Listen to Stronger by Kelly Clarkson.

Three years later.

THREE YEARS LATER

Being a newly independent adult was hard. I mean, really hard.

I fumbled with the apron tied around my waist, trying to untangle it without sending my heart into full-on panic mode. A glance at my phone told me the meeting had started five minutes ago. Five minutes! That might not seem like a big deal to most, but in my world, five minutes was enough to have Mrs. Carter breathe fire down my neck. And that was a sound I could do without.

The locker room was empty except for me, which, for some reason, felt even more isolating. I tugged at the apron again, the white cotton now stained with chili sauce. I'd tried scrubbing it out with bleach while cleaning a guest room, but now it just had this suspiciously pink-ish stain right at the midline. I grabbed my black tote bag, which probably had a forgotten granola bar at the bottom and sprinted toward the door.

I nearly collided with Mr. Frederick, the facility manager, as I shot down the hallway. He flashed me a warm smile, his graying hair perfectly in place, like he had all the time in the world. "Careful there, Chloe," he said, as though I weren't already breaking every speed limit known to humankind.

"Yep, totally careful," I muttered under my breath, my heart racing. At 25, I still wasn't punctual for anything. If being an adult had taught me anything, it was that I wasn't exactly good at it. Mrs. Carter had every reason to fire me—I'd already hit my limit of "you're late again" reprimands, plus a few too many complaints from guests about my cleaning skills. Oh, and that time I broke some guy's nose for groping me while I was cleaning his room. Or the time I decided to "rest my eyes" in an empty guest room and got caught sleeping on the job. When the manager asked why I was horizontal, I'd had to claim I'd fainted. I was pretty sure she didn't buy it, but she didn't fire me. Yet.

By the time I reached the makeshift meeting room, my chest was pounding, my face hot, and I was praying that Mrs. Carter wouldn't notice the faint whiff of bleach and chili sauce still lingering around me.

I shoved open the double doors with a little more force than necessary, making an entrance that could've rivaled a Broadway show. Every head in the room snapped toward me. A couple of people shot me looks that were pure judgment, while a few others looked vaguely annoyed at the interruption.

I gave them a sheepish grin, the kind that says, "Yep, I'm late, but look how charming I am, so maybe you'll forgive me?" And then I slipped into an empty spot next to Malva and Donia, who greeted me with a mix of laughter and judgmental side-eyes.

"Glad you could join the party," Malva added with a wink, her thick accent making the sarcasm sound almost affectionate.

I wiped my sweaty palms against my cleaning uniform and tried to calm my thumping heart. "I swear, one day I'll be on time," I muttered, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Sure," Donia scoffed. "And pigs will fly."

I flashed them a grin and tuned into Mrs. Carter, who was now giving her usual speech about guest satisfaction and professionalism.

"We can't have our guests complaining about our staff..." Mrs. Carter was saying, her voice sharp and unyielding, just like her pantsuit, which was the kind of bright blue that screamed "I have authority" and "I will make you regret your life choices."

I nodded like I was listening, but Donia whispered to me, her voice full of exaggerated drama. "The lady whose room I cleaned today told me my cheap perfume was choking her." She threw her hands up in mock exasperation. "Like I care what she thinks."

I rolled my eyes. "Some people just have too much time on their hands," I whispered back.

Malva leaned in. "Mine said my uniform was too short and accused me of trying to seduce her husband. You should've seen the husband." She gagged for effect.

I couldn't help it. A laugh burst out of me before I could rein it in. I slapped a hand over my mouth, but the damage was done. The room went silent, and all eyes were on me. Mrs. Carter, the queen of passive-aggressive glares, narrowed her eyes like I had just insulted her personally.

"Did something I just say amuse you, Chloe?" she snapped, her gaze as cold as the conference room air conditioning.

I swallowed hard, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. "Uh, sorry," I mumbled, my voice tight, my smile more strained than genuine.

She didn't say another word, but I could feel the weight of her gaze boring into me as she turned back to her lecture. I eyed her blue pantsuit—the shade so perfectly matched to her dark skin that it almost looked like she'd come straight from a fashion magazine. Mrs. Carter was the type of woman who never seemed to break a sweat. She had probably been here longer than I'd been alive, and from what I heard, she'd started out as a waitress, working her way up through the ranks.

