Chapter 142 Can breath again
Chapter 142 Can breath again
Violet,
The jet felt quieter than it should have, despite the steady hum of the engine beneath our feet. It wasn’t silence exactly, but a careful avoidance of sound. Everyone seemed to be holding something back, words suspended in the air, waiting for the right moment that never quite arrived.
I sat near the window, watching the clouds drift past like slow-moving thoughts. Cyrus was a few seats away, busy with one of his toys, his soft murmurs blending into the mechanical rhythm of the jet. That sound grounded me more than anything else. Children didn’t understand tension the way adults did. They felt it, yes, but they didn’t dissect it, didn’t let it rot inside them.
Knox didn't sit with me though. He was distant. I understood. After all, we were just strangers practically. I miss him despite him being here. I wish I could rest my head on his chest and sleep like I used to do.
" What's with this deep breath? Violet!" Mirah sat across from me,
" Hey. I thought you won't talk to me today! I was feeling bored!"
She hadn’t spoken much since we boarded. Her posture was rigid, arms folded tightly across her chest, gaze fixed anywhere but where Mark stood. Every time he moved, every time he so much as cleared his throat, her jaw tightened a fraction more. She wasn’t pretending not to notice him. She was very deliberately ignoring him.
Mark, on the other hand, kept glancing her way. Not boldly. Not insistently. Just enough to show that he wanted to speak and didn’t know how to begin. He hovered near Cyrus more than usual, as if that was the only place he felt allowed to exist.
I had watched this dynamic long enough.
I leaned slightly forward, lowering my voice. “Mirah.”
She didn’t look at me at first. Her fingers clenched against her sleeve.
“What?” she asked, clipped.
“You’ve been avoiding him since we took off.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m not avoiding anyone.”
I didn’t push immediately. I had learned that Mirah shut down when cornered. Instead, I glanced toward Cyrus, then back at her.
“He’s trying to talk to you.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. Because he didn’t try when it mattered.”
That finally made her look at me. Her eyes were sharp, but there was hurt underneath, raw and unfiltered.
“I know you’re angry,” I said gently. “But completely shutting him out isn’t helping you either.”
She shook her head, strands of hair slipping loose from behind her ear. “You don’t understand, Violet.”
“Then help me understand.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together as if she could wring the feeling out of them.
“He didn’t lose his memories,” she said quietly. “Everyone keeps forgetting that part.”
I stayed silent.
“He remembers everything. Every decision. Every mistake. Every promise he ever made to me.” Her voice wavered slightly. “And still, he didn’t reach out. Not once.”
I felt a familiar ache settle in my chest. This wasn’t just anger. She felt abandonment.
“He saw me drowning,” she continued, voice dropping, “and he chose to stay quiet.”
“Mirah—”
“No,” she cut in softly but firmly. “Let me finish.”
I nodded.
“When everything fell apart, when Knox woke up not knowing who he was, when everything became unstable, I was here. We was here..” Her eyes finally met mine, glassy. “Mark stayed silent. We didn't have to waste two years... Two fucking years. Look at Knox now. He doesn't remember you. Cyrus didn't have to grow up without a father!”
She inhaled sharply. “Do you know how that feels? Knowing the person who remembers you fully still doesn’t choose you?”
I didn’t answer right away. Because I did know. Not exactly the same, but close enough to hurt. But I couldn't stop smiling when she kept mentioning about my situation. She worried about me more than hers.
“The situation wasn’t right for anyone,” I said carefully. “He might have thought—”
“That what?” she snapped. “That I didn’t deserve an explanation? That I wasn’t strong enough to hear the truth?”
“No,” I said. “That he might make things worse.”
She scoffed. “He already did.”
Her voice cracked then, and she looked away quickly, blinking back tears. I reached out instinctively, resting my hand over hers. She didn’t pull away.
“He looks at me now like I’m a stranger,” she whispered. “Like he doesn’t know how to approach me anymore.”
“That’s because he doesn’t,” I said softly. “Not in this version of your relationship.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to forgive someone who chose silence.”
Forgiveness. That word carried too much weight for a jet flying miles above the ground.
Before I could respond, a shift in the air caught my attention. The subtle change that happens when someone realizes they’ve overheard something they were never meant to hear.
I looked up.
Mark stood a few steps behind us.
He hadn’t meant to be there. I could tell by the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, his hand frozen mid-motion, as if he’d been reaching for Cyrus and stopped halfway through. His face was pale, eyes dark with something unreadable.
He had heard everything.
Mirah noticed my gaze and turned slowly. The moment her eyes landed on him, her expression hardened again, like a door slamming shut.
For a few seconds, none of us spoke.
Mark swallowed. His jaw tightened, and I could see the conflict playing out across his face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Whatever he had planned to say had just been stripped of the right moment.
Without a word, he turned toward Cyrus.
“Hey,” he said quietly, kneeling beside him. “Come on, buddy. Let’s take a walk.”
Cyrus looked up, confused but compliant, clutching his toy as Mark gently lifted him into his arms.
Mark didn’t look at Mirah again.
He walked past us, his steps steady but heavy, and disappeared toward the back of the jet, into one of the more private sections. The soft click of the door closing echoed louder than it should have.
Mirah’s breath shuddered. “He always does that,” she said bitterly. “Walks away.”
“He didn’t walk away,” I replied. “He gave you space.”
“I didn’t ask for space.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You asked for silence. And now you’re angry he listened. You have been avoiding him.”
She turned toward me sharply. “Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not,” I exhaled softly. “I’m trying to stop you from hurting yourself.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly. The anger drained just enough to reveal exhaustion underneath. I could understand her frustration. She had every right for that.
“He should have fought,” she whispered. “He should have tried.”
“He’s trying now.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Too late.”
“Is it?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
I leaned closer, lowering my voice further. “Mirah, none of this was fair. Not to you. Not to him. Not to Knox. Not to any of us. I am so grateful for everything he has done.”
She stared at the floor.
“The timing was wrong,” I continued. “The circumstances were wrong. Everyone was reacting, not choosing. You know what it felt during that period.”
She clenched her fists. “He had opportunity. I didn’t.”
“And that scared him,” I said. “Because protectiveness comes with responsibility. He chose to protect Knox.”
She looked up at me then, eyes searching my face.
“He remembers everything,” I said. “That means he remembers every way he’s ever hurt you too.”
Her breath hitched.
“He might have thought staying silent was the only way not to damage you further.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” I agreed. “But it makes it human.”
Silence stretched between us again, heavier now but less sharp.
“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” I said gently. “Not yet.”
She exhaled slowly.
“I’m asking you to give him a chance to explain,” I added. “Because whatever you’re imagining right now is probably worse than the truth.”
Her eyes filled again, but this time she didn’t wipe the tears away immediately.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it,” she admitted.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Just don’t decide without hearing it.”
She nodded faintly.
In the distance, I could hear Cyrus laughing softly at something Mark said, the sound muted through the door. It tightened something in my chest.
Families were fragile things. Not because they broke easily, but because they broke quietly.
Mirah leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. “I’m tired, Violet,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. " it's fine. Don't push yourself."
And for the first time since we boarded, she didn’t look like she was running anymore. She slowly got closer to me and hugged me, " But I am glad that it's over, Violet. I can finally breathe!"