Things We Cannot Escape From

Things We Cannot Escape From
Elona’s POV
The message came in just as I was tying my shoelaces. I stared at my phone longer than I should have, my fingers were frozen mid-motion, the lace slipping through my grip.
Tristan: Rowan Patel is dead.
The words didn’t feel real. They sat there on the screen like something misplaced, like they belonged to another life, another story. It didn’t feel like it belonged to mine and Tristan’s story. My chest tightened as I read the next message.
Tristan: I will be assigned a new attorney. Don’t worry about me. Focus on yourself.
Don’t worry about me.
I let out a quiet breath, but it didn’t ease anything inside me. If anything, it made it worse. Because I knew Tristan, and I knew that when he told someone not to worry, it usually meant he was already drowning and didn’t want anyone else pulled under with him.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
Me: Are you okay?
Me: What happened?
Me: Do you need me?
I didn’t send any of them. Because I already knew the answer. He wouldn’t tell me. And right now… I don’t even know if I was strong enough to hear it.
I grabbed my gym bag and slung it over my shoulder, ignoring the dull ache that settled low in my abdomen. It wasn’t sharp today, just a constant reminder that my body was still going through its condition, still holding onto pain I couldn’t quite release. I slipped my phone into my bag and headed towards the front door.
I stepped out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind me, my cab was waiting for me. I walked down the pathway from my apartment door to the cab. “Elona?”
I stopped in my tracks, startled as I turned to see who had called me, who even knew me here, because if it was paparazzi or just one of them, I would be in danger without protection. But then my eyes landed on the one person I didn’t even thought I would see again. “Mr. Monroe?”
He smiled, a little surprised himself, standing just outside the neighboring apartment door. He looked exactly the same, neatly dressed, composed, with that quiet confidence that made him one of the more liked teachers back at Stern Academy.
“What are the chances?” he said, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Do you live here?” He asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t know you did too?”
“I don’t-well, not always,” he admitted. “I stay here during the week sometimes. I’m still teaching at Stern.” That made something in me soften. Stern felt like a lifetime ago. A different version of me. One that hadn’t known heartbreak the way I did now. “How have you been?” he asked, his tone was warm and genuine.
“I’ve been… okay,” I said, though the word felt like a lie the moment it left my lips. “Busy....Modeling.”
His eyes lit up slightly. “I’ve seen some of your work. You have come a long way since last year.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“And your health?” he added gently. “You used to struggle sometimes.”
I shifted my weight slightly. “I still do. Endometriosis doesn’t really… go away. But I’m managing.”
He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I remember that perfume shoot we did last year,” he said with a small smile. “You were nervous at first.”
I huffed out a soft laugh. “I was terrified.”
“You hid it well. You have always had that ability...to push through.”
Those words lingered heavier than they should, because lately, pushing through felt like the only thing I knew how to do. Even when my body begged me to stop. Even when my heart felt like it was splintering under the weight of everything I was carrying.
Mr. Monroe studied me for a moment, then his expression shifted more cautiously now. “And Tristan?” he asked. “I’ve… heard things. The case, about Grace.” My stomach twisted. Of course, he had heard about that, everyone had.
“I...” I started, but my voice caught.
He hesitated, then said it quietly. “I might be wrong… but when I heard about it, I wondered… if you had been pregnant.” The world went still. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as his words settled over me like a weight I couldn’t shake off. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “That’s not my place to ask.” But the damage was already done, because now it was there again. The memory, the loss, the thing I couldn’t outrun no matter how fast I moved.
I swallowed hard, nodding once. “Thank you.” It was all I could manage, because if I said anything more, I would break and I was so tired of breaking.
My eyes burned, tears threatening to spill, but I blinked them back. Not here, not outside our apartments, not in front of someone who only knew fragments of the story. The world didn’t let me forget, not even for a second.
Every conversation, every whisper, every headline...it all circled back to the same thing. What I had lost, what we had lost and I knew… Tristan felt it too, that constant reminder, that invisible weight pressing down on him just as much as it did on me.
“I should go,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. “I’ll be late for VFS.”
“Of course,” Mr. Monroe said, stepping aside. “It was good seeing you, Elona.”
“You too.” He paused, then added softly, “I’m proud of you.”
Something in my chest tightened again. I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
The cab ride was quiet. I sat in the back seat, my bag resting against my knees, my fingers tracing the seam of the fabric absentmindedly. Outside the cab, the city moved like nothing had changed. People were walking, cars were passing, life continued. But inside me… everything felt different.
I checked my phone again. There were no new messages, no updates and no Tristan. I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. I missed him, not just the physical parts. I missed the way he steadied me. The way his presence made everything feel… less overwhelming.
Right now, he was dealing with lawyers, hearings, accusations. Losing someone like Rowan Patel in the middle of all this...it wasn’t just unfortunate. It was dangerous, and yet… he told me not to worry like that was even possible.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my lips together. He was protecting me, just like I was trying to protect him, and somehow, in the middle of all of this…we were both alone.
“Ma’am, we’re here.” I blinked my eyes open as the cab came to a stop. We were in front of VFS.
The building stood tall, sleek, and intimidating in its perfection. I paid quickly, stepping out and adjusting my bag over my shoulder. Before walking in, I glanced around instinctively. I looked out for cameras, reporters, people watching, but today...it was quiet. Either they hadn’t found me or they were waiting somewhere else. I can breathe a sigh of relief for that. I didn’t have the energy for them today.
I pushed through the doors and stepped inside. The sound of heels echoed in the distance. The pressure settled back into my chest like it had never left. This place...this world didn’t care about grief. It didn’t care about loss. It only cared about perfection and I wasn’t sure how much more of myself I could give to it before there was nothing left, but I kept walking anyway, because stopping… wasn’t an option. It wasn’t yet though.