Chapter Five

The city slowly appeared ahead of me. Cars moved along the streets, people walked beneath glowing signs, and life continued as if nothing had happened. But mine had stopped somewhere back on Havenwood Street.

Eventually, I admitted the truth to myself that running away wouldn't erase what happened. I had spent my entire life escaping from the things that hurt me, from the moments that made me feel powerless, from the people who left scars I pretended didn't exist.

And maybe, for once, I was tired of running. Maybe I didn't need another place to hide. I just have to look back at the one place I had spent years avoiding.

Before I realized it, my hands had already turned the steering wheel toward a familiar road. A few minutes later, I found myself pulling over in front of the one place I had promised myself I would never return to.

The Stone family's ancestral house stood exactly as I remembered it.

The old wooden porch. The towering trees surrounding the property. The familiar walls that had witnessed both my happiest and most painful moments.

Although years had passed, the memory of the day I left remained painfully clear, as if it had happened only yesterday.

I could still see my grandfather standing on the porch, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Worry and disappointment were written across his aged face, but all I felt back then was frustration. I thought he was trying to take away the one thing I wanted most.

"Elizabeth, don't marry him. Men from the Phoenix family can't be trusted. You'll end up miserable with that man. Believe me."

But I refused to listen. I was too blinded by ambition, too convinced that it was my only ticket out of the gutter.

"Whether you like it or not, I will marry him, Grandpa!" I spat at him out of anger.

"I see you've made your choice. Leave this house if that is what you want. But don't come crying back one day after you realize you made a huge mistake."

I walked away without looking back at the man who raised me, confident I made the right choice.

Now, standing in front of the house again, I could barely hold back my tears. The words I had refused to accept for years echoed endlessly in my mind.

Grandpa had been right all along.

The aging floorboards creaked beneath my weight as I struggled to unlock the door with trembling hands.

For a moment, I hesitated.

A part of me wondered if he had forgiven me. After all, I was the one who walked away. I was the one who chose someone else over the family who had always stood by my side. Maybe he believed I had abandoned him.

Taking a shaky breath, I pushed the door open.

The familiar warmth of the fireplace washed over me, and in the golden glow of the flames stood the person I had missed more than I wanted to admit.

My grandfather.

He looked older than I remembered. More wrinkles lined his face, and his hair had lost some of its color, but his eyes remained unchanged.

They were still kind and gentle. Still filled with the same love that had been there the day I left.

His voice broke through the silence.

"It took you six years to come back."

My lips trembled. Tears blurred my vision. "I made a mistake, Grandpa—"

"No one is born perfect," he interrupted softly. There was no anger in his voice. "Everyone makes mistakes. But you cannot spend your life punishing yourself for them."

The tears I had been holding back finally fell.

I crossed the room without hesitation and wrapped my arms around him, holding on as if I was afraid he would disappear.

And in that moment, I finally understood something I had forgotten.

No matter how far I wandered, no matter how many mistakes I made, there would always be a place waiting for me.

A place where I belonged.

Home.

Neither of us said anything. I simply held on to him, allowing myself to feel the comfort I had spent years denying myself. 

I expected grandfather to ask why I had returned after six years. But he didn't ask about my marriage. He didn't ask about my husband.

Instead, when I finally pulled away, he simply looked at me with gentleness and asked,

"How have you been?"

I lowered my gaze, trying to stop myself from bursting into a fresh wave of tears.

"I would be lying if I said I was good, Grandpa."

He reached out and caressed my hair, just like he used to when I was a child.

"I know you're tired," he whispered. "Go get some rest."

I followed him upstairs. When he opened the door to my old bedroom, my jaw dropped to the floor. Everything was exactly as I remembered.

Nothing had changed as if time had stopped the day I walked away.

"You kept all my things?"

He smiled gently.

"Of course I did."

The exhaustion I had been fighting finally caught up to me. I lay down on the edge of the bed. Grandfather pulled the blanket over me the way he used to when I was a little girl.

"Sleep, Elizabeth."

"Goodnight grandpa." I murmured.

I closed my eyes, finally allowing myself some rest.

The next morning, I woke to the sharp ringing on my nightstand.

Brrr... Brrr...

Still half-asleep, I blindly searched for the alarm, desperate to make the noise stop. My hand moved over the surface again and again until I realized there was no alarm. 

It was my phone.

I stared at the unfamiliar number glowing on the screen. I considered letting it ring. But something deep inside me urged me to answer and I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth?" The voice sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Who are you?" I frowned.

The man ignored my question. Instead he said, "if you want to know what happened that night, come to this address."