Page 104 of My Spanish Love Affair

When I step into the arrivals hall, the sight of my mum waiting for me is enough to make my throat tighten. She’s standing near the edge of the crowd and craning her neck to spot me.

Her eyes light up when they meet mine.

“Olivia!” she calls, waving enthusiastically.

I hurry towards her, my legs shaky, and as soon as I’m within reach, she pulls me into a tight hug.

“Oh, love,” she murmurs, her voice thick with concern. “You’re here. You’re home.”

I nod against her shoulder, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I had to come back.”

“Of course you did,” she says, pulling back to look at me. Her hands rest on my shoulders, her eyes scanning my face. “You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you home.”

∞∞∞

The drive back is quiet, the familiar streets of Manchester rolling past the car windows. It feels like an out of body experience, like I’m watching myself in a film as I stare out of the window.

My mum doesn’t press me with questions, though I can feel her glancing at me every so often, her brow furrowed with worry.

When we finally pull into the driveway of my childhood home, I feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The red-brick house looks exactly as I remember with its neatly kept front garden and big bay window looking out onto the road.

“Here we are,” my mum says, grabbing my bag from the boot. “You go in and I’ll pop the kettle on.”

Inside, the house is warm and familiar, the faint scent of lavender and the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen wrapping around me like a hug. I slip off my shoes as my mother returns, leading me into the living room, where she sets my bag down by the sofa and gestures for me to sit.

“You get settled and I’ll get our tea,” she tells me.

I nod, sinking into the cushions and pulling a blanket over my lap. It might be May, but there’s a chill in the air that isn’t there in Spain. The familiarity of it all is comforting, but it also feels strange - like I’ve stepped back in time, back to a version of myself I’m not sure I remember.

When my mum returns with two steaming mugs, she sets them on the coffee table and sits beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“So,” she says gently, turning to face me. “I’m trying not to pry, but are you going to give me some kind of clue about what’s going on?”

I stare down at the mug of tea, the steam curling into the air, and feel the first tear slide down my cheek.

“I just... I couldn’t stay,” I say, my voice cracking. “It’s all too much. They named my school. Myschool. I feel like I’ve dragged everyone into this mess, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Liv,” she says, pulling me into another hug. Her arms are warm and steady, and I cling to her like I’m a child again, seeking comfort in the only place that’s ever truly felt safe. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this.”

Her voice is soft but laced with anger on my behalf, the kind only a mother can muster. It makes the tears I’ve been holding back spill over, hot and relentless, and I bury my face in her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my voice muffled and trembling. “I feel like I’ve lost control of everything. I’m not cut out for this.”

She strokes my hair, just like she used to do when I was little, the motion slow and soothing.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she murmurs. “And you’re not alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

“I’m not strong,” I say, pulling back enough to look at her. My face feels hot and blotchy, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. “All I hear about is how strong I am. I’m not. I’ve tried so hard, but it’s like... like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Everything’s about him, about - about us. And I just…”

I break off, shaking my head as the tears start again.

Mum squeezes my hands, her gaze unwavering.

“You’ve always been strong, Olivia. Strong doesn’t mean never feeling overwhelmed or scared. It means getting through it anyway. And you will. You’ve just been caught up in something bigger than you were prepared for, but that doesn’t mean you can’t handle it in your own way.”

I take a shaky breath. Her words are beginning to sink in, but my guilt refuses to let go.

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