Mom exhaled slowly.“Those memories may never disappear,”she signed, calm but resolute.“But they cannot keep hurting you every time they surface.”
I looked at her, helpless. “How do I make that stop?”
“You share,”she answered simply.“You stop carrying it alone. If you can’t talk to me, or your father, or even Adrian... you can speak to someone else. Like therapy.”
I frowned.
“But I’m fine,” I whispered. “Why would I need therapy?” The question sounded defensive even to my own ears.
Mom smiled, tender and knowing.“Therapy isn’t only for people who are broken,”she signed.“It’s also for those who have been affected. You don’t go because something is wrong with you, but because you deserve to be heard.”
Her words settled slowly, gently, into my thoughts. Into my heart.
Her hands moved once more.“I’m not saying Adrian isn’t at fault. He hurt you,”she signed.“But whatever your decision...”Her eyes softened.“You deserve happiness, Elena.”
She tightened her grip on my hand, grounding me, before her other hand lifted to sign again.“And Haille deserves parents who are whole. Children can feel it when their parents are hurting.”
The tears came freely then. I broke down, my shoulders shaking as sobs tore from my chest. Mom pulled me into her arms, patting my back in that familiar rhythm from my childhood, grounding and sure.
Her hands moved against me.“You are a strong woman, my love. You’ve proven that by surviving this far. And I am proud of you.”
She brushed my cheek gently with her thumb.
Somehow, in that moment, I found the peace I had been needing. And maybe, the beginning of a way forward… one I would have to walk without him.
—?—
Adrian
She texted me the night before.
We’re landing tomorrow afternoon.
Around four.
Can you pick us up?
I didn’t hesitate.
Of course. See you soon.
That was all I sent. No questions. No extra words. Just certainty.
The next day, I arrived at the airport an hour before their plane was scheduled to land. Not because I needed to. Because waiting at home felt unbearable.
I stood near the arrival gate, hands in my pockets, eyes fixed on the glass doors that slid open and shut every few seconds, releasing families, couples, reunions I had no right to envy. Every laugh, every embrace felt louder than it should have.
I checked the board again. Landed.
My pulse quickened.
Then, after some time, I saw her.
She was still a few meters away, walking slowly, Haille balanced on her hip, a backpack slung over one shoulder as shepushed a suitcase beside her. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun. She looked tired. But different. Lighter, somehow.
And then, impossibly, she lifted her head.
Our eyes met.
