#117: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - Anchor

Violet

Julian was already awake when I opened my eyes. And not in that usual, lazy way, with a crumpled face and an arm blindly reaching for his phone. He was staring at me, head resting on his hand, eyes fixed on mine like he'd woken up early just to make sure I was still there.

"Are you watching me?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"I’m observing you. There's a difference."

I rolled my eyes, turning my face to the other side of the pillow. I wasn’t ready to start the day, and I definitely wasn’t ready to be analyzed like a decaying piece of art at eight in the morning.

He sat up in bed, ran a hand over his face, and let out a sigh that sounded more like a silent question.

"You were way too quiet yesterday after we got home."

I knew what he meant. My silence was never just silence. It was more like a bubble of absence I crawled into when everything inside felt too tight.

And the last few days had been just that: a quiet weight hidden behind tasks and cooking — things I used to distract myself from everything that hurt and left me feeling uneven.

"I’m just tired, I promise I’m not hiding anything else."

It was the best excuse I could come up with. A lie that carried a bit of truth, but not the whole truth.

Julian got up and went to the closet. From the noise, I thought he was changing clothes. But when he came back, he had his phone in hand, typing quickly, focused.

"What are you doing?"

"Canceling everything," he said simply. "I had some things to sort out with the gas company, a few final steps before we move on to the last part — ordering ingredients and finalizing the menu. But that can wait. We need some time off before we burn out."

"Because of what we talked about on the Ferris wheel?"

He tossed the phone onto the dresser like someone proud of a radical decision made before breakfast.

"Suppliers, site visits... it’s all just boring logistics. It'll be better for both of us. So, no restaurant for the next few days."

I sat up slowly, trying to figure out if he was serious or if this was another controlled outburst of a lovesick chef.

"Julian, do you realize what you're saying? We're less than two weeks away from the final menu delivery..."

"And you think anything will change if I keep pushing you to function when your mind is somewhere else?"

He came closer, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently took my hand in his, interlacing our fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world. But I always felt too rushed.

"I know it was hard. His birthday. I’ve never lost a lover — I’m lucky in that. But I did lose my mom. You lost yours too, but you were too young to really remember what that feels like. All I’m saying is... ignoring it won’t make it go away."

My chest tightened. Not just because he knew things about me before I even understood myself, though that always reminded me that he had lived a whole life while I was still a child. But because he had also suffered, and I had never really considered the pain he carried quietly.

"It’s not a big deal... you don’t have to drop everything for me," I lied. The sentence felt like a plea — even I wanted to believe it would all just disappear.

"Violet."

"I just don’t want to make this into some drama, okay? It’s already in the past. I’m with you, I’m fine. I promise. We can work through our trauma another time."

He looked at me, deep and calm like he could see straight through my desperate attempt at strength.

"Some things don’t just pass. And they shouldn’t. You miss him — and that doesn’t mean you’re not with me. I’m not competing with a ghost, I’m competing with the version of you that won’t let me in. So I need you to promise we’ll help each other. Okay?"

I closed my eyes. This is why I loved this man. Because he understood even what I couldn’t explain. He saw me, and he wasn’t afraid of how broken I was.

"I don’t know what to do with this sadness. It’s nothing new, but it still hits hard every time. And I hate that. The way it breaks me, even when I try so hard to pretend it doesn’t."

"Then stop pretending. Just for a few days. I can handle it."

I sighed, tired but smiling.

"And what do you suggest?"

He smiled too — that mischievous little grin he always had before throwing out a completely unexpected idea.

"How about a few days off? We go out with no plans, eat junk food, watch trashy shows on TV, maybe even paint pottery — I don’t know."

I laughed. For the first time in days.

"You want to paint pottery?"

"I want to do anything that gets you out of your bubble. Or let me crawl in there with you. Either way, I want to see you laugh again."

I flopped back onto the pillow, laughing harder now.

"You’re so random sometimes."

"And yet, irresistible. I saw how you looked at me last night."

He lay down beside me, pulling me close by the waist. We stayed like that, listening to the silence of a morning where, for the first time in a while, we had nothing to do.

"But what if I want to cook?" I teased. "I still have recipes to test."

"Only if you wear that purple pajama, play your early 2000s rock playlist with those awful songs, and let me steal ingredients from your mise en place so you’ll smack me with a spatula."

That was his way of caring — not with flowers or poetic words that fade with the wind, but with freedom. Space to be fragile without shame. To fall apart without losing dignity.

Julian made me understand a kind of love I don’t think I ever knew. Looking back, I realize that Ethan and I loved in a way that, long term, would’ve destroyed us both.

"I don’t need you to spoil me, okay? Just be your usual annoying self who drives me crazy."

"I know. But I want to. That’s the old Julian — pretending you weren’t the most attractive person around. Now I’m your boyfriend, and boyfriends are allowed to spoil their girlfriends."

I opened my eyes slowly, a goofy smile fading gently. He was serious now, looking at me with that calm intensity only he knew how to wield.

"Let me take care of you, Vi. You’ve been taking care of everything for so long — ran Julian’s alone for two years. You’re tough, but you deserve care too."

I nodded softly. He smiled, satisfied like he’d just found a rare ingredient for a signature dish.

"But on one condition."

"Here we go..."

"No looking at me with that pity face when I’m having a meltdown or ugly crying, because it will happen sometimes."

He laughed — a warm, honest sound.

"No promises. You look adorable even when you're sniffling over sappy movies."

"Idiot."

"Love you too."

This forced break, acting like a normal couple and having peaceful moments — maybe it was exactly what we needed. I’d try to match the love he gave me and do my best not to fall apart when I didn’t know how to handle everything.

I used to wonder why it was hard to want Julian without feeling like I was betraying Ethan. But today, this conversation, this simple moment — it reminded me of my dad.

Mr. Luigi was wise, even when he was a ball of stress and a master in the kitchen. He once told me that the anger I carried was actually grief — a way to cope with the hole in my chest.

For a long time, I thought Julian was just numbing the pain. But now it made sense.

Julian wasn’t my anesthetic. He was my anchor.

And for a few days… that was exactly what I needed.