Page 188 of When the Storm Breaks
I should’ve known it wouldn’t.
I don’t just miss her. It feels like something’s been carved out of me. Like I’m half a person without her. A ghost, wandering aimlessly, wondering if I’ll ever feel whole again.
Maybe that’s the price of loving someone like her.
Maybe it means letting her go.
Giving her the chance to have something so much better than me.
I drag a hand down my face, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes as the tears finally break free.
She’ll always be my sun.
And even in the storms, I’llalwayslook for her light.
Chapter 60
Calla
I’ve been staying in a hotel across town for the last few days.
It was only supposed to be one night—a backup plan in case I couldn’t handle seeing Haiyden. A place to break. To breathe. To figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.
But I keep extending the stay.
There’s a part of me that’s paralyzed.
Because I’m not sure what going back might mean. What it might ask of me. What might fall apart if I try again and still can’t hold it together.
My suitcase still sits by the bed, untouched. Like I’m waiting for someone else to make the decision for me.
Every time I think about walking through that door again—really showing up—it feels like stepping toward a cliff. Like one step in the wrong direction might send me falling, spinning all over again.
It’s like I’m stuck between two lives: the one I walked away from, and the one I want—but don’t know how to belong to.
The room is quiet. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring out at thestretch of dull grey sky, loneliness clinging to me like a second skin.
After a moment, I get up and smooth the sheets until the creases disappear—pretending I can do the same with my own life. But it doesn’t change anything.
I feel the distance everywhere.
And then the memories come—painful and sudden, flashing behind my eyes.
The first morning he took care of me, the smell of burnt toast filling the kitchen. His voice low and soft as he set a plate in front of me anyway.
The way his hands guided mine, patient and steady, teaching me how to fold paper into something beautiful. Fingers brushing against mine like it meant something more.
The nights he carried me to bed when I was too tired to move. Tucked me in. Brushed my hair back. Kissed my forehead like I was something precious.
The mornings he woke me up with teasing touches and laughter, insisting I hadn’t smiled enough the night before.
The way he always made sure I was warm. Safe.
Every one of them is a tether.
And no matter how far I go, they keep pulling me back to him.
But they don’t erase everything. The pain. The uncertainty. The grief and guilt tangled up with the love.