Me? I'd been here eight months. I hated the job, but my student loans weren't going to pay themselves. Plus, Belvina—my long-suffering roommate—was helping with bills, but I still had to cover half of the rent and utilities. My other job at the diner barely kept me afloat, but the shifts were decent enough, and the tips were... alright, if you didn't mind dealing with cranky customers.

Finally, the meeting came to an end. Mrs. Carter dismissed us with the flick of her hand, and I practically skipped out of there, relieved that I hadn't been dragged into some drawn-out lecture.

I took a glance at my old wristwatch. The cracks on the screen had been there for months.

Shit! I was late.

I said a quick good-bye to Malva and Donia, barely stopping to exchange pleasantries before I rushed for the exit. The seconds felt like they were slipping through my fingers, and all I could think about was making it to the bus. My feet were already moving faster than my brain, and soon enough, I was jogging, weaving around people who gave me sidelong glances, too tired to be irritated, too busy to make way.

"Chloe!" A voice sliced through the cacophony of the parking lot. I froze mid-step, the sound unmistakable.

I turned with a half-smile already on my lips, recognizing the voice before I even saw the figure. "Hey, Daniel."

He appeared out of nowhere, the familiar sight of him leaning casually against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark cargo jeans. Daniel was tall—too tall for my comfort—and lanky, with sharp features and a nose ring that seemed to define his effortlessly cool vibe. His buzz cut, dyed blue, made him look like a rebel, even if his heart was pure gold. He was the first real friend I'd made since moving here, and despite my attempts to keep everyone at arm's length, he wouldn't give up on me. Ever.

"Where are you rushing off to?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a step closer.

I took a deep breath, forcing the exhaustion in my body into the back of my mind. "Home," I lied, trying to make my voice sound casual.

"Great. I'll drop you off," he said, the words so matter-of-fact I almost believed him.

I shook my head before he could offer again. "I need to stop by the store for groceries. Don't worry about it."

"Seriously, it's no trouble." His smile was persistent, but so was mine. I had to get out of this conversation before he caught on to how much I needed to avoid him. Needed to avoid everyone.

"I'm sure you've got other plans. Don't worry about it." I turned on my heel before he could protest further, already walking briskly away, determined not to let him push me into another favor I couldn't repay.

I made it to the bus stop just as the bus was pulling up, its doors hissing open. My heart skipped. I ran—no time for dignity—and slipped inside just as the doors were about to close. I swiped my card, the familiar jangle of the reader a small comfort, and sank into a seat by the window. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, the vibrations of the bus humming through my body, soothing some of the tension in my muscles.

I was so tired.

Today had been another relentless grind: hours spent cleaning guest rooms that never stayed clean, the tired, indifferent faces of guests who saw us as nothing more than invisible servants. A burger was all I'd eaten the entire day, my stomach empty and gnawing as the bus rolled through the city. The world outside felt so distant—so foreign. Neon lights lit up storefronts, shouting for attention, each one more inviting than the last.

I leaned my head back, watching the city blur past. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a golden-orange glow that spilled over the buildings, casting long shadows down the streets. I stared at the people walking down the curb, their steps light, unburdened, like they had no weight on their shoulders. I was jealous.

I tapped my foot absently on the floor of the bus, willing it to hurry the hell up and take me to my destination. I pulled out my phone, thumbed a quick text to Mrs. Porter, letting her know I was almost there. The response came almost instantly: "Don't take too long, we're waiting!"

As soon as the bus stopped at my familiar corner, I bolted out of my seat, already eyeing the street ahead. I shot a dirty look at a group of teenage boys who ogled me as I passed, my short work uniform clinging to my thighs. Their eyes followed me as if I were a piece of meat. I knew the uniform was too short, but I wasn't in a position to argue with the hotel's dress code, especially when they were already so generous with their wages.

Two jobs, student loans, a family who wanted nothing to do with me—it was all a complicated, overwhelming mess. And somewhere, buried deep in my chest, was a secret I was desperate to protect. Nobody knew why I was working so hard, why someone from a wealthy family was sweating away her days cleaning rooms, scrubbing floors. Nobody knew that I'd turned my back on their money after the lawsuit against the Sanchesters, refusing the payout they tried to offer. My family was wealthy, yes, but their money came at the price of my dignity. My family had tried everything to get me to come back, but I refused. I didn't need them. I didn't want them. I hadn't spoken to any of them in months, and when my sister called once, I'd hung up the moment I heard her voice.

