Page 85 of Falling For Us Again

“Jenna, do you still love Dylan?”

“We’ve spent so many years apart, and we’ve become different people. What if it’s too hard for us now? We have so much baggage from the past. What if it’s too—”

“Jenna." Aunt Mila takes my hand, her light green eyes boring into mine with intensity. “Do you love Dylan?”

“Yes, I do,” I burst into tears. “I love him so much Aunt Mila, but I’m so scared of getting hurt again. What if our love is cursed? I don't want to end up like my mother.”

My hands are shaking, and I feel raw. My aunt’s face is etched with sympathy, but there’s a sadness in her eyes too, filled with a deep understanding that only makes the ache inside me worse.

"I can’t stop thinking about her. I read her journal every night before bed," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "About what she went through. The thought of living my life like that scares me to death. I don't want to have regrets and miss out on the love of my life.”

My aunt reaches for my hand, her grip warm and steady. “This is why she kept a journal. It was all for you. The night before she was going to run away, we had a long conversation. She told me about a journal she’s been keeping; she says she never wants you to make the same mistakes that she did."

"It was almost like she had a premonition that she might not see you become a woman.”

Tears roll down my eyes softly as I listen to her.

“I can't help but think about how you and Dylan are strikingly similar to Iris and Liam. That’s why Dylan’s mother was disturbed. But I believe you two are different; you get to make a different choice. You're not like your parents in that way".

“I can never forgive Richard for all he did, but I’m glad he woke up one morning and decided to walk out of your life. There was no way I’d have been able to take you away from that town if he was still around.”

My heart twists with bitterness, loss, and anger when I think about my father. “I hate him, but I still felt a sense of loss when I heard news of his death last year.”

“Because he's your father. I opened a bottle of wine and made a toast to good riddance.”

“Aunt Mila!” I shake my head at her.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is that you shouldn't live a life of regrets, Jenna. Live a little, take chances; the love you and Dylanhave for each other is worth it. You can’t not live your life today because you don't know what will happen tomorrow.”

I let her words sink in, finding comfort in in them. I love Dylan, and I’m tired of pretending that I don't and making excuses as to why we can't be together. I don’t want to spend one more day without him.

It’s my turn to take a leap.

***

The next morning, we visit my mother’s grave. The cemetery is quiet, the morning sun casting long shadows over the headstones. My feet feel heavy as we walk through the rows of graves, but when we finally reach my mother’s, something inside me shifts. Seeing her name etched in stone, it’s like everything becomes real again, more tangible.

I kneel, my fingers tracking the letters of her name, and the tears come before I can stop them. I cry for her, for the life she never got to live, for the love she lost, and for the secrets she took to her grave.

And I cry for myself, for all the pain I’ve kept buried in me for so long.

It’s time to let it all go, to unburden myself from the resentment, and to live life fully.

My aunt stands beside me, silent, offering her presence without intruding on my grief. I don’t know how long I stay there, letting the tears fall, but when they finally stop, I feel... lighter.

When I stand, I look down at the grave one last time. "I’m sorry, Mom," I whisper, my voice shaky. "I’m so sorry. I love you forever.”

As the words leave my lips, I feel a sense of closure about accepting that some things will never make sense and that some wounds will never fully heal. And maybe that’s okay.

***

The airport is bustling as I weave through the crowd, impatient to reach Dylan. Instead of driving, I booked a last-minute flight, desperate to get to him as soon as possible.

Now, I settle into the backseat of a cab as we head towards Hartlow.

I haven't had much sleep in days. I don't need any more space; all I need is him. I need to tell him how I feel because the thought of losing him again is unbearable.

The drive to Hartlow is long, and by the time we arrive, night has fallen. But despite my exhaustion, I feel a sense of determination. I’ve spent too long running from my feelings, from the truth. It’s time to stop.

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