Chapter 1
Daniel returns tomorrow.
Every time that thought crosses my mind, my soul is thrown into turmoil, and my chest tightens with an unbearable weight. For the past few days, I have been a reluctant witness to the hysterical, frantic preparations and sheer excitement that Elizabeth, my stepmother, has been living through and forcing the rest of us to endure right along with her.
And how could she not rejoice? Her son, absent from her sight for three whole years, is finally about to step over the threshold of this house.
She has turned the entire house completely upside down over our heads. She prepared his room, meticulously arranging every tiny detail of the bed and blankets to perfectly suit his taste and that of his alleged fiancée. For two consecutive nights, she hasn't stopped baking every conceivable kind of pastry and baked good he might ever crave.
Faced with all this chaos, I couldn't bear to stay in that house for a single minute longer. I quickly packed my bags and made my departure, completely ignoring the fierce objections of my father. He had stopped me on my way out, eyeing me with a look heavy with bewilderment and reproach, telling me that I was rushing into this and shouldn't have left the house in such a manner, especially at this exact moment. Even Elizabeth herself begged me to stay, at least until Daniel arrived, so we could all gather around one table as a family.
But I refused with stubborn insistence, unable to hide the coldness and sheer aversion in my voice toward her.
The mere thought of living under the same roof as Daniel, of catching glimpses of him in the hallways, and listening to his detestable voice stirred a deep revulsion within my soul, making my breath catch in tight, suffocating gasps. Yet, despite my cold exterior, I didn't miss the fleeting shadow of sadness that washed over Elizabeth's face.
I knew she could feel the sheer depth of the wall I had built between us like a fortress,she knew my soul could not accept her and could not stomach the mere mention of her son. Yet, she chose silence and ignored it, preferring not to intervene or rain questions upon me that I would never have a satisfying answer for anyway. In truth, I didn't harbor hatred for Elizabeth herself. Rather, I was utterly helpless to understand the cruel, ironic contrast between her and her son. I often wondered in secret: how could a woman overflowing with such goodness and kindness give birth to a creature that inspires nothing but pure loathing?
"Aren't you going to work today?"
Rebecca's voice broke my tangled web of thoughts. She stood before the wardrobe, lifting clothes and hanging them up, while I was on my knees on the floor in front of a large box, emptying its contents and arranging the items into drawers.
I shook my head in denial, answering without lifting my eyes from the pile of books in my hands. "No... I took today off, since Mr. Henry has a doctor's appointment."
She closed the wardrobe door and turned to me, placing her hand on her hip with a remorseful expression. "I hope he's doing well... If only he would just consider retiring and live out the rest of his days with a peaceful mind."
"I don't think he will ever think about retiring," I replied with absolute certainty. For a year now, I have shared his workload, and I have witnessed the sheer depth of his passion for his job. He isn't chasing money; rather, he has made his work his entire life. Perhaps he won't lay down his tools until death finally claims him.
She nodded understandingly, then walked toward the large mirror fixed next to the window, fixing her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers.
"In any case, we have to stop by the tailor tomorrow to pick up our dresses. I'll pass by your place after the workday ends."
I nodded obediently and began opening another box. Tomorrow is Emma’s wedding, and since we are to be her bridesmaids alongside four other girls, we preferred to have our dresses tailored by hand rather than buying them ready-made.
Rebecca sighed, tossing her blonde locks backward. "My mind can barely grasp that Emma is truly leaving us. The town will feel so empty after she goes."
My features softened slightly into sadness, and I found myself mindlessly turning a ceramic cup between my palms. Even though I had only met Emma a year ago, she was the type of person whom God had blessed with innate kindness and a cheerful personality. It made her beloved wherever she went, and she quickly became my friend despite our contrasting natures. Now she is to be wed to her beloved, and she will simply depart, leaving behind a void that can never be filled.
"By the way..." Rebecca continued, cutting through my distraction while beginning to braid her hair.