I'd built a life without them. And I didn't intend to let them tear it down.

Everyone had a secret. Mine was buried deep inside me, wrapped up tight in a box I never planned to open. And as much as I wanted to believe I was just like everyone else, I knew one thing for sure: I would take that secret with me to my grave.

My snow-white tennis shoes squeaked softly against the porch steps, the stark contrast to the dull gray of my uniform. The fabric of the housekeeping uniform clung to me like it was a second skin, hugging my body too closely, making me feel exposed in ways I wasn't ready to admit. It was far too short, far too tight—every inch of it a reminder of the life I was leading. The dark brown strands of my hair were shoved into a messy ponytail, strands escaping in every direction, as if to reflect the chaos that constantly swirled inside me.

As I walked toward Mrs. Porter's house, I felt an inexplicable surge of giddiness. Maybe it was the relief of finally reaching her after a grueling day. Or maybe, deep down, I knew that Mrs. Porter was going to be mad at me. I was always running late, always pushing the limits, always carrying that weight of regret I refused to confront. And today was no different.

I shifted my tote bag up my shoulder, the strap having gradually slipped down. The weight of it was comforting, though, like a constant companion, even if I had no idea what I was carrying in it. Probably just old receipts and empty promises, like everything else in my life.

The porch was as beautiful as always. Mrs. Porter had a way of making it feel alive, with fresh flowers in small vases, their colors so bright they almost hurt the eyes. She loved her flowers, tended to them as if they were her children. I'd helped her with them whenever I had the time, the smell of the blooms somehow grounding me in a world that often felt too fast, too loud, too everything.

But that wooden door—my secret was behind it. Not just the door, but everything it symbolized. I took a steadying breath, pressing the doorbell, the soft chime reverberating through the quiet air. As I waited, I let my gaze drift over the neighborhood—a picture-perfect slice of suburban peace, quaint, well-maintained, and always peaceful.

Across the lawn, Mr. Barton sat in his usual spot, a weathered figure slouched in a chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was always there, the smoke curling up around him like a cloak he could never escape. Mrs. Porter had told me he had a lung disease, that he'd been warned a hundred times to quit. But he never listened. His defiance was something I could relate to, in a way. I waved at him, though I knew it was futile—he never responded, not once. His eyes never lifted from the ground, his hands never stopped their slow, deliberate movements of lighting up another cigarette.

As I turned back toward the door, I heard the distinct sound of locks shifting, the metallic click that told me Mrs. Porter was coming. My heart gave an involuntary flutter. A smile tugged at my lips when she appeared, her familiar face framed by the door.

"Late again?" she asked, her voice carrying a playful edge. Her eyes were sharp, but her smile softened the words. Mrs. Porter was always like that—tough on the outside, but underneath, she was as warm and welcoming as a blanket on a cold night.

"Took you forever," Mrs. Porter said, her voice light with the familiar teasing I'd grown to rely on.

I shifted uncomfortably, my hands still feeling the remnants of a day spent scrubbing away other people's messes. "Sorry," I mumbled. "Our manager called for a meet..."

Before I could finish, a small, excited voice cut through the air, as if the entire house had been holding its breath.

"Mommy!"

I didn't even have time to straighten up before a blur of motion collided into me, sending a jolt of surprise through my chest. I nearly lost my balance as tiny arms wrapped around my knees, the force of Kayden's hug almost knocking me over. I sank to the floor, instinctively catching him in my arms.

This—this little boy—was my secret.

"Hey, baby," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion I hadn't expected. His soft, curly hair brushed against my cheek as I cradled him, pressing a kiss to his warm head and then his chubby little cheek. He held me tight, his small hands locking around my neck like a lifeline, not giving an inch.

My heart swelled.

I pulled him closer, standing up slowly, careful not to stumble as his tiny legs wrapped around my waist. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Porter," I said, my voice strained as I adjusted him, "How much time do I have?"

She smiled warmly, that patient, understanding smile she always wore. "An hour."

I grinned, the tension in my chest easing. I could do this. An hour, just an hour of peace. Of him.

Kayden pulled back slightly, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the hallway, his lips pouting just enough to be adorable. He reached out to touch my hair, his little fingers tracing the strands as if they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. His fingers were soft, his touch gentle, even when he tugged at my hair just a little too hard.

