When the kiss ended, the wheel reached the top. The whole city spread beneath us. Lights flickering on. Brilliant as stars.
Chapter Nineteen
Silas
The kiss on the Ferris wheel was like a seed of hope taking root in my chest. Yeah, Anthea had turned me down when I asked for another shot, but she didn't push me away either. I still had a chance.
The next few days, she was buried in grading papers. I didn't show up, didn't interrupt her life—just watched her through the cameras, quiet and out of sight.
One morning, around three a.m., I was checking the feed from her room when I heard Olei cry out. I was up and moving before I even thought about it. When I pushed open his door, he was curled up tight in bed, sobbing in his sleep. His pillow was soaked through.
"Olei." I kept my voice soft, rubbing his back.
The crying tapered off. His eyes cracked open, red and swollen. The second he saw me, his lip trembled. "Dad, I miss Mom."
He looked so damn small. My chest felt like someone had dropped a boulder on it—heavy, crushing. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him into my lap. He was warm, too warm, but he was shaking.
"You dream about her?" I wiped his face with a tissue.
He nodded, burying his face against my chest. His voice came out muffled. "I dreamed she left again. She didn't want me anymore..."
My hand stilled. He hadn't seen Anthea in days. Even with their nightly phone calls, he had no sense of security. He was sensitive, always had been. Overthought everything.
"She's not leaving you." My voice came out rough but gentle. "She's just busy right now. She needs some time to herself."
"But I miss her." His fingers twisted in my shirt. It was rare for him to ask me for anything like this. "I want to see her every day."
I held him tighter. Didn't say anything.
The next morning, I had the private doctor come check him out. Something was off. He woke up, looking miserable, and wouldn't touch his breakfast. Normally, he was easy—ate what you put in front of him, no fuss, no coaxing.
"Separation anxiety," the doctor said, frowning. "A child this age, suddenly getting his mother back and then losing her again—it triggers this kind of response. Loss of appetite, sleep disturbances, low mood... If we don't intervene, it could turn into something worse."
"How do we intervene?" I asked, tension creeping up my spine.
"The best thing? Let him be with his mother." The doctor paused. "At least until he stabilizes."
I called Anthea.
"Silas?" Her voice was guarded. "What is it?"
"Olei's sick." I kept my voice level, pushed down the guilt gnawing at me for not taking better care of him. "Separation anxiety. He won't eat, he's shutting down. He needs to see you. Every day."
"How did this happen?" She sounded frantic. "He was fine at the amusement park."
I could hear the worry for Olei—and the blame aimed at me.
"Don't worry, Anthea." I tried to sound calm. "The doctor says if we catch it now, it won't become a bigger problem. But Olei needs to be with you."
Silence on the other end. Long, tense silence. I could hear her breathing—fast, uneven. I didn't rush her.
"I'll pack and come over." Her voice shook.
"I'll send someone to pick you up." Relief flooded through me. At least she wasn't saying no because of me.
Two hours later, she arrived. Her luggage got hauled upstairs to the guest room.
She was wearing a light gray dress today, paired with a thin white cardigan. Hair pulled back loose, no makeup. But even like this—simple, plain—my heart was pounding. She looked just like she did when we first met.
