CHAPTER 7

Serena's POV

The echo of the gates clanging could still be heard in the distance, even after the sound had stopped. I stood where I was and stared at the curtain as if his shadow were going to crawl back through it. My chest felt empty, like the space he had once filled with fear had not yet learned how to breathe. Every heartbeat sounded too loud inside me.

I turned slowly, expecting my knees to give way. The marble floor sparkled under the morning light, clean and cold, a mirror to everything inside me that had broken. I went upstairs because my legs knew how to do it, not because I was strong enough to do it. The world blurred in and out of focus until I heard a soft click as the door to my room shut behind me.

For a moment, I did nothing but stand there with my back against the wood, the silence too wide. Then my body gave up pretending. I slid down to the floor and wrapped my arms around my legs, my breath breaking into tiny pieces. I hadn’t cried since I signed the divorce papers or when Vanessa sat in my place. But now, in a safe place, the tears came like a flood that had been waiting years to be let out.

They fell fast, hot and soundless at first, then they got heavier until the sound filled the space. I buried my face against my arms, the taste of salt sharp on my lips. I could hear all the things he had said to me over and over: You’ll regret choosing them over me.

The more I cried, the lighter my chest felt and the heavier my heart became. I hated that a part of me still trembled at his voice, that my mind still wanted to believe I had done something wrong. The guilt was like a ghost that wouldn't go away.

A soft knock broke the rhythm of my sobs. “Serena are you okay?” Leo’s voice, low and careful, as if one wrong note could break me apart completely.

I used the back of my hand to wipe my face. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice small and shaky.

The door creaked open anyway. Leo leaned against the frame and smiled slightly. “You really think I’m going to believe that?”

I tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “You’re supposed to be downstairs celebrating my freedom.”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Freedom doesn’t mean you don’t get hurt sometimes.” He got down on his knees next to me, and his lively energy turned into calm care. “Hey,” he said in a whisper, stroking a hair out of my face, "you're safe now, okay?"

The words made my throat tighten again. I looked down at my hands, and saw that they were still shaking a little. It’s just—”

“Just what?”

“I feel guilty for being scared. I feel like I should be stronger now.

Leo shook his head. “Being strong doesn't mean you can never break. It means to fall down and then get back up.” He offered me a tissue, then another when the first one fell apart in my hand. “Besides, I’d worry if you didn’t cry. You’d explode eventually and probably throw something expensive at me.”

I managed a small laugh through the tears. "That sounds accurate.”

“See? Progress.” He sat beside me on the floor, back against the wall, with our knees drawn up like we were kids hiding from the world. “You know, you used to cry like this when you hurt your knees when you were a kid. Then you’d glare at me until I pretended to fall too so we could both cry together.”

I blinked, the memory flooding back but partly. “I did?”

He nodded. “I still have a picture of it. Hold on.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and swiped through photos until one filled the screen. There were two small children, a boy and a girl with messy hair and red-eyed, sitting in the dirt. The girl clutched onto a tiny broken doll, while the boy pretended his leg hurt. I laughed softly through a sniffle.

"Is that you and me?"

“Yep. Proof that you’ve been dramatic since birth.”

I gave him a light push on the shoulder. "You're awful at making people feel better."

“Maybe, but I'm the only one who can.” His smile warmed the room. “Here.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, worn photo album. “Thought you might want to remember things that aren’t painful.”

I hesitated, fingers hovering above the cover. "I'm not sure I can."

“Then let me remember for you.” He opened it himself, sitting cross-legged, patting the floor beside him. “Come on, Princess.”

I joined him, pulling my knees under me. The album smelled faintly of old paper and rain. On the first page was a family photo, the four of them, minus me, standing in front of the estate. The next page caught my attention: it was a picture of a birthday cake with seven uneven candles and my name written in sloppy frosting on it.

“You kept this?” I asked.

Leo’s tone softened. “Nathan found it in storage years ago. We didn’t know where you were, but we couldn’t throw it away.”

My eyes stung again, but this time not from sadness. “I’m glad you guys didn't forget me.”

“Forget you?” He laughed quietly. “Serena, half my childhood stories are all about you. I once tried to build a treehouse just because you said you liked clouds.”

I could almost picture the treehouse, the laughing, and the feeling that life used to be colorful. My heart ached with both loss and wonder.

Leo turned to another page, showing our parents. Father looked younger, smiling proudly, his hand resting on Mother’s shoulder. She had the same soft eyes I saw in my own reflection. “They look happy,” I murmured.

“They were,” he said. “Before everything turned to smoke.”

The silence that followed was gentle, not heavy. I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away. “I keep thinking someone will tell me I don’t belong here,” I whispered.

Leo tilted his head until it rested lightly against mine. “That person would have to get through us first.” His tone stayed light but sure. “You’re home now, Serena. For good.”

The words cut deep into my heart and wrapped around the broken parts like soft bandages. For a moment, I closed my eyes and breathed in the safety that had seemed impossible before.

Leo was still turning the leaves and humming under his breath when I opened them. His eyes got narrow as his thumb stopped in the middle. “Huh,” he murmured. “That’s strange.”

“What is?”

“This picture—it shouldn’t be here.” He turned the album toward me.

The photo showed our father standing beside a woman with dark hair and sharp eyes. She was smiling at him, the kind of smile that suggested more than just being nice. Something in my chest froze. The shape of her face, the curve of her lips, I’d seen them before.

My fingers tightened around the album edge. “Leo,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “That woman… Do you know who she is?”

He made a face and slowly shook his head. "No. The photo was taken before you disappeared. Why?”

My throat felt dry all of a sudden as I swallowed hard. Because I did know her. I had seen her across the table for many years, smiling as she poured tea in another house, calling herself Damian’s guest.

It was Vanessa’s mother.

The room tilted for a moment, the air thinned around me. My hands went cold even as the sunlight poured in warm through the windows. Then I realized the past wasn’t done revealing itself.