"How is my favorite person in the world doing?" I asked, poking his nose with a smile.

He giggled, a high-pitched sound that made my heart feel lighter, then bounced in my arms like he couldn't contain his joy. "Did you miss me?"

"Yesss," he mumbled, his head nodding furiously, his face lighting up with that all-too-innocent smile.

My chest ached with the sheer sweetness of it all. This was the kind of love that couldn't be explained, only felt.

I sat down at the round table beside Mrs. Porter, my arms still full of Kayden. She had this quiet, steadfast presence, the kind you didn't notice at first, but it wrapped around you like a warm blanket once you'd been in her home long enough. She was a widow, alone now except for me and Kayden. And even though her house was vast, full of space and memories, there were times when I could sense the loneliness that clung to her.

"How was work?" she asked, her voice soft but probing. She always asked me about my day, always cared, even when I felt like I didn't deserve it.

I let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the day press down on my shoulders. "Depressing, as always. Twenty rooms to clean today." I ran a hand through my hair, tired, frustrated. "Hope Kayden didn't cause you too much trouble."

Mrs. Porter chuckled, a low, throaty laugh that made me smile in return. "You know him, honey. He kicked me in the eye when I tried to change his pull up." She shook her head, still smiling. "Then I had to chase him around the house with the pull up. Can you believe that?"

I shot Kayden a playful glare, my lips curling into a grin. "Young man, didn't I teach you to be a gentleman?" I asked, my voice filled with mock reproach.

He giggled, his eyes shining with mischief, then tried to repeat my words, but it came out more like "Gent-ummmm" with an adorable lisp.

I couldn't help but laugh, brushing his curly hair back from his forehead.

"I'm sorry about that," I said to Mrs. Porter, my face flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh, please, don't apologize," she said, waving it off like it was nothing. "I needed the chase anyway. Made me realize I need to get my yoga trainer's job back. I haven't had this much exercise in ages."

Her lightheartedness was a balm for my frayed nerves. She always seemed to know how to make things feel better, even when they weren't.

Kayden wiggled in my lap, pulling at my earring, causing me to wince. "Ouch!" I gasped, but he just giggled and did it again.

"You're hurting Mommy," I said, frowning in exaggerated pain, but unable to stay mad at him.

"No!" He shook his head, his hands flying up to try to fix my earring, like he could somehow make it all better.

I kissed his tiny fingers. "You'll be a gentleman one day."

We fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, Kayden content in my arms. Mrs. Porter leaned back in her chair, watching us with soft eyes that I couldn't quite read.

I knew she'd never say it out loud, but sometimes I could feel the weight of her loneliness, that aching absence of someone to share the house with. She lived in this big, beautiful home, but I knew it was often quiet here. And though Kayden had filled her world with laughter and noise, she was still just one person, still a widow who had loved and lost.

Every day, she'd buy Kayden a new toy—small things that piled up in every nook and cranny of the house. Stuffed animals, action figures, cars with wheels that spun too fast. They were reminders of the joy he brought into her life, even if she was sometimes overwhelmed by it. But in this space, Kayden and I gave her something she could never buy: company. And in return, she gave me a place to hide, a place where I could forget the secrets I carried and simply exist for a while.

I brushed Kayden's curly hair from his forehead, smiling as he reached for another one of his toys. "Hey my love" I said softly, knowing my hour was slipping away, but not caring.

For once, it felt like the world could wait.

Kayden wobbled slightly as he stood up on my thighs, his tiny legs braced against me like he was testing the limits of his own balance. I wrapped an arm around him instinctively, pulling him closer to me to prevent any falls. His little body wiggled with the energy only a toddler could possess, and before I knew it, he was bouncing on my lap, laughing in that pure, infectious way that made my heart flutter. He began to sing something, a string of syllables that sounded like music, but I couldn't make sense of the words. It didn't matter.

"Kayden, honey, your mom is tired," Mrs. Porter's voice cut through the noise of the room, soft but firm.

"Mommy tywad?" Kayden asked, his speech slurring together as he absentmindedly picked at the embroidery on my uniform. His small fingers traced the delicate stitching, completely unaware of the weariness that clung to my bones.

He paused, looked up at my face with those wide, blue eyes of his, and I nodded, though a tired smile tugged at my lips.

