Chapter Nineteen

Eleanor. 

The sun is merciless.

It pours into my bedroom in heavy streaks of gold, spilling over the sheets and dragging me out of the fragile cocoon of sleep. I want to stay buried, hidden, but the vibration of my phone on the night stand refuses to let me.

I groan, rolling over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My body feels like it’s been run over by the night before by the stares, the whispers, the blinding flashes of the paparazzi.

I finally reach for the phone, squinting at the screen.

And freeze.

My face stares back at me. Everywhere. On every site. Every notification is the same, headlines screaming in bold letters.

“ELEANOR DONOVAN RETURNS FROM THE DEAD.”

“NEW YORK’S LOST SOCIALITE MAKES SHOCKING APPEARANCE.”

“WILL SHE RECONCILE WITH EX-HUSBAND JAKE DONOVAN?”

My breath catches in my throat.

I scroll further, hands trembling, and that’s when I see it. A picture, grainy, but unmistakable. Jake and I, captured last night in the shadowed hallway after he dragged me out of the gala. His hand gripping my arm, my body angled toward his, our faces far too close.

The caption below it makes my stomach twist:

“Caught Alone: Sparks fly Between the former love birds Jake and Eleanor?”

My heart pounds painfully.

No one knows what that moment really was, the desperation in his eyes, the roughness of his grip, the words that still echo in my head. I thought you were dead. The world doesn’t see the rawness of it, the storm tearing through me. They only see a story they can spin, a headline they can sell.

I toss the phone onto the bed, pressing my palms into my face. My temples throb.

“Mommy?”

The small, sleepy voice pulls me back. I drop my hands immediately, softening as I turn.

My children are stirring in their beds, tangled in their blankets, eyes still heavy with dreams. My heart aches at the sight of them the only anchors I’ve had in the storm of these past years.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” I whisper softly, brushing a strand of hair from my daughter’s forehead. She sighs, rolling over, drifting again.

I linger by their beds for a moment, just watching. Their innocence is a knife and a balm all at once. The world is already circling like vultures outside, waiting to tear me apart, but here, here, there’s peace.

I slip out quietly and make my way to the kitchen. The silence of the house wraps around me, but it’s thin, fragile. My phone buzzes again from the bedroom, relentless.

I pour myself a glass of water, my hand shaking slightly as I bring it to my lips. My reflection stares back at me from the window messy hair, tired eyes, a face that the whole city is suddenly obsessed with again.

After five years of being invisible, hiding in the shadows, I’m front page news.

And worse they’ve tied me to him. Jake.

My chest tightens, anger and longing battling inside me. They don’t know what he did. They don’t know that he broke me in ways no one ever saw. All they see is a tragic love story resurrected, ripe for gossip.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

I can already imagine the conversations happening across the city. Old friends whispering over brunch. Strangers on the subway clutching tabloids. Online forums dissecting my every move. Will she forgive him? Will she go back?

The answer should be simple. No. Never.

But the problem is, I can still feel his grip on my arm from last night, the tremor in his voice when he said he thought I was gone. The way his eyes looked at me like I was both a ghost and a lifeline.

I hate that it lingers. I hate that a part of me is still unraveling at the memory.

The glass slips from my fingers into the sink with a sharp clatter, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I inhale deeply, steadying myself. No. I won’t let them drag me back into his orbit. Not again.

I’ve built a life here, however quiet, however fragile. I’ve raised my children. I’ve survived. I won’t let his presence or the media circus tear that away.

My phone buzzes again, louder this time, echoing from the bedroom. I know I’ll have to face it sooner or later the texts, the calls, the endless questions. But not right now.

Right now, I need air. I need calm. I need to remember who I am without Jake Donovan’s shadow looming over me.

I step back into the bedroom, the headlines still glaring from my phone screen. For a moment, I almost smash it against the wall.

Instead, I crawl back into bed, curling up beside my children, pulling them close. Their warmth seeps into me, steadying me.

The world may be screaming my name again, but here, in this quiet room, I’m just theirs. Just Mom.

I press a kiss to my son’s temple, whispering into the soft darkness. “No matter what they say, I’ll protect you. Always.”

The storm is coming I can feel it in my bones.

But tonight, as my children sleep peacefully beside me, I let myself believe I can withstand it.