"What is it?" I placed the cup back in its spot on the desk. That cup was the very first gift I had received from Emma on my birthday, and I treasured it deeply.
"Ethan is back. Did you know?"
At the mere mention of that name, my hand froze mid-air, and my heart began to pound violently inside my chest. The sudden impact of his name stirred emotions that had been dormant for years. A cold shiver ran through my body, but I gathered my shattered composure and said, struggling to hide the tremor in my voice:
"N... No, I had no idea. How did you find out?"
I lowered my head toward the ground, pretending to be indifferent and detached from his mention, terrified that Rebecca might hear my heartbeat, which had begun to sound like the drums of war.
Panic piled upon panic,first Daniel's return, and now Ethan's! Fate was simply gathering all my executioners onto a single guillotine to chop away whatever sanity I had left.
"Noah told me. He mentioned he caught a glimpse of him in the courtyard of their old house," she replied, stepping closer to the mirror to check the symmetry of her braid.
I tightened my grip on the book in my hands until my nails almost dug into it. My mind began to spin in a loud, chaotic whirlpool of endless questions, and I was instantly overcome by the exact emotions that used to take over my heart whenever our eyes met by chance. Before Rebecca could elaborate further, the ring of the doorbell pierced the silence of the house. I stood up quickly, brushing the dust off my hands.
"That's probably the technician I agreed with to install the air conditioner."
I made a move to go downstairs and open the door, but Rebecca stepped ahead of me with quick strides. "I'll go down and open it," she said, and before I could even answer, she had rushed downstairs. I knelt back down on the floor in front of the last box.
I extended my hand to empty its contents, and my fingertips brushed against the wooden surface of a small brown box. It was faded, adorned with engravings of entwined flowers and roses, and in its center sat a small lock, heavily corroded by rust.
I had absolutely no memory of placing this box among my belongings from my old room; it was highly likely that Rebecca was the one who gathered it while she was with me at my father's house to help me move. I pulled the box out and held it between my hands, then lifted it slightly close to my ear and shook it gently, hoping to discern what lay inside. But nothing reached my ears except a rustling sound, like the shuffling of dry leaves moving in its hollow interior. I turned it over, and there was a small key taped to the bottom with a piece of adhesive tape that had turned a brittle yellow.
I peeled the tape off, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the lid.
At that exact moment, I froze completely. I stared blankly at its contents in profound shock, as though a blow had been dealt straight to my chest,a blow that didn't spill my blood, but spilled all the denial I had lived on for years. Inside lay a collection of photographs, bundles of handwritten letters, and withered rose petals whose edges had decayed into dust.
I had forgotten... I had completely forgotten that I still kept these ghosts in my possession, and that I never once had the courage to burn them and scatter them to the wind.
With trembling hands, I extended my fingers and picked up one of the pictures. It was a photo of me, looking timidly happy, standing in the spacious courtyard facing Buckingham Palace in London. Next to me stood that guard, mounted upon his black horse. I turned the picture over and found the date and time written on the back.
Nine years have passed since that day... The day we snuck out together and skipped school without anyone knowing, taking the train toward London with the sheer recklessness of adolescence. I still remember the details of that day, and the echo of his loud laughter still rings in my ears as he urged me to stand still so he could take the photo.
With frozen features, I brushed the picture aside and picked up another, and my expression tightened as I stared at it. The photo had been taken in front of a mirror in some room. In it, I was wearing a light camisole with thin straps at the shoulders, which I had deliberately pulled down a bit, revealing in a childish rebellion a small tattoo resting right above my chest. Next to me, he stood shirtless, smiling broadly to reveal the identical tattoo on his right flank, holding the camera to immortalize the scene.
There was no date written on the back, and I couldn't recall the exact timing of that day. However, we looked so blissfully happy with those marks etched onto our bodies, and how easily we had believed that with those tattoos, we were binding our two souls for all eternity.