A delighted giggle escaped him, his little chest bouncing with joy, before he jumped again. The exuberance in his movements was contagious, and for a moment, I forgot how heavy the world was. But soon, the energy fizzled out. Kayden sat back down on my lap, his tiny body relaxing into me as he exhaled a soft sigh.

Mrs. Porter, watching the exchange with a knowing smile, asked, "I hope the pressure from school isn't too much?"

I shrugged, my hands lightly brushing over Kayden's head, the soft curls tickling my fingertips. "I'm getting used to it. Besides, the semester doesn't start until next week. I get more time with Kayden." I glanced down at him, watching the way his little hands fidgeted with the hem of my sleeve. My heart flooded with a mix of gratitude and overwhelming love for this tiny human who had brought so much light into my life. I would do anything to keep him safe, to shield him from all the dark corners of my past.

"Mommy, Cocomeywon," Kayden mumbled, his voice barely understandable as he pointed at the mess of toys scattered across the room.

I followed the direction of his tiny finger. His eyes, bright and full of excitement, were fixed on the TV. The screen flashed with the colorful, cheerful images of his favorite nursery rhymes, the soft music filling the space. His head swayed side to side to the rhythm, his little body too small to contain the joy that radiated from him.

I laughed softly, the sound escaping before I could stop it. "You're a little dancer, huh?" I whispered, leaning down to kiss his curly head before gently placing him on the floor. He didn't hesitate, sprinting across the living room to join the animated characters on the screen. His laughter echoed in the room as he danced along, a pure, simple joy that made my heart ache with a fierce protectiveness.

Mrs. Porter smiled as she watched the boy run across the room, but then her gaze softened as she reached out and touched my hand. Her fingers were frail, but the weight of her touch was solid, reassuring.

"You should be proud of yourself," she said, her voice warm and knowing.

I turned to face her, meeting her eyes. Her thinning gray hair framed her gentle face, and when she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled, giving her an ageless quality. But it was the way she spoke—so matter-of-fact, yet full of empathy—that made me feel understood.

"I know it hurts, living like this, hiding him," she continued, her voice quiet, almost tender. "But I assure you, it's for the best. Once you're in New York, it will get easier."

I gave a small chuckle, though it didn't reach my eyes. "I'm looking forward to that."

I had to be. The thought of New York, a fresh start away from everything, felt like the only way forward.

Mrs. Porter's gaze shifted behind me. "Isn't that your bag?"

I turned, only to find Kayden, as if by instinct, rifling through my tote bag. His small hands were quick, exploring every inch until he found the one thing I couldn't afford him to have. My phone.

My stomach tightened. I knew exactly what he was about to do.

"Kayden, put it down," I said, my voice sharp, though I knew it wasn't really his fault. He was just curious, just being him.

"Kayden," I repeated, more firmly this time, as I reached for him.

Kayden froze for a long, silent moment, his big, innocent eyes locked on mine, as though deciding whether to obey or test the limits of my patience. Then, without warning, he surged to his feet, his little legs carrying him at lightning speed toward the kitchen.

"Kayden," I called, already in pursuit.

He glanced over his shoulder and burst into a fit of giggles, his laughter like music, the sound pure and unrestrained. It was enough to make me smile despite the tension gnawing at the back of my mind.

"Don't do that," I warned, but the mischief was already dancing in his eyes as he skidded to a stop in front of the trash can.

My heart skipped a beat.

He stole a quick glance at me, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes, before he tossed my phone into the trash with an exaggerated flourish.

"Kayden," I groaned, though I couldn't help but laugh at his defiance.

He giggled again, running off with that infectious little bounce in his step, leaving me no choice but to retrieve the phone from its new, unfortunate resting place. I wiped it off with a paper towel, trying to ignore the faint unease that crept up my spine.

When I returned to the living room, I found Kayden peeking out from behind Mrs. Porter's armchair, his small hands gripping the back like a little secret agent on a mission. His eyes locked with mine, and he gave me the tiniest grin, waiting for my reaction. He was waiting for me to pretend not to see him—his favorite game.

"Mommy?" he asked in that sweet, sing-song voice of his.

I gave him a dramatic, exaggerated glance, turning my head in the opposite direction, pretending I hadn't noticed him.

He giggled—soft, high-pitched giggles that were impossible to ignore—and then, just like that, he was off again, running in the opposite direction, his tiny feet tapping on the floor.

