Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past

Elise's POV

The cemetery was colder than I remembered.

Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked the worn path, my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets. Breath misted in front of me, disappearing into the gray morning like the life I used to have.

I stopped in front of the tombstone, simple and unadorned, just the way they would've wanted.

Elijah Ford. Ruth Ford.

No titles. No grand inscriptions. Just their names, carved into stone, proof they once lived—and were taken.

I knelt down and brushed away the dead leaves. My fingers trembled as they touched the cold marble.

“Dad, Mom..." My voice cracked on the words. "I'm sorry."

The accident had stolen them from me.

A faulty brake line, they said. A tragic mistake.

I traced the rough carving of their names with my fingertips, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That's what they told me," I said, the words tasting hollow. "An accident. Like the universe just decided to take you away."

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my throat.

"But even back then... even when I was just a scared little girl... it didn't make sense. None of it did."

The stone was cold under my hand, grounding me as the memories flooded back—the hurried whispers of adults, the uneasy glances they thought I was too young to notice.

"I heard them talking when they thought I wasn't listening," I continued. "How careful everyone was around me. How no one ever looked me straight in the eye when they said it was an accident."

I pressed my forehead lightly against the stone, shutting my eyes against the sting.

"I wanted to believe it. I needed to. Because the other possibility..." My throat tightened. "The idea that someone could've taken you away on purpose? That someone could hate you enough to—"

I broke off, the sentence too ugly to finish.

 The silence that followed felt heavier than the cold.

"But I'm not a child anymore," I whispered fiercely. "And I'm done pretending."

I straightened, brushing my sleeve across my damp cheeks.

"I don't know who did it. Not yet. But I'll find out. I'll find out everything."

A gust of wind tugged at my coat, but I barely noticed. My gaze was fixed on the names etched into stone, a vow taking root in my chest.

"I couldn't protect myself the way you wanted," I whispered. "I let the world break me. I let them break me."

A tear slipped down before I could stop it. I swiped it away angrily.

"I'll get it together," I said, firmer now. "I'll make a name for myself. I'll stop living like some substitute for someone else's broken promises. I'll build something that's mine."

"I'll make you proud," I promised, my voice shaking but steady enough to carry the weight of my vow. "Not by chasing someone else's dream. Not by standing in for someone else."

I brushed my fingertips over the cold stone, grounding myself.

"I gave so much of myself," I said quietly. "I stood by him. I believed in him. I thought... if I stayed, if I loved enough, I would belong."

The ache in my chest deepened, but I didn't turn away.

"He treated me like a stand-in for someone he couldn't even tell the world he was together with," I whispered. "And I let him."

My throat tightened, but I forced the words out.

"Not anymore."

The wind tugged at my hair, carrying the promise into the stillness.

"I'm not angry at the dreams they built," I said, softer now. "I'm not angry at what they wanted to protect. I understand that. I respect it."

I brushed my fingertips over the cold stone, the weight of everything settling quietly around me.

"They gave me a home when they didn't have to," I continued, my voice threading through the silence. "They gave me chances I might have never had. And for that, I'll always be grateful."

I smiled faintly, though it barely touched the heaviness in my chest.

"But gratitude doesn't mean I have to lose myself."

I pressed my hand flat against the grave, letting the cold ground me, steady me.

"I let my world orbit around him," I whispered. "I stayed, even when it hurt. I stayed because I thought... maybe that's what love was supposed to look like."

The bitterness crept in, sharp and undeniable.

"But he—" I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "He made me feel like I was just a stand-in. A safe choice. Someone who could be there while he chased after ghosts he couldn't even name."

My fingers curled into the stone, desperate for something solid to hold onto.

"I'm thankful for everything the Laurents gave me," I said, breathing in the cold air. "But Damon... he did me dirty."

The truth, ugly and honest, hung between me and the stone.

"I'm not a placeholder," I said, my voice hardening. "I'm not a substitute. I deserve to be seen. To be chosen."

I let the vow settle deep into my bones, carving out space inside me where sorrow used to live.

"And I will be," I whispered, more to myself than to the wind. "I will be."

The words came rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep inside me.

"I'll build something of my own," I whispered. "Not to tear anything down. But because I owe it to you. And to myself."

The sky above stretched wide and endless, and for the first time in a long while, it didn't feel suffocating. It felt full of possibility.

"I love you," I said, tears prickling behind my eyes. "I'll make a life that would make you proud. A life where I don't have to beg to be enough."

I stood, my fingers trailing down the stone one last time.

"No more chasing someone who never chose me," I said. "No more living in someone else's shadow. From now on... I'm living for me."

I straightened up, brushing the dirt from my knees. The graves blurred for a second as my vision stung, but I refused to cry—not here, not again.

They deserved better than tears. They deserved action.

Turning away, I sucked in a deep breath—and froze.

A voice drifted from behind me, familiar enough to slice through the fog of years.

"So there you are, crying again."

I spun around. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Someone stood at the edge of the trees, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

I knew that voice. That teasing, maddening voice.

"Still the same old Crybaby," he said, tilting his head, the nickname punching straight into my gut.

For a moment, I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe.

I hadn't heard that name in years. No one dared call me that anymore. No one would dare—except one person.

"Adrian?"

His name fell from my lips before I could stop it, a ghost from a part of my life I thought I'd buried along with everything else.