I stared at the features of my face in the photo for a long time, realizing with bitterness and regret that I no longer resemble that girl standing there in any way. That was a reckless teenager, blinded by passion from seeing the cliff she was standing on the precipice of back then. Yet, despite everything, I couldn't deny that I looked incredibly happy in it.
I sighed and returned the picture to the inside of the box, then hesitated for a moment before extending my hand to pick up one of the folded, crumpled letters. I unfolded it to read what was written inside.
"The coach told me today that I need to stop daydreaming during practice. I didn't tell him that I was just trying to understand how you could spend three whole hours playing the exact same musical piece over and over again. I passed by the music hall yesterday as I was leaving the pool, and I heard a part of it. Then I heard it again when I came back. And again when you were just about to leave. I don't know if this is called practice or torture. But you seem to enjoy it, and that's all that matters to me."
I can't quite comprehend the emotions swirling within me as I read the letter, except that his words simply reminded me of the sheer amount of agony I used to inflict upon myself just to appear perfect in his eyes.
I crumpled the letter in my hand and threw it back into its place inside the box. Just as I was about to pull out another letter, the room door burst open suddenly. I quickly shoved the contents back into their hiding place and pushed the box under the bed before Rebecca fully appeared from behind the door.
"Lexi, the technician wants you downstairs to show him exactly where you want the air conditioner installed," she said, panting slightly from the effort of climbing the stairs. I nodded my head in response.
"Alright... I'm coming." Without glancing back at the box, I went downstairs with her.
After the technician finished his work and left, Rebecca followed shortly after we drank some tea and talked about the wedding, leaving me alone in the house. The day was still long, so I preferred to go out for a walk near the stone bridge that connects the two banks of the town. I stood resting my back against its railing, watching a school of small fish and some ducks swimming in the clear water. Then, I pulled some bread crumbs from my bag and began scattering them toward the water while losing myself in a sea of thoughts.
I had perfected the role of a normal, well-adjusted girl. Here I am now, owning an independent house, having a respectable job, and a good family in everyone's eyes... Yet, I feel a massive, desolate emptiness. I feel like an alien in my own home, walking without a destination. Despite moving to this place, which should have been enough to grant me a sense of safety and peace of mind, the silence within its walls made me realize that, despite everything, I had grown accustomed to the chaos of my father's house, the mess of my little brother, and even the presence of my stepmother, even if I didn't favor her.
But deep down, I saw this move as a necessary step. Putting the matter of Daniel aside, I had reached twenty-five years of age, and the idea of residing under my father's wing at this age kept me up at night, making me feel like a heavy burden on him. Sometimes, a subtle feeling crept up on me that my presence in the house caused some form of embarrassment or discomfort for my stepmother, even though Elizabeth never showed it. In fact, she treated me with kindness as if I were her own daughter ever since she married my father, even though I always met her benevolence with coldness. Yet, I knew Elizabeth would never tell me outright that it was time for me to be independent or leave. It was just a lingering haunting thought,that I formed a burden on others, even if their lips never spoke it.
The sudden ringing of my phone cut off the flow of my thoughts. I pulled it from my bag, assuming the sender was Rebecca, but absolute shock froze my fingers the moment my eyes fell upon the sender's name.
How did he get my number? And what does he want from me?
I hesitated for a moment to open the message, and a fierce urge took over me to ignore it and delete it. But the phone vibrated a second time, announcing the arrival of another message from the same number. At that, curiosity gripped me, and I pressed the screen, opening the chat to read the brief words.
"I missed you, we're meeting soon." Followed by a red heart and a provocative winking emoji.
I bit down on my lip with such intense fury that I could taste blood, and a wave of deep revulsion and anger washed over me. I rested my head between my hands, struggling to draw my breath with great difficulty. I realized with pure terror that all my hiding places were nothing but an illusion, and that the past never dies,it always returns to devour its survivors.