I gave chase, my heart light despite the weight of the day, scooping him up into my arms just as he neared the couch. With a playful grin, I gently dropped him onto the cushions, making him squeal in delight.

"Gotcha!" I exclaimed, then began tickling him, blowing raspberries on his stomach, making him squeal with laughter.

He wiggled and squirmed beneath my touch, his giggles filling the room, a sound that lifted the weight in my chest, a balm to the chaos in my mind.

"I love you," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chubby little lips.

"I wof you," he mumbled, his smile so wide it seemed to take up his whole face.

In that moment, as his little hands clung to me, as his laugh filled the room, my heart felt full, like the whole world was just the two of us. This was it. This was my world now. My breath of fresh air. My reason to keep going. The only thing that made the dark days a little brighter.

                                                                             ...........

I exhaled slowly as I turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open with a quiet creak. The apartment was still, dark, and I prayed that Vina was fast asleep, oblivious to the time.

But as soon as I stepped over the threshold, I heard her voice from the couch, sharp and knowing.

"Where have you been?"

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water. I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat, a rush of adrenaline coursing through me as I cursed under my breath.

"Gosh, Vina!" I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the rapid thumping.

She was sprawled out on the couch, the faint blue glow of a reality show lighting up her face as she munched on tortilla chips, unfazed by my dramatic entrance.

"What? You're the one sneaking in, as always," she teased, her voice flat but laced with that familiar, playful annoyance.

"We closed late today," I muttered, kicking off my shoes and slinging my bag onto the counter.

Vina didn't look convinced. "I don't know what to believe anymore. If you're seeing someone, just admit it."

I froze, the air thick with a tension that I could never quite shake off when it came to her.

"I'm not seeing anyone," I said, my voice steady, though I could feel the familiar ache of old, unspoken truths hanging in the air. "I told you already. A relationship is the—"

"Last thing on your mind. Blah, blah, blah. I know," she interrupted, rolling her eyes as she reached for another handful of chips.

I shot her a look, but it was more tired than anything. The truth was, I didn't know what to believe anymore, either.

I wandered into the kitchen, too exhausted to engage any further, and pulled open the fridge, hoping to find something to eat that would fill the growing emptiness inside me.

"Grey came to look for you," Vina said, her voice softening just enough to catch my attention.

I paused, the fridge door hanging open as I tried to process her words. "Why?"

"He wanted to hang out, according to him."

"Hmm," I hummed, pulling out some leftovers and tossing them in the microwave.

Grey. The name stung in a way I couldn't ignore. He and I were friends. Or, at least, we used to be. But that was before everything changed. After Cuba, after the heartbreak that lingered like an old scar, I'd avoided him. And it wasn't just the fact that he'd moved on with someone else—his new girlfriend, Gabriella, seemed like the perfect match for him—but the way he still texted me, still tried to pull me back into our old routine, made everything feel so... complicated.

The truth was, I didn't know how to be around him anymore. I didn't know how to tell him that the space between us wasn't just because of time. It was because of the pieces of me that I couldn't share.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," I muttered, closing the microwave door. "I'm sure he's got plenty to keep him busy."

Vina raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. We both knew there were far deeper things between us than what was said out loud.

Vina was the last person I ever wanted to hide things from. She was my sister in every way that mattered, the one person who had been there for me through everything—the laughter, the tears, the long, sleepless nights. I should have told her about Kayden. I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. But every time I thought about it, that nagging fear would twist in my gut. What if she told someone? What if it slipped out, and the world I had so carefully constructed for Kayden—for both of us—came crashing down?

I trusted strangers more than I trusted the people closest to me. That thought stung, but it was the truth. I had spent too many years being betrayed by the people I should have been able to rely on. So, I kept my secret. I kept him hidden, locked away from the world. Mrs. Porter—bless her—had told me it was safer this way. She said that the less people knew, the fewer the chances of getting hurt again.

But the guilt. The guilt was always there. It gnawed at me, sharp and relentless, especially when I looked at Vina. She deserved to know. She deserved the truth. But how could I tell her? She'd never forgive me for keeping it from her. Three years, I thought. Three long years of lies. I wasn't sure what hurt more: the deception or the fear of losing her if she knew.

