He gives me the address in Stratford and tells me where to pick up the car in East London. As we hang up, his final words ring in my ears:
“Go get our boy, or I guess I should say your boy. And be careful. His parents won’t be thrilled to see you.”
I slip my phone into my pocket, grab my bag, and lock the flat behind me.
I’ve got a boy to bring home.
CHAPTER 22
SEBASTIAN
The sunlight barely slips through the shutters, casting a faint grey light across the room. As I stir from a heavy, disorienting sleep, everything feels off. My eyelids are crusted, my limbs ache, and there’s a bitter, chalky taste on my tongue. It’s the kind of exhaustion that comes from crying too much, for too long.
I push myself upright, slowly, and realize I’m still in the clothes I wore yesterday. For a brief second, my mind blanks, then the memories crash over me like a tidal wave: last night, May, my parents.
It’s all still there, raw and jagged. I ache everywhere, not physically, but somewhere deeper. Like my soul’s been bruised from the inside out.
Downstairs, I hear the clink of cutlery, the murmur of voices, the soft clatter of mugs. The sound of breakfast being made. Like it’s just another ordinary morning. Like nothing happened.
And maybe, for them, nothing did. At least not for Mum.
As for Dad… I honestly don’t know. But part of me suspects it doesn’t matter. His silence has always been his answer, especially when it means not challenging her. He’s never stood up to her. Why would this time be any different?
The truth presses down on me, sharp and unforgiving. They don’t wantme. They want the image, the neat, polished version.The son who smiles at the right moments and fits into the world they’ve built.
I was foolish to think they might ever want the truth. Foolish to hope they’d see me, really see me, and choose love anyway.
I drag myself to the bathroom on unsteady legs, driven by the need to pee and the hope that a long, hot shower might wash some of this heaviness away. My body feels hollow, shaky, like it might give out at any moment. Maybe I should eat something, but the thought of sitting across from them again makes my stomach churn.
Somehow, I get through the basics. And when the steaming water hits my skin, it eases the numbness in my limbs, softens the cold lodged in my chest. But clarity is no comfort. Because once I’m fully awake, the pain sharpens. It’s no longer distant or hazy, it’s cutting, immediate, real.
I need something, someone, to anchor me. Someone I trust, who can hold me so tightly I forget how close I am to falling apart.
And with terrifying clarity, I realize: I need him.
I need Remi.
My eyes flick to my phone, lying untouched beside the bed. I promised I’d call. I told him I would. But how can I now? How do I explain that I’m not even good enough for the people who raised me?
He’s already seen me fall apart, seen me panic, seen the cracks I try so hard to hide. He knows how badly I messed things up with Maddie.
I’m a wreck. A walking disaster. If I truly loved him, I’d let him go. Cut him loose before I drag him under with me, before I ruin his life the way I seem to ruin everything else.
But I’m weak. And I want him,so much. I crave his warmth, his arms around me, the tenderness in his eyes, the little thingshe does that make me feelseen. No one’s ever made me feel like that before. Like I matter. Like I’m worth something.
I sit there, torn. Pick up the phone? Or leave it dead and disappear into the silence?
And then, the doorbell rings.
I blink, frozen. Who would show up this early on a Sunday morning? Please, not Cressida…
But before I can spiral any further, I hear a voice drifting up the stairs. Familiar. Steady. Unmistakable.
Remi.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I breathe.
He came for me.
