Page 93 of The Girl I Once Loved

I open up the front door, bringing my mug with me as I step outside into the morning air hung heavy with a sense of unease. I sit on the porch, sipping my coffee in the early morning light. I’d always been an early riser after nights when I drank too much—a weird thing wired into my DNA.

The rhythmic sound of crickets fills the silence, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Curt, my stepfather, emerges from the house, his footsteps barely audible on the wooden porch. He settles into a chair across from me, his own steaming cup of coffee in hand. Neither of us speak, content to share the quiet companionship that has grown between us over the years.

But eventually, the unspoken weight in the air becomes too heavy to bear, and I break the silence. "Curt," I begin hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper, "did you know?"

He looks at me, his eyes reflecting the somberness of the morning. "No," he replies softly, his gaze distant. "Noah told me the gist of it last night when he brought you home, but I have to admit I had my suspicions. You see, I not only love my wife very much, but I know her heart. There had been something off about her when you left for college all those years ago. And when I saw how frightened and guilt-stricken she was every time she picked up the phone to call you, I knew that there was a story behind there somewhere."

I lower my gaze to my coffee cup, my fingers tracing the rim as I absorb his words.

"I have to be frank, though," Curt continues, his tone laced with regret. "I never knew that Noah was at the center of it. Or that you two were in love. I feel like a fool for not seeing the signs earlier."

Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away. It wasn't Curt's fault; he had only known what he had been allowed to see. The depths of my feelings for Noah had been a secret I had guarded fiercely, even from those closest to me.

"It's not your fault," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "I kept it hidden from everyone, even myself sometimes."

Curt reaches across the small table between us, his hand gently covering mine. His touch is warm and reassuring, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that had been buried beneath the surface for too long.

"We all have our secrets," he says softly, his eyes meeting mine. "But sometimes, it's the sharing of those secrets that helps us heal."

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. For years, I had carried the weight of my past. But now, sitting on the porch with Curt, I realize that maybe it’s time to start sharing those secrets, to confront the pain and loss that has shaped my life.

Tears well up in my eyes as Curt's words wash over me like a soothing balm. Gratitude swells in my heart, a deep well of emotion that I can barely contain. I reach across the table and squeeze his hand, my voice trembling with sincerity.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for being there for me all these years, even when I pushed everyone away."

Curt offers me a warm smile, his eyes filled with understanding and affection. "It was my privilege, Skylar," he replies, his voice gentle yet resolute. "To be your father, to watch you grow into the remarkable woman you've become—it's been an honor."

I can’t hold back the tears any longer, and they spill down my cheeks as I nod in response. I had been blessed with a stepfather who had stood by me through thick and thin, who had loved me unconditionally, even when I couldn't love myself.

"I want you to know," Curt continues, his grip on my hand firm and reassuring, "that I will always be here for you, no matter what happens with Noah. You don't have to face this journey alone."

His words are a lifeline, a promise that I would never have to navigate the turbulent waters of my past alone. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him in a heartfelt embrace, seeking solace in his presence.

"Thank you," I whisper once more, my voice barely above a breath. "For everything."

Curt holds me close, his embrace a symbol of unwavering support and love. In that moment, I realized that no matter what lay ahead, I had a family that would anchor me. Which is more than I would have said before I returned to Thatcher’s Bay.

I guess I was healing in more ways than one from my time on the island.

* * *

The next day, I’m outside, the sun bathing the garden around me in a warm, golden glow, casting dappled shadows among the vibrant blooms that adorned the carefully manicured beds. My mother had developed a new love for gardening in the years I’d been away, and that love had transformed the backyard into a breathtaking oasis of color and life. Roses climbed trellises, their petals a riot of reds and pinks. Delicate lilies swayed gracefully in the breeze, their pure white blossoms standing out against the lush greenery. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the gentle hum of bees provided a soothing backdrop to the tranquil scene.

I sit on a weathered wooden bench beneath the shade of a sprawling wisteria vine, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wood. My mind was a tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions, and I sought solace in the beauty of my mother's garden.

As I contemplate the events of the past seven years, my mother emerges from the house, a tray of freshly brewed tea in her hands. She approaches me with a tentative smile, her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and regret. Setting the tray down on a nearby table, she gestures to the empty spot beside me on the bench.

"May I join you, Skylar?" she asks softly.

I nod, and she settles onto the bench beside me. Pouring tea into two cups, she hands one to me, and we sit in silence for a moment, sipping the fragrant brew.

The warmth of the tea spreads through me, chasing away the chill of the past, and I can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the simple, comforting moments I had shared with my mother when I was a child.

Eventually, my mother breaks the silence with a sigh. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice tinged with sadness.

I turn to look at her, my eyes searching her face for sincerity. "For what,Mother?"

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