I stood at the kitchen island, my hands gripping the counter so tightly my knuckles turned white. I watched her, sprawled on the couch, absorbed in her show, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

She'd never forgive me.

I shook the thought away and forced a smile. "What episode is that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

"Episode twelve," she replied, her eyes glued to the screen.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. "You watched seven episodes without me? You bitch."

She barely looked up, but her lips quirked into a grin. "Actually, I'm already in season three. Greg and Bettany broke up, and Conrad got evicted."

I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. "No way. You didn't just spoil that for me."

She laughed, her head tilting back in that way that always made me smile. "Oh, I did," she teased. "Deal with it."

"I hate you." My voice was half-hearted, but I shot her a mock glare anyway.

She blew me a kiss, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Love you, too."

The easy banter, the familiar rhythm of our back-and-forth, only deepened the ache in my chest. She would hate me if she knew. Would she understand? Or would I lose her, just like I'd lost everyone else?

But the moment slipped away, as moments do, and I pushed the thoughts back into the dark corner of my mind. For now, I could pretend everything was fine. For now, I could hold on to the fragile illusion that I wasn't lying to the person who mattered most.

                                                                                      ***

Friday arrived in a blur. The hours seemed to stretch and compress in a single exhale. The diner was buzzing with activity tonight, packed to the brim with the usual crowd. The steady hum of clinking silverware, murmurs of conversations, and the hiss of the fryers filled the air. Kate, Jules, and I were the only ones behind the counter, moving in rhythm, keeping the orders flowing. Kate was quick with the register while I ran the food out to the tables, my feet aching from the endless back-and-forth. It was one of those nights when you barely had time to breathe.

And then I saw him.

Adrian.

He walked in, and just like that, the world seemed to slow down. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips before I could stop it. He stopped at the counter, and my heart gave a little jolt. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, the collar sharp and crisp. His black suit pants hung perfectly on his lean frame, and everything about him—his posture, his effortless cool—demanded attention. The room fell quieter, or maybe it was just my awareness of him that sharpened everything else. The women around the diner straightened up, stealing glances at him with unabashed admiration, and I could hardly blame them. Adrian had that kind of presence—the kind that made you pause, hold your breath, and just look.

"Hey," I greeted, my voice barely above a whisper, but the grin on my face couldn't hide the flutter he caused in my chest.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. "Hey, you," he said, leaning against the counter with a casual ease that looked almost too perfect.

I couldn't help but glance down at his hands resting there, large and strong, the fingers adorned with rings and bracelets that shimmered under the dim lights of the diner. The way he matched them, the way they looked like they belonged to him, was somehow both effortless and deliberate. I found myself staring at them for a second too long before I dragged my gaze back to his face, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

"Still working?" he asked, his voice deep, carrying that familiar warmth.

"Yeah. I get off in ten minutes," I replied, the words flowing out of me without thought. The last thing I wanted was to keep him waiting, but I didn't want to rush either.

"Okay, I'll wait for you at the last booth," he said, nodding toward the corner. "Take your time."

"Okay."

He gave Kate and Jules a quick nod, acknowledging them as he glanced over his shoulder. Jules flushed crimson, and Kate's lips twitched, trying to hide a smile. I shot them both a look, shaking my head at their open gawking.

"Someone left this at my desk at the office," Adrian continued, setting three caramel chocolates on the counter in front of me. "I thought you might like them."

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me as I reached for them. "Thanks," I said, trying not to sound too affected.

His lips curved upward, a playful glint in his eyes, before he turned to walk to the booth.

"Even the way he walks is effortlessly hot," Jules said, practically drooling as she watched him go. "I can't believe you're not boning him."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress the smile that followed. I shook my head at her and walked into the kitchen, trying to put some space between myself and the thoughts his presence always stirred.

After my shift ended, I helped Kate clean up. We moved in tandem, just two tired bodies trying to keep the place from falling apart. I grabbed two chilled vanilla milkshakes and joined Adrian in the back booth, the glow of the dim lights making him look even more exhausted than usual. He was slouched slightly, his eyes darkened with bags that had only grown deeper over the past few months. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, maybe longer. He was managing the company on his own now, ever since the Sanchesters had disappeared.

The thought of them still made my stomach twist—did I hate them? Did I wish they would come back, or did I hope they stayed gone forever? I didn't know. But Adrian? He was the one left to pick up the pieces. He was the one who had stayed behind.

