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Emily’s POV
My laughter died the second I pushed open the café door. There he was, Lucas, my boyfriend of thirteen months with another girl on his lap, kissing her like he was starving. His hands gripped her waist exactly the way they used to grip mine. Her long chestnut hair spilled over his shoulder as she leaned into him, completely lost in the kiss. The small wrapped canvas slipped from my fingers and crashed onto the wooden floor. The sound cracked through the café like a gunshot. Lucas jerked back. The same hazel eyes I’d stared into a thousand times flew to mine in pure panic. “Emily —” His voice cracked. “It’s not —” I didn’t wait for the lie. I turned and ran. Cold air slapped my face as I burst outside. Tears blurred everything, the brick paths, the fountain, the students laughing like my world hadn’t just shattered. I kept running until my lungs screamed, until I couldn’t hear the café bell ringing behind me anymore. How could he? I stopped under the big oak tree beside the arts building, bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping. The painting I’d spent three nights perfecting, our first date at the botanical garden, every tiny detail down to the coffee stain on his shirt was still lying on that café floor. My phone started exploding with calls. I answered the fourth one without thinking. “Emily, baby, please listen —” “Don’t call me baby,” I choked out. “I saw you, Lucas. I saw everything.” “It’s not what it looks like! She’s —” I hung up and turned my phone off. Then I sank onto the stone bench and finally let the tears fall. Ugly, shaking sobs tore out of me. I hugged my knees tight, trying to hold myself together, but it felt like everything was spilling out. Thirteen months of memories, late-night talks, his laugh when I showed him my paintings, the way he’d kiss my forehead after I had a bad critique, all of it poisoned in a single second. Why wasn’t I enough? Footsteps pounded toward me. I didn’t look up until a familiar vanilla scent wrapped around me and warm arms pulled me close. “Em…” Kara’s voice was soft but tight with anger. “What happened?” I pressed my face into her shoulder, soaking her sweater with tears. “He was kissing her. Right there in the café. In our spot.” Then she cursed under her breath. “That lying piece of shit.” “I had a painting for him,” I whispered. “I spent all night finishing it. I walked in smiling like an idiot and… and he had her on his lap.” Kara rubbed my back in slow circles, the way she always did when I was falling apart. “Did he see you?” I nodded. “He tried to explain. I ran.” “Good. Let him choke on his excuses.” She pulled back and brushed my wet hair from my face. Her eyes were fierce. “You’re too good for him, Em. You always were.” “I thought he loved me,” I said, voice cracking. “He told me I was his favorite person. He said —” “I know what he said.” Kara’s jaw clenched. “And right now it feels like your heart is being ripped out. But you’re not going to sit here and cry alone until you disappear.” I wiped my eyes with shaky hands. “I just want to go back to the dorm and sleep.” “Nope.” She stood up and tugged me to my feet. “We’re going out tonight.” “Kara…” “Icebreaker. Ladies’ night. Cheap drinks, loud music, and zero room for thinking about that asshole.” She linked her arm through mine and started walking, practically dragging me along. “You’re going to wear that tight black dress I got you, the one that makes boys trip over their own feet, and we’re going to dance until your legs hurt.” I tried to pull away, but she held on tighter. “What if I just cry the whole time?” “Then you cry,” she said with a small smile. “But at least you’ll look hot doing it. And I’ll be right beside you, ordering shots and cursing his name between every song.” A tiny, broken laugh slipped out of me. Only Kara could make me laugh when I felt this destroyed. We walked slowly across campus as the sky turned orange and pink. The same colors I loved painting. Now they just reminded me of the ruined canvas I’d left behind. “I really thought he was different,” I said quietly. “I know, babe.” Kara squeezed my arm. “And it sucks. It hurts like hell. But tonight? Tonight we’re starting the process of forgetting him. Even if it’s just for a few hours.” She glanced at me, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone who actually deserves all those beautiful paintings you make.” I shook my head. “I don’t want anyone else.” “Not tonight you don’t,” she agreed. “Tonight you just need to feel something other than pain. And if that something comes in the form of loud music and strong cocktails, then that’s what we’re doing.” Lucas had broken my heart today. Tonight, I was going to try and forget it existed.Emily’s POV He was standing on the porch when we opened the door, and for a moment I didn’t recognize him. The Julian I remembered had been sharp around the edges — always dressed too formally, jaw tight, eyes darting like he was constantly checking for exits. The man standing there now looked softer around the shoulders but heavier somehow, like he was carrying something invisible pressing him downward. His hair was streaked with more gray than I remembered, lines etched deep around his eyes, and when he saw me, he hesitated — his hand half-raised in a gesture that was halfway between a greeting and a retreat. “Emily,” he said, and his voice was lower, quieter than I recalled. “Thank you. For letting me come.” I didn’t step forward to invite him in immediately. I gripped the doorframe, my heart beating a fast, uneven rhythm against my ribs. This was my home. Maya was asleep in her crib down the hall. Alex stood close beside me — not blocking my way, but steady, his presence a quie
Emily’s POV The afternoon sunlight slanted across the kitchen table when I found it — tucked beneath the doormat, like someone had slipped it there quickly, almost nervously, and walked away. No stamp. No postmark. Just a plain cream envelope, sealed simply, and my name written across the front in handwriting I would have recognized anywhere, even after all these years. Even if I’d tried to forget it. Emily. The letters were neat, elegant, familiar in a way that made my breath catch. My hand hovered over it for a long moment before I picked it up. It felt lighter than it should have, carrying so much weight just in those few words. Julian. I carried it inside and set it on the wooden table, like it might burn me if I held it too long. Through the window, I could see Alex in the backyard, pushing Maya gently on the little swing he’d hung from one of the lower branches of the oak tree. Her laughter carried through the open window — bright, effortless, alive. It was a beautiful day.
