One Year After Novels & Stories

Selene's POV The wheels of the plane touched down with a quiet thunder, the way old ghosts sometimes return silent at first, then loud enough to shake you. One year One year since I left New York. One year since I left the city I once called home. And now, here I was again.

Fifty-one years of the second life. She writes: The fiftieth was the marker. The fifty-first is the continuation. This is what life after the marker feels like: the same as life before the marker, which is exactly correct. The bowl made correctly, made again. The day after the significant number is not diminished by the number's passing — it is simply the next day, made by a person who has fifty-one years of making inside her.

Doug called from behind. “Uh, nah, I’m good. You go chat,” I said. His hand landed on my back. Warm, steady. I felt it deep in my chest. After months alone, it was like a lifeline. “So,” Doug said, “it’s been almost a year since Carla left. You started dating yet? Plenty of folks here who’d be interested.” I glanced around. Couples everywhere. “Not yet. Got my own crap to sort first.” Doug shrugged. “Fair enough.”

**Chapter 31: Rising Tension** **One Year Later** The penthouse had transformed. What was once a sleek, minimalist space now echoed with the joyful chaos of three active one-year-olds. The triplets were no longer tiny bundles—they were walking (somewhat), babbling, and exploring every corner with relentless curiosity.

One Year Later. It's been one year, and still no trace of her. I tried moving on, but everything reminded me of her. At first, I had tried to forget her, but I quickly realized that it was impossible. In such a short time, she had become my everything. My reason to live. So without her, my world had gone dark, nearly unbearable to live in. So I found ways to cope, one of the biggest being our photos together. I had gone to the store and had them printed and placed throughout my office and condo. It helped me feel closer to her. Whenever I would look at the photos, it reminded me of all the good times we shared. It gave me hope that perhaps I would find her again.

Everyone had one thing or the other to think about, and the stress was evident in their behaviours. Surprisingly, on getting to senior year, all of our nerves got calm. It was really crazy because one would think senior year was the time when the whole essence of schooling would become full-blown to every student. On the contrary, senior year was actually fun for me in particular, I got to sit, take a step back and enjoy the experience of schooling. Even though, the whole Clenk issue almost spoiled it all, I was happy I was in a good spot in my life. Clenk's attempt to have his way with me wasn't enough to get me in a pity potty mood. It did for a while but that was it. He couldn't get anymo

I asked. Her hand tightened slightly against the blanket. “That’s not what matters,” she said. “It matters to me.” Another pause. “Julian—” “How long?” I repeated. This time— She didn’t deflect. “A year.” The word landed quietly. But it hit harder than anything else today. “A year?” I echoed. She nodded once. “I found out after…” she paused. Didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. After the first pregnancy. After the loss. My chest tightened.

“After a year. Then… what?” That was the question that kept me awake at night. The contract was thorough about that first year, what I could and couldn’t do, where I could and couldn’t go. “The silence clause,” I murmured. “I can’t discuss the arrangement with anyone in my family. Can’t speak to the media. Can’t write about it, post about it, or even write a journal about it in detail.” “Can he enforce that?” “He’s Eden Cross. He can enforce anything he wants.”

I told him I was engaged, that I had a new life now, and that he should stop forcing Kael to waste his time here. But even after that call, Kael remained outside the gates for another month, sometimes only to catch a glimpse of me through the car window. The first person to lose patience was Kane.

One year after a woman stood at a hospital entrance, a man turned toward her and said her name, as if it meant something. The year is complete. What came from it is not finished. It is simply, finally, fully underway.