“You were chasing something you wanted,” she snapped. “And you didn’t even look back.”
I felt my stomach twist. “You think I don’t carry that? You think I didn’t miss everything too? Miss her?”
She crossed her arms. “You missed it all from a tennis court. We were here, picking up the pieces.”
I looked at her and for a second, I saw it. Not anger, not just bitterness, but hurt. She’d carried it for years like a splinter she couldn’t dig out.
But something in me flared too.
“You think tennis was easy after that?” I said, my voice cracking around the edges. “You think I just skipped off to tournaments and forgot about home? About Mum?”
Bianca said nothing, but her eyes didn’t soften.
“Tennis became the only thing that made sense,” I went on. “It was the only way I could survive the guilt. I chased something we all thought was the dream. And then she got sick, and I wasn’t there. So I threw everything into tennis because that’s what she wanted for me. That’s what she was proud of.”
I swallowed hard.
“I didn’t know how else to keep going. I couldn’t grieve properly. Tennis became my therapy, my excuse, my punishment...everything.”
Bianca blinked at me, her expression unreadable now.
“All I’ve thought about for years is tennis,” I added. “Tennis was what Mum wanted for me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like she’s still alive.”
And maybe it was saying those words out loud, or maybe it was just years of holding it all in when suddenly, the tears came. Hot and silent at first, blurring my vision. Then a sob ripped through me before I could stop it.
I turned away, wiping at my face like it might make me smaller, invisible. But I could feel everyone looking now.
“I didn’t come back for this,” I whispered. “I came back to try. But it’s never enough, is it?”
No one said anything.
I stood abruptly, my legs shaking as I grabbed my hoodie from the picnic blanket. “I just need air,” I muttered.
“Liv...” Dad started, but I didn’t let him finish.
I was already walking across the field, fast. Then jogging. Then running.
I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to go. To get away from the pressure, the ache in my chest, the stares. I needed to outrun the shame that clung to me like sweat. I’d thought I could handle being back. Thought I could be strong enough to face it. But the truth was, I was running again.
Same as always.
Running from the mess I left behind. From the guilt I couldn’t fix. From the part of me that still didn’t know how to be Olivia Smythe without a racquet in her hand.
By the time the air cooled around me and the sharpness in my chest dulled, I was sitting on a bench at the edge of the park, trainers damp from the grass, face tight from dried tears. I’d exhausted myself.
I pulled out my phone and hovered over Maddie’s contact. Then pressed call before I could talk myself out of it.
She picked up on the second ring. “Liv?”
“Hey,” I said, voice raspy. “Can you book me an earlier flight to Brisbane?”
There was a beat of silence. “You okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I think I just need to get back. I need to run toward something again.”
Maddie exhaled, all softness. “Say no more. I’ll sort it. Pack your things, and I’ll text you your flight details in an hour.”
“Thanks, Maddie. Really.”