Alex’s POVThe rain started just after midnight — soft at first, a gentle drumming against the bedroom roof, then steady, rhythmic, filling the quiet spaces between our breaths. It was the kind of night that usually felt like a lullaby, the kind that wrapped around the cottage and made everything feel tucked in and safe. I’d fallen asleep with one arm draped heavy over Emily’s waist, the window cracked open just enough to let the cool damp air brush our faces, and for a few hours, I’d slept deep and untroubled — something that used to feel impossible.Then Maya cried.It wasn’t her usual little whimper, the one that meant she was waking up hungry or just needed a finger to hold onto. This was different — sharp, distressed, a sound that shot straight through me and had me out of bed before I was even fully awake. My bare feet met the cool wooden floor, and I crossed the hallway to her room in three quick strides, my heart already beating faster than it should.The nightlight cast her r
Emily’s POVIt was a Sunday afternoon, sunlight filtering through the kitchen windows, when Kara set her mug down, looked at all of us sitting around the table, and smiled like she’d been keeping a wonderful secret.“Pierre and I have something to tell you,” she said, her hand resting over his. “We bought that little blue house three doors down. The one with the porch swing and the cherry tree in the yard. We’re moving in next month.”I stared at her for a heartbeat, then my throat tightened and I was on my feet, pulling her into a hug so tight she laughed. “You’re moving here? Near us?”“Right down the road,” Pierre said, grinning. “Walk over for coffee. Borrow sugar. Chase Maya around the garden whenever you need a break. We’re done with distance. We’re done with being far away.”Later, as we sat on the porch steps, watching Maya kick and coo on her blanket in the grass, I thought about what family really means. I’d grown up thinking family was something you were born into — names,
Alex’s POVIt started with a sunny Tuesday morning, nothing special — just Maya on the rug between us, kicking her legs and reaching for the mobile hanging above her, when suddenly she stopped. She planted both hands firmly on the floor, leaned forward, and with a little grunt that sounded equal parts effort and determination, she pulled herself upright.And there she was — sitting. All on her own. Wobbling slightly, her arms out for balance, her face breaking into the biggest, proudest grin I’d ever seen. Like she’d just conquered the whole world.Emily and I froze, both mid-sip of coffee, staring. Then we cheered — not polite clapping, not quiet praise — we whooped and clapped and laughed like she’d just won a gold medal. Maya beamed, so pleased with herself, and tipped gently to one side. I caught her before she hit the floor, scooping her up and kissing her chubby cheeks over and over.“You did it, Maya! You sat up! All by yourself!”Emily wiped happy tears from her eyes. “She’s g
Emily’s POVMy easel sits by the big window now, where the morning sun spills across the canvas and warms the whole room. For so long, painting was how I held things close — secrets, grief, hope I couldn’t speak aloud. But this new collection feels different. It’s not about holding on anymore. It’s about letting things show.I paint the small things — the way Maya’s tiny hands curl around my finger, Alex laughing as he lifts her high above his head, sunlight slanting through the kitchen window onto the wooden table, the oak tree in our backyard at golden hour. They aren’t grand or dramatic. They’re just… ours. And somehow, that makes them feel like the most important stories I’ve ever told.Pierre was the first one to see them. He stood in the middle of my studio, turning slowly from one canvas to the next, and when he looked at me his eyes were bright. “These are your most beautiful work yet, Em. Because you’re not hiding behind them anymore. You’re right there in every stroke.”Word
Emily’s POV Alex was carrying me through the pulsing club lights like I weighed nothing.One strong arm wrapped under my knees, the other supporting my back. My cheek pressed against his bare chest, still warm from where I’d collapsed into him moments ago. The bass vibrated through his body into m
Emily’s POVMy legs felt loose and heavy at the same time as I stumbled back toward the bar. The music pulsed louder in my ears, each beat slamming against my skull. Kara’s warning from moments ago still rang in my head, but I pushed it away. “Another one,” I told the bartender, slapping my hand
Emily’s POVMy body moved on its own, hips swaying harder than I ever had before, arms raised like I could push the pain out through my fingertips. The bass thumped inside my chest, matching the angry beat of my pulse. Sweat clung to my skin. The black dress rode up my thighs with every sharp turn
Emily’s POVI stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the girl looking back.The tight black dress Kara lent me hugged every curve, short enough to make me tug at the hem nervously. My eyes were still puffy from crying, but I’d managed to cover most of the redness with makeup. Lip glo







