly at the familiar oak tree in our front yard. Seven days since Greece, yet the wound felt as fresh as if it had happened hours ago. I’d fallen into a lifeless routine: wake up, pretend to eat, stare at walls, sleep fitfully, repeat.
“I ordered your favorite pizza,” Mom called from downstairs. “Extra cheese, light sauce.”
She’d been incredibly patient, making sure I ate, fielding calls from our extended family.
I dragged myself downstairs, each step an effort. Mom’s smile was too bright, too hopeful, as she slid a slice onto a plate.
I took a small bite, the taste comforting. For her sake, I forced a second bite, then a third. It didn’t make me hurt less, but it was something.
“Thanks Mom,” I murmured, taking a sip of the soda she gave me.
Mom settled beside me and grabbed a few slices. “Your grandma called again. She wants to know if you’re coming to the reunion tomorrow.”
My father’s mother had been calling daily since we’d returned. I’d responded with vague promises to visit soon, knowing full well I wouldn’t yet.
“Maybe,” I said, the same answer I’d given for days.
Mom sighed, not pushing but not hiding her concern, either. “You haven’t checked your phone since we left Greece.”
“There’s nothing I want to see.”
Either he texted and I’d fall apart… or he didn’t and I’d fall apart anyway. So yeah. No thanks.
“Aristides called earlier,” Mom said carefully. “He said to take all the time you need.”
I nodded, uncertain if I could ever return to those designs without drowning in memories.
The doorbell startled us both. My heart lurched painfully against my ribs, irrational hope flaring despite everything.
