Chapter 124

Lila’s POV

By the time we left my mother’s shop and returned home that evening, the sky had already begun to dim, streaked with shades of violet and burnt orange that melted into the horizon. The little town felt quieter than usual, or maybe it was just me.

My mind was too loud, drowning out the sounds of neighbors closing up their shops, children calling to one another as they were called in for supper, the rhythmic chirp of crickets already beginning to stir in the hedges.

My body felt heavier as we drove quietly towards the house. It carried the exhaustion of the day, but my heart carried something far heavier, the weight of everything that had unfolded in just one day. Daniel’s stunned silence when I confessed Drew was the father of my child. The rumors at the shop that clung to me like smoke. And, hovering above it all, Drew’s voice from last night, echoing relentlessly in my head.

I pressed a hand to my chest, almost as if I could push the words back down where they belonged, in the shadows, far away from my fragile peace. But it was useless. They kept surfacing, clawing, reminding me that my life, which had felt steady for just a moment, was now spinning again.

When I reached the house and stepped onto the porch, the familiar creak of the wooden steps felt almost grounding. I went inside quickly, because I did want her to start fussing and worrying over me but before I could reach my room she was already inside and called out to me. Her eyes were soft, but there was a depth in them I had not seen earlier in the day, concern, quiet but heavy.

“Hey baby, can we talk?” she said gently.

I stood there for a while contemplating if I was ready for this decision, but saying no would only make her more worried so I said yes.

She studied me for a moment before patting the space on the couch beside her. “Come. Sit with me.”

I hesitated for half a heartbeat, knowing what was coming, then lowered myself into the spot beside her. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender detergent, a scent that instantly tugged at childhood memories of home.

Her hand reached over and covered mine. Warm and steady. “Lila,” she said softly, “how are you really feeling?”

The word “really” shaked up something in me. I opened my mouth, but no easy answer came out. Instead, my throat tightened. I looked down at my lap, at the faint roundness of my stomach beneath the loose sweater I wore, and let out a slow, shaky breath.

“Tired,” I finally admitted. “Confused. I don’t even know how to put it all into words, Mom. It feels like my whole life flipped on its head in one day. One moment I was just trying to get through each morning without breaking, and now…” My voice trailed off.

“Now?” she prompted gently.

I swallowed. “Now Daniel… he told me he has feelings for me. He said he has been holding back, waiting, just trying to be my friend first. And then there is Drew.” His name cracked something inside me, but I forced myself to continue. “Drew, who barges in, disrupts everything, throws me off balance every time, and still…still…he claims he loves me. Both of them, mom in different ways are both saying they love me. And I do not know what to make of any of it.”

Her expression did not shift much, but her thumb rubbed slow circles against my hand. “Tell me what it feels like to you,” she said. “Not what it looks like from the outside. What does it feel like, here?” She tapped gently over my heart.

I pressed my palm against my chest again, the way I had earlier on the street. My voice was small, almost childlike. “It feels… like chaos. Like I am being pulled in two directions. Daniel, he feels safe. He is calm, steady, someone I know won’t ever walk away, someone who looks at me and does not see shame or baggage. Being with him feels like breathing after holding my breath too long.”

“And Drew?” my mother asked carefully.

I closed my eyes. The word came out like a confession. “Drew feels like fire. Fierce, consuming and impossible to ignore. He makes me feel seen in a way that is terrifying because I do not know if it’s real or if it will burn me again. He unsettles me, Mom. But he also… stirs something I can not explain.”

My mother sighed, a long, knowing sound, and set the folded shirt aside. “My daughter,” she murmured, “you are standing at a crossroads, and both roads are loud right now. You will not find peace trying to measure who looks better on paper or who makes more sense to your mind. You must quiet all the noise and ask yourself what your heart is saying.”

I looked at her, startled. “So you think I should choose Drew?”

She shook her head immediately. “I did not say that and I will not decide for you. This is not about choosing who sounds good or who feels safe at the moment. This is about listening deeply enough to know what your heart truly wants, not what your fears or your guilt are whispering.”

The words lingered in the air, and for a long time, neither of us spoke. I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as her words wove themselves into me.

“What if my heart does not even know what it wants?” I asked finally, my voice raw.

“Then you wait,” she said simply. “You do not rush to fix what only time can make clear. Don’t be afraid of not knowing yet. Also who said you had to choose only between these two. Just listen to your heart and know what you want ”

Her calm was a balm, and for the first time all day, I felt a small piece of the storm inside me ease.

She smiled then, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear the way she used to when I was a child. “And do not forget,” she added lightly, “you do not have to carry all of this alone. You still have me. Always.”

That brought the smallest smile to my face, shaky but real. “I know.”

Her smile widened as she patted my hand. “Good. Now come, enough of these heavy things for tonight. Let us go see what we can whip up for dinner before your father storms in complaining he can smell nothing from the kitchen yet.”

A laugh slipped out of me, weak but genuine. I stood with her, and together we moved toward the kitchen, the familiar clatter of pots and the hum of evening settling around us like a blanket.

For a moment, it felt almost normal.

But as I reached for the knife to chop onions, the thought pierced me again, sharp and insistent.

Two men. Two confessions. Two paths.

And I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

No matter how much my mother urged me to wait, no matter how much I wanted to push it aside, my heart was already leaning somewhere.

The question that terrified me was not who, but whether I had the courage to admit it, even to myself.