Chapter Thirty-five: The Weight of the Past

Natacha’s POV

The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the window, a glowing reflection of life continuing outside, but inside, everything felt still. I leaned against the glass, watching the movement below—the blurred figures of people hurrying through their lives, cars navigating the streets, the distant hum of a world that never stopped.

It was strange, this sense of calm I had now. For the longest time, my life had been about survival, about bracing myself for the next storm, about keeping my heart guarded. But here, in this space with Alex, I wasn’t just surviving—I was living.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. He was sitting on the couch, one arm resting against the back, his fingers absently tracing patterns into the fabric. He looked deep in thought, his brows slightly furrowed, his jaw tense.

"You're quiet," I said, stepping away from the window and making my way toward him.

Alex's eyes flickered up to meet mine, and a small, almost tired smile played on his lips. "Just thinking."

I sat beside him, curling my legs beneath me as I studied his face. "About?"

His fingers found mine, his touch warm and grounding. "Everything. You. Us. The future."

I exhaled slowly. The future. It was something I had spent years avoiding, never daring to dream too far ahead in fear of disappointment. But now, with Alex, I wanted to believe in it. I wanted to believe that happiness wasn’t just fleeting, that it was something I could hold on to.

"I want to believe in this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "In us."

"You can," he murmured, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere, Natacha."

His words settled deep in my chest, comforting and terrifying all at once.

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was full of understanding, of things unspoken but deeply felt. I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence reassure me.

But then I felt him shift slightly, his body tensing just a fraction.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said carefully.

I lifted my head, sensing the change in his tone. “What is it?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he might not say it. But then, with a quiet breath, he spoke.

“My father reached out.”

My entire body went still.

Alex rarely spoke about his father. What little I knew came from brief mentions, the kind that carried more weight in their silence than in words. His father had been a shadow over his life for years, one he had spent most of his time trying to outrun. The fact that he was bringing this up now meant it was serious.

I swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

Alex ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “He wants to meet. Says he wants to talk. After all these years, he suddenly decides he wants to reconnect.” His voice was laced with disbelief, bitterness creeping in at the edges.

I reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “And what do you want?”

He let out a slow breath, staring at our intertwined fingers. “I don’t know.”

I studied his face, searching for the truth behind his words. This wasn’t just about a phone call—it was about everything his father represented. Control. Expectations. The years of pressure that had shaped Alex into the man he was today.

“You don’t have to meet him,” I said carefully. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Alex’s fingers tightened around mine, his gaze distant. “I know. But… part of me wonders if this is a chance for closure. Maybe if I face him, I can finally put everything behind me.”

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “If you decide to meet him, I’ll be there. Whatever you need.”

His eyes softened as he looked at me. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

I smiled, brushing my fingers over his jaw. “Yes, you do.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, as if trying to memorize every detail of my face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he pulled me closer.

“I spent my whole life chasing his approval,” he admitted. “And when I finally realized I’d never get it, I thought I could just shut him out completely. But the truth is, he still has a hold on me. No matter how much I’ve tried to move on, there’s always been a part of me waiting for this moment. And now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do with it.”

I traced small circles over the back of his hand, grounding him. “You don’t have to decide right now. And you don’t have to face this alone.”

He let out a small chuckle, though it lacked humor. “I’ve never been good at letting people in. At letting anyone stand beside me.”

I tilted my head, offering him a knowing smile. “You’re learning.”

Alex huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

We fell into silence again, but this time, it was filled with something else—something lighter. The weight of the conversation still lingered, but so did something else. A quiet understanding. A promise that no matter what happened next, we would face it together.

Then, as if sensing the shift, Alex leaned in, his lips brushing softly against mine. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring the moment. When we finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine.

“No matter what happens,” he said quietly, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart swelling. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too.”

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid of the future.

With Alex, I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.

Whatever comes next, we would face it together.