Chapter 26 The echo in the blood
The house was finally reclaiming its quiet, though it felt like a different kind of silence than the one that had greeted the morning. The whirlwind of the birthday brunch had left a residue of expensive perfume, blueberry stains, and heavy revelations. My parents, looking ten years older than they had at breakfast, had gathered a slumbering Leo still clutching his toy dinosaur in his Burberry sleeve and retreated to the back of the house to rest.
Maya and I were left with the wreckage of the celebration. The dining room, once a battlefield, was now just a room filled with dirty plates and wilting lilies.
I picked up a stack of porcelain, my eyes lingering on the empty chair where Victor had sat. "I wish Mom could just... bury the memory of Jacob," I said, my voice barely a whisper over the sound of clinking silverware. "I wish she’d accept that there’s a high possibility he’s dead. Seeing her look at Victor like that... it’s like she’s opening a wound that never had a chance to scar."
Maya paused, a half-empty glass of juice in her hand. She looked toward our parents' closed door, her expression uncharacteristically somber. "It isn’t as easy as that, El. Time heals, sure, but a mother’s gut is a different kind of compass. It doesn't care about logic or thirty-one years of silence. If she feels a tether, she follows it."
"But it’s been three decades, Maya," I countered, scrubbing a stubborn smudge of frosting off the lace tablecloth. "Maybe it’s time to let him go so she can breathe."
Maya took a deep sigh, the usual fire in her eyes dimmed by the gravity of the conversation. She didn't have an answer this time. Instead, she turned toward the sink, the rhythmic sound of running water filling the gap between us.
Suddenly, the screen of Maya’s phone, resting on the counter, lit up with a bright flash. I watched as her entire countenance shifted in a split second. The heavy gloom vanished, replaced by a radiant, genuine smile that made her look like the carefree girl she used to be.
"Well, well," I teased, leaning against the counter. "Who is that? You’re smiling at a text message, Maya. The only time I ever see you look that happy at your phone is when a bank notification hits your inbox."
Maya let out a startled laugh, a splash of pink hitting her cheeks. "Oh, shut up! It’s... it’s Vane."
"Vane?" I arched an eyebrow. "The trainer? The man who looks like he could bench-press a small car?"
"The very one," she giggled, showing me the screen.
Vane: I’ve arrived back at the fortress. You looked gorgeous today, Maya. Sleep well.
"He asked for my number while you were in the kitchen fighting with Liam," she admitted, her thumbs dancing over the screen as she typed a reply. "And why on earth would I deny him? I mean, look at the man—he’s hot, he’s kind, and I think it’s finally time I let myself fall back into the idea of love. Besides," she added with a wink, "Leo needs a stepfather who can actually teach him how to throw a ball instead of just coloring them."
We both broke into loud, echoing laughter, the tension of the day finally snapping under the weight of her joy.
"You’re right, Maya," I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "You deserve love. Real, 'butterfly-in-your-stomach' love. I hope he’s the one to give it to you."
We focused on the cleaning for a while, the mundane task of drying dishes becoming a backdrop for our chatter. But as Maya’s phone continued to buzz, mine remained silent in my pocket—until it didn't. A vibration against my thigh made my breath catch.
It was Victor.
Victor: The pies are excellent. My father would be jealous of your mother’s crust. Thank you for inviting me into your home, Elena. It was... enlightening.
Elena: I'm glad you enjoyed them. I’m sorry about the drama with Liam. And the thing with my mother... it was a lot.
Victor: Don't apologize for the truth. Your mother is a remarkable woman. Sleep well, Rainbow. You look better in red than I imagined, but you look best when you’re just yourself.
I felt a warm glow spread through my chest, a stark contrast to the notification that appeared just seconds later.
Liam: Goodnight, my love. I’m thinking about what I promised. Tomorrow is a new start for us. I love you.
I took a deep, shaky breath. The weight of the two messages felt like a physical pressure on my heart. I typed a short, neutral reply to Liam: Goodnight, Liam. See you soon.
The house eventually settled into the deep, heavy stillness of the middle of the night. The rain had returned, a soft patter against the roof that usually acted as a lullaby. But in the master bedroom, the peace was a lie.
My mother was trapped.
In her dream, the world was a blur of gray mist and jagged shadows. She was standing in a field that looked like a battlefield, the air smelling of ozone and old iron. A figure was standing a few yards away, his back to her. He was tall, dressed in dark clothes, his silhouette unmistakable.
"Jacob?" she called out, her voice echoing as if she were in a canyon.
The figure turned. It was Victor. He looked at her with those dark, intense eyes—the eyes from the photograph. He reached out a hand, his fingers grazing the air between them, but he wasn't moving toward her. He was being pulled backward by an invisible force, his expression one of silent, agonized longing.
"Victor! Jacob!" she screamed, running toward him, her feet heavy as if moving through deep water.
She reached for him, her fingers inches away from his coat, but a wall of glass suddenly slammed down between them. She hammered on it, her muffled cries lost in a rising roar of wind. On the other side, Victor’s form began to fade, his image fracturing like a broken mirror until he was nothing but shards of light.
My mother woke up with a violent gasp, her chest heaving as she sat bolt upright in the dark. The sheets were damp with sweat, and her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Martha? What is it?" my father murmured, stirring beside her, his hand reaching for her shoulder.
She couldn't answer. She stared into the darkness of the room, the image of Victor’s face his Jacob’s face still burned into her retinas. She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, the tether she had felt all day now pulling so hard it felt like it might snap her in two.
"He’s there," she whispered into the silence, her voice a ghost of a sound. "He’s so close, and he’s being pulled away."