Chapter 149 Learn to Accept Slowly

Chapter 149 Learn to Accept Slowly

Stephanie's POV

The road sign at the end of the bridge spelled out a name I knew by heart, but now it looked like I was seeing it through thick fog—blurry and impossible to focus on.

My heart hammered out of control, slamming against my ribs so hard I could barely breathe.

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my temples. I lifted my hand to wipe it away and found the back of my hand damp and clammy.

"Stephanie?" Emily quickly grabbed my hand. "Are you okay?"

I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but no words came out.

I tried to take a deep breath, but the air caught halfway down. My chest tightened painfully—I couldn't breathe in or out, only manage shallow gasps through my mouth, which only made it worse.

"This is not okay..." Emily's grip on my hand tightened, worry sharp in her voice.

"Maybe we shouldn't go today! Harborcrest has tons of beaches. We can have the wedding anywhere—let's just pick a different spot..."

"No need." I shook my head, forcing the words out. "I'm fine. Just... give me a minute."

Emily started to protest, but Christopher had already pulled the car over to the side of the road.

He turned to look at me. His gaze lingered on my face for two seconds. He didn't ask any questions, just said to Rufus, "Take a right at the next intersection. We'll check into the hotel first and drop off the luggage."

Rufus nodded, and the car started moving again. We wound through a few city blocks before pulling up in front of a small hotel.

My legs were still shaky when I got out of the car. I nearly stumbled, but Christopher was already there, catching my elbow.

He stayed with me through the lobby, into the elevator, down the hallway to the end. He swiped the keycard, pushed open the door, and guided me to sit on the edge of the bed.

In his quiet presence, my racing heartbeat slowly steadied.

I sat there for a long time, until the cold sweat on my palms had completely dried. Finally, I looked up at him. "Why didn't we go straight to the beach?"

He crouched down in front of me. "Are you really ready right now?"

I was silent for a moment, then honestly shook my head.

When we'd left Averton City, during those two days we'd spent in Aetheria, I'd been so sure I was prepared.

But the moment that familiar road sign came into view, I realized the truth—all that so-called preparation had just been me lying to myself from a safe distance.

Actually setting foot back on this land, I still couldn't stop the crushing weight in my chest.

My eyes burned. "Am I pathetic?"

He shook his head gently and reached up to cup my face in his hands.

"No. You're already so brave—at least you dared to come back. We're spending the night in town not because there's some special scenery here, but because your emotions need time to adjust. We can't rush into facing everything. You need to slowly accept this place, get used to it again, before you can truly confront the past."

He ruffled my hair lightly, a faint smile in his eyes.

"Everything takes time. It's like getting ready in the morning—you have to get up, wash your face, get dressed, eat breakfast. One step at a time. Facing loss, facing Yasmin's death—it's the same principle."

My eyes stung even more. I looked down, mumbling, "You're too good at this... but this isn't as simple as getting out of bed in the morning."

"I'm not trying to comfort you. I'm telling you the truth." His tone was serious.

"Death is one of life's biggest trials, but everyone has to go through it. No one gets a perfect life with zero regrets. You have to learn to accept it—accept that Yasmin is gone, accept the regret you unintentionally caused, and accept that even without her, we still have to keep moving forward."

Then his tone shifted, becoming lighter as he changed the subject.

"Besides, getting out of bed does take a lot of courage. Have you forgotten? Every morning I have to call your name forever before you'll crawl out from under the covers. And sometimes you even get a little grumpy with me."

I choked on a laugh despite myself and lightly swatted his chest. "I'm not that bad."

"Mm-hmm." His lips curved up, his eyes full of warmth. "You have a great temperament. You just get a tiny bit cranky in the mornings."

I laughed through my tears, and the knot in my chest finally loosened, just a little.

I wiped the dampness from my eyes and looked up at him. "So where are we going next?"

He stood and held out his hand. "I heard there's a famous old place around here. It's my first time in Harborcrest—I want you to take me there."

I blinked, suddenly remembering. When I was little and my mom had to work weekends, she'd bring me into town and take me to that little shop on the corner.

Their fish and chips were incredible. I'd always beg her to buy an extra order to take home.

After we left Harborcrest, I never came back. But I never forgot the taste of that place.

"I know exactly where you mean." I stood and took his hand. "Let's go."

We went downstairs and met up with Emily and Rufus in the hotel lobby.

When Emily saw me smiling again, she visibly relaxed, though her tone stayed sharp. "Finally! In the car earlier, I seriously thought you were about to pass out."

"It wasn't that bad." I rolled my eyes at her.

The four of us wandered slowly through the old district.

Beneath our feet were the same old light-gray cobblestones, worn smooth by years of footsteps and weather.

The buildings on either side had been freshly painted—no longer the dull gray I remembered, but soft shades of pink, blue, and cream.

Old-fashioned wrought-iron signs hung from the eaves, swaying gently in the sea breeze that funneled down the alleyway.

I walked slowly, taking in every familiar sight.

The old bakery was still there. The second-floor balcony of that little building still had the same flowers growing in pots.

Twenty years had passed, but so much had stayed the same.

I led the group down a narrow side street. At the end was the tiny storefront I remembered.

The smell of hot oil and spices hung in the air. As I reached the door, the owner behind the counter looked up from the fish he was frying.

It was Malcolm, the same man I remembered—only so much older now. His hair was mostly white, and deep lines creased his face.

He stared at me for a long moment before speaking, hesitant. "Are you... the Johnson girl?"