Chapter 103
ELODIE’S POV~
I drove away from the equestrian club with no destination in mind.
Just… away.
The road stretched out in front of me, and it was all sun-dappled and winding, and I followed it without thinking. Left turn here. Right turn there. Does it matter? Not really. Anywhere was better than standing in that parking lot, pretending I wasn’t shattered.
Cara had plans today. Some date with a guy she’d been seeing, she’d mentioned it yesterday, all excited, with her cheeks flushed. I wasn’t about to interrupt that with my mess.
Johnny was probably working on something. He always was. The man lived and breathed that company.
I thought about going to my grandmother’s place. She’d welcome me with open arms, make tea, fuss over me the way she always did. But showing up without Liora? She’d ask questions. She’d worry. And honestly, I didn’t have the energy to explain why my daughter was currently riding horses with her father and the woman he actually loved while I drove around aimlessly like some pathetic ghost.
So I kept driving.
The wetland park appeared on my left, almost out of nowhere.
I slowed down without meaning to.
The parking lot was dotted with cars, and beyond them, I could see families spread out across the green.
Couples on blankets, laughing, feeding each other snacks. Children running between them, shrieking with joy. A father lifting his daughter onto his shoulders while the mother took photos.
And there, an older couple walking slowly along the path. The man had his arm around the woman, guiding her carefully, and she was leaning into him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
I watched them.
Couldn’t look away.
Something twisted in my chest. Envy, maybe. Or bitterness. Probably both, all tangled up together.
That could have been me. Should have been me.
A husband who looked at me like I mattered. A daughter who wanted to spend time with me. A family that felt like a family instead of a performance I wasn’t even cast in.
But instead, I was sitting in my car on the side of the road, watching strangers live the life I’d been promised and never received.
I pulled back onto the road and kept driving.
I don’t know why I called.
One moment I was staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over her contact. The next, it was ringing.
The director answered on the third ring. “Miss Brown. How can I help you p>
“Hello, Director.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “How is my mother doing p>
A pause. The kind of pause that never meant good news.
“The same as before,” he said carefully. “No change p>
“I’m coming to visit,” I said. “I’ll be there in about an hour and a half p>
“Of course. We’ll be expecting you p>
Lotus Sanatorium sat on a hill overlooking a small lake.
It was a beautiful place, objectively speaking. I’d chosen it specifically because it didn’t feel like an institution. It felt like a home.
Not that she would know the difference.
I parked and made my way to the main building, stopping briefly to pick up the bag of books and supplies I’d brought. Her favorite author had released a new novel. I didn’t know if she could still read, if she even wanted to but I bought it anyway.
The courtyard was quiet when I arrived.
Late afternoon light painted everything gold and amber. A few residents sat scattered around the garden, some alone, some with caregivers, enjoying the last warmth of the season.
And there, on a bench near the fountain, sat my mother. Sally.
I stopped at the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden behind a pillar, and just… looked at her.
She was thin. Thinner than last time. The bones of her wrists jutted out beneath papery skin, and her cheeks had that hollow, gaunt quality that never failed to make my stomach drop.
Her face was turned toward the fountain, but her eyes weren’t seeing it. They were somewhere else. Somewhere far away, trapped in memories or nightmares or whatever private hell she’d built for herself over the years.
She used to be so beautiful.
I remembered her from childhood before the breakdown, before Logan left, before everything shattered. She’d had this warmth about her. This light. She’d sing while she cooked, dance with me in the living room, tell me stories at bedtime until I fell asleep with her voice still in my ears.
Now she sat alone on a bench, barely recognizable, unable to interact with anyone from her past without spiraling into another episode.
I couldn’t even say hello.
If she saw me, if she recognized me, it would undo her. The doctors had explained it years ago. Something about trauma and triggers and the fragile architecture of a mind that had already broken once. Seeing me reminded her of everything she’d lost. And that reminder was enough to send her back into the darkness.
So I stood there. Watching her.
Loving her from a distance because that was all I was allowed.
“It’s the same as before,” the director said softly, appearing beside me. “No change p>
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“She has calm periods more often now,” he added, perhaps trying to offer comfort. “She sleeps better. Eats a little more p>
Small mercies.
I watched her for another moment. She shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket on her lap, and for one terrible second, I thought she might turn around. Might see me.
But she didn’t.
She just kept staring at the fountain, lost in whatever world existed behind her eyes.
I left before she could notice me.
It was better that way. Safer if you ask me.
I found the director and the staff who looked after her near the main entrance, and pressed the bag of books and supplies into their hands.
“I’ll leave her in your care,” I said. “Please take good care of her p>
“Miss Brown, you’re too kind.” The head nurse smiled gently. “It’s our duty p>
I glanced back one more time, through the glass window, I could see her still sitting there, and then I turned and walked away.
The drive back felt longer than it should have.
My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. My chest felt tight, that familiar pressure building behind my ribs.
I didn’t cry.
I never cried anymore. Not about any of it. The tears had dried up years ago, leaving behind something harder. Something that ached but refused to break.
When I passed the wetland park again, I saw kites dancing against the blue sky.
A child’s laughter drifted through my open window, high and pure.
I slowed and stopped.
And then, without really deciding to, I turned the car into the parking lot.
The park was even more crowded than before.
Families everywhere. Couples holding hands. Groups of friends sprawled on picnic blankets, passing around bottles of wine and containers of food.
And me Alone.
I found a bench near the lake and sat down, wrapping my coat tighter around myself. The breeze was cool but not unpleasant. The sun warmed my face. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing guitar baldy and their friends were laughing at them.
I watched the kites.
Watched the children running after them, screaming with delight every time the wind caught and lifted them higher.
Watched the parents chasing after the children, pretending to be annoyed but smiling anyway.
And felt, for the first time in a long time, just how alone I really was.