Page 45 of Back to Willow

With that, he hung up.

Sadness overwhelmed me in response to his cold demeanour, but I shouldn’t even be bothered by that. He could have been way angrier, and I should just be glad that he agreed to hear me out.

“Let’s just hope this isn’t a disaster,” I whisper to myself.

I’m still trapped in front of the mirror, looking at the foreign woman staring back into my eyes.

The woman on the other side of the mirror looks just like me, wearing my favourite beige summer dress. It’s a straight neckline with off-the-shoulder short sleeves. It’s tight from my chest down to my waist, where it flows freely. The petite pink flowers give it a splash of colour, and the split that comes up to my left thigh, just above my knee, makes it a less good-girl kind of dress.

All the right things are covered to avoid unwanted attention, though. She is presentable and composed on the outside. Me, however? I am crumbling on the inside.

It’s the most effort I have made in years, and just standing here, looking at myself, is hard enough. It’s been almost seven years since I’ve looked in the mirror and liked what I was seeing.

Now, the brown eyes on my face have lost the spark they had, haunted by the demons that live inside my brain. My skin no longer glows, and I often felt like it did, especially when Liam was around. Covering it has been a must over the years, and it’s been a while since I’ve looked at myself without clothes. The last time, I was pregnant, admiring the unborn baby growing inside me.

But it’s Liam I am about to see, and I can’t not make an effort. Is it stupid that I don’t want him to see how messed up my life is? How messed up I am?

With a resigned sigh, I grab my purse and head to the car. The café he chose is a twenty-minute drive and quite close to my university.

The drive is too fast, and the next thing I know, I’ve arrived. Ten minutes early. Trying to get my nerves under control, I stroll from where the car is parked down the street, gazing at the stores absent-mindedly.

My thoughts are consumed with all that is Liam. About how things ended up back then. How I left, and, consequently, how he must be feeling—how he felt then, too. There’s a sliver of curiosity about his life, the fact that he is studying here instead, and possibly moving on—without me. But that part is completely shadowed by the worry about this encounter.

What if he doesn’t want to listen? Worse, what if I can’t talk? It’s atrocious to live like this, but I think I fear the outcome of the truth more than the consequences of the question mark.

Then, too quickly, my feet bring me to the glass door I’m meant to open, and I freeze for a second. My biggest fear is right inside, and I was stupid enough to think I could face it.

To face Liam.

The café is quaint, small yet spacious to the eye, with blue and wooden details. It’s the type of place I would choose to work on school projects while eating and drinking something. Taking it in, I look around one more time, noticing the slight hustle of people sitting in with their freshly requested food or some others preparing to leave. It’s not crowded, but there’s a decent number of full tables.

It doesn’t take me long, though, to find the lone mop of dark blond hair that I was expecting to find. With his back facing me, he’s seated in the corner booth of the café. His head is tilted down to the front, probably using his phone while waiting for me. The door is still open, my hand clutching the knob, and my resolve crumbling to the ground.

What am I going to say? I can’t…I can’t tell him everything; he’ll hate me.

Worse, he won’t believe me. Why would he?

My feet feel heavy as if they are made of cement, not letting me move. With my body still sideways, I am literally one foot in and one foot out—probably because of my brain’s constant flight response.

And while there is a huge part of me wanting to flee, the rest has me rooted in place. Especially the part that keeps remembering my son’s eager requests. This moment of hesitation, though, it’s enough to make it look bad. Because that is exactly when Liam turns around, locking his eyes with mine. His once-neutral expression hardens the moment he notices me. It worsens when he realises how I was probably about to leave without even talking to him. Something thatIasked him to do.

He stands, stalking in my direction with a wildfire burning in his eyes. My opportunity to escape is long gone—even if I wasn’t going to use it, this time around—and I just wait, bracing for the truck of rage that is about to hit.

“Of course you were going to run away again,” he scoffs. “That’s all you know, isn’t it?” he spits the words out as if he is disgusted by me.

Don’t worry; I am, too.

It hurts, but it’s valid. All I’ve done so far is run away, even if I think I had a good reason to do it. Even if I thought that by leaving, I was doing everyone a favour.

“Let’s go,” I sigh in defeat, following him to the booth he was just sitting down in. The table has an empty coffee cup on it with the menu at the far end. We keep quiet for a few moments, and it doesn’t take long for the waiter to ask what I am going to order.

When I order a bottle of water, I decide to speak first, hoping for Liam to stop his glaring contest.

“I’m sorry; I panicked,” I mumble, my eyes never leaving my hands.

I want to look up at him. The other day, I was far too shocked to notice his face properly, but now, my brain is itching and begging for me to do it, to just glance up at him. But I can’t bring myself to.

“It seems to be turning into a pattern, isn’t it?” The question is rhetoric, so I don’t bother answering. “I can deduce what made you panic now to make you run, what I can’t wrap my head around is why you did that almost seven years ago.” His tone is cold and detached. Understandably so, but it still throws a spear right through my heart.

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