Page 102 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
The five years in France, life wasn't that hard, really. Quiet village, Leo was easy, the flower shop business was enough for us to get by—not comfortable, counting pennies every month, any bigger expense meant robbing Peter to pay Paul. But those days had a solid texture. Woke up knowing what to do today, knowing where Leo was, knowing what ground I stood on.
I really hadn't thought about him.
That land was too foreign. So foreign that everything I built there was brand new, with no shadow of his to cling to.
But now, sitting on a Manhattan balcony, this city I'd lived in before beneath my feet, the night breeze the temperature I remembered, the lights in shapes I recognized—the things I thought I'd pressed down started floating up from somewhere. Not anything specific. Just a feeling. Like some place frozen for so long starting to quietly thaw, seeping out a warmth I didn't want.
I drained the wine viciously, shoving that warmth back down.
Ella glanced at me. Said nothing. She always knew when to stay silent. That was one of the things I was most grateful for about her.
The next morning, I took Leo to see Sophie.
The apartment she rented in Brooklyn wasn't big, but she'd made it cozy. Two potted plants by the door, a small painting she'd done herself hanging on the entry wall. When Sophie opened the door, she saw me first, then her gaze dropped to Leo.
She froze.
Just for a second. Very brief. But I saw it. Her eyes lingered on Leo's face for two seconds, this five-year-old kid with brown hair and green eyes standing quietly beside me, looking up at her. Sophie didn't say anything. Her eyes reddened. Then she opened her arms and hugged me hard, so hard I felt her fingers dig into my back.
"I missed you so much."
One simple sentence. Voice a bit hoarse.
I closed my eyes and hugged her back. Something in my chest loosened, loosened so much I almost couldn't stand. Five years. We hadn't seen each other in five years. Some things we'd said over countless video calls. Some things never found the right moment. Still pressed down today, unmoving.
Leo waited beside us for a while, then tugged Sophie's sleeve, asking in that serious, almost funny tone of his. "Miss, are you Mommy's sister?"
Sophie released me and looked down at him. She smiled, blinked away the moisture in her eyes, and crouched. "That's right, I'm your Aunt Sophie. You're Leo?" Leo nodded solemnly, then voluntarily opened his arms and gave her a solemn hug. Sophie laughed out loud, picked him up, and spun him around, her laughter still carrying that sob she hadn't pulled back in time.
Sophie and I sat in the small living room. Leo played on the carpet with a box of crayons Sophie had dug up, quiet as a kitten. These past few years—long story, but also short. Sophie talked about her work, her fiancé, and wedding prep. I talked about the flower shop, Leo starting school, and a few neighbors in the village who'd become friends. Some details we covered carefully, some parts we skipped over. She skipped, too. Neither of us pressed—some things, not that we couldn't say them, just that saying them would open up things neither of us was ready for.
Eventually the conversation thinned. We just sat there, listening to Leo hum some little tune while drawing on the carpet. Sophie turned to look at me for a while, then spoke.
"Olivia, are you still dancing ballet?"
I went silent. "No. Haven't in a long time."
Sophie gasped. I understood her look. It was heartbreak. "Why? I remember that was what you wanted most..."
Yes. My biggest dream once was to become a real ballerina, on stage, dancing for everyone to see. But...
"When was the last time you danced ballet?"
I paused. "Last time... Leo was two. The village church had a Christmas show, short on people, I helped out. Not really formal."
"Before that?"
I didn't answer. We both knew.
"Olivia," Sophie set down her teacup. "Before you left, you lived for me. After Leo was born, you lived for him. I know you don't feel wronged. I know you think these were all your choices." She paused. "But what about you? Where are you?"
The living room went quiet. Leo drew a circle on the carpet, held it up to show me. "Mommy, it's the sun!"
"Very good," I said. "Now draw a cloud."
He lowered his head contentedly and kept drawing.
I turned back to Sophie. "I don't have the energy to think about those things."