I slid into the booth, placing the milkshakes in front of him.

"How have you been?" he asked, taking a long sip from his straw.

"Fantastic." I forced a smile. Big lie.

He didn't buy it. "Are you sure? You look—" he paused, his eyes narrowing as they scanned me. "You look so thin."

The comment hit me harder than I expected, and I glared at him, but it was a playful glare, one that didn't quite mask the discomfort bubbling beneath the surface.

"Sorry," he said quickly, his voice softening. "I just... hate seeing you work like you don't have anyone to help you."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I didn't need anyone's help. I had Kayden—and that was all I needed. But I didn't say it. Instead, I simply shook my head. "I'm not complaining. I'll get there."

He studied me for a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "How about you? You look like you haven't had a decent meal in days."

I shrugged. "I'm good. Just... busy."

Adrian smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He leaned back in the booth, exhaling slowly. "It'll get easier," he said quietly, more to himself than to me.

I wanted to reach out, to brush my hand against his and take some of the weight off his shoulders. But instead, I just nodded, watching as his fingers absently tapped the rim of his glass.

"How are you?" I asked, trying to shift the focus away from me.

His dimples flashed as he smiled, though it didn't quite match the tiredness in his eyes. "Good," he said, but it was hollow.

"You call pale eyes and sleep bags good?"

"It'll be gone tomorrow. Had to pull an all-nighter for an important meeting. The board's on my neck."

I wanted to reach across the table, pull him into a hug, and tell him it was going to be okay. But all I could do was sit there, helpless, watching him carry the weight of everything on his own.

He was too good. Too real. Adrian was the kind of person who always put his friends first, who always knew how to make you feel like you mattered, no matter how small your problem seemed. It was hard to read him sometimes. He had this effortless way of smiling—bright, almost too perfect—as if nothing ever fazed him. But I knew better. Behind that grin, there had to be something more. Something raw.

Sometimes I wondered if he wore that smile like armor, a shield to hide whatever pain or frustration he was keeping to himself. He'd spent so many years being the strong one, the dependable one—the guy who could fix anything, who always knew the right thing to say. But who was there for him when he needed someone?

"Don't kill yourself trying to impress them, if they won't appreciate your hard work." I let the words slip out, not caring if they sounded bitter.

He grunted, rubbing the back of his neck, and for a moment, I saw the real Adrian behind that façade—the one who was tired, the one who was fighting the weight of a world that always expected him to do more.

"I wish it were that easy," he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

He started to say something else, but then his lips closed with a soft click. He hesitated, something flickering in his eyes that made me wonder what was going on behind that mask of his. I couldn't help but stare, sensing there was more he wanted to say but wasn't ready to.

"Spill," I demanded, raising an eyebrow, crossing my arms.

Adrian's gaze shifted toward the window, his eyes distant, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He clenched his jaw, the muscles along his neck tightening, a sure sign that whatever he was about to say wasn't easy.

"There's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

I leaned in, feeling my pulse quicken. Adrian was the kind of guy who never hesitated, never fumbled for words. So the fact that he was unsure of how to continue sent a cold shiver through me.

He paused, staring at the space between us, before continuing. "Tristan is back. He came back last night. With his family."

I felt my chest tighten, a sudden pressure building between my ribs. Tristan. The name hit me like a punch to the gut, stirring up a flood of memories I'd buried long ago. Memories I wasn't ready to face.

He's back? I repeated the words in my head, my pulse quickening. The old wounds, the unanswered questions, they all rushed back like a tidal wave, and for a moment, I was lost in the weight of it all.

"I just wanted you to know," Adrian added quietly, his voice softer now, "in case you... you know, want to avoid him. He's been asking about you."

I felt my stomach drop, the world around me suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. It was like the ground beneath my feet had shifted, and I was left scrambling to catch my balance. Tristan. I hadn't seen him in years, hadn't heard from him, and now, here he was—back in town. But why? And why was he asking about me?

My mind was racing, and before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

"Where can I find the most affordable flight ticket?"

The words hung in the air between us, raw and unspoken, heavy with the weight of everything I couldn't say out loud. I was already thinking of the quickest way to leave, to get away from all of this—away from the life I was trying to rebuild, away from the secrets I'd been keeping, and maybe, just maybe, away from the past that never quite let me go.