Chapter 94 Tentative Steps
Elena: POV
I was folding Mom's softest cardigan—the lavender one she wore when she wanted to feel put together—when my phone buzzed on the bed.
I glanced at it. WhatsApp notification.
Ethan Blackwell.
My stomach did this stupid little flip.
[Hey. I know timing's shit, but I'm in Miami for a few days. Dinner tomorrow? No pressure. Just... dinner.]
I stared at the message for way too long. The cardigan slipped from my hands.
Just dinner.
He'd made his feelings pretty damn clear on that flight from New York.
The part where he'd basically confessed he'd been waiting for me for years. The part where I'd shut him down because I was too fucking broken to be anything but a burden.
I still was.
My thumb hovered over the screen. Delete. Ignore. Pretend I didn't see it.
But then I thought about Mom. About the road trip we were planning. About how she'd looked at me this morning when I brought her toast—like she was memorizing my face.
How much time do we have left?
The question sat in my chest like a stone.
"Baby?" Mom's voice drifted from the hallway. "You okay in there?"
I shoved the phone under a pillow. "Yeah. Fine. Just packing."
She appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked better today—showered, dressed in actual clothes instead of that ratty robe. But I could still see the yellow tint creeping into the whites of her eyes.
"You've been staring at that same sweater for five minutes," she said.
Shit. She noticed everything.
I picked up the cardigan again, refolded it with exaggerated focus. "I'm making sure we have enough layers. North Carolina gets cold at night."
"Uh-huh." She moved into the room, sank onto the edge of the bed. "What's really going on?"
I could've lied. Should've lied. But I was so goddamn tired of lying.
"Ethan texted," I said. Kept my eyes on the suitcase. "He wants to have dinner tomorrow."
Silence fell.
Mom asked, "Who is he?"
I said calmly. "He is my college professor."
"Really?" She asked, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes. Then she added, " Are you going."
"I don't know." I threw the cardigan into the suitcase with more force than necessary. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" She patted the bed beside her. "Sit. Talk to me."
I sat. Mostly because standing felt like too much effort.
"He's..." I searched for the right words. "He's been a friend. A good one. But he wants more. And I—" My voice cracked. "I can't give him more. Not after..."
I didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Mom reached over, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so achingly familiar it made my throat tight.
"Baby, you don't owe anyone anything," she said gently. "Not him. Not Julian. Not even me."
"I know that."
"Do you?" Her eyes searched mine. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've spent your whole life trying to earn love. Like it's something you have to deserve."
Fuck.
The words hit like a slap. True, but brutal.
"I just..." I swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt him. Ethan's a good guy. He deserves someone who can actually—" I gestured vaguely at myself. "Someone who isn't a complete disaster."
"Elena Marie Vance." Mom used my full name, which meant business. "You listen to me. You are not a disaster. You're a woman who's survived things that would've broken most people. And you know what? You're still standing."
"Barely," I muttered.
"But you are." She squeezed my hand. "And maybe this dinner isn't about romance. Maybe it's just about remembering that you're allowed to have good things. Good people. Good moments."
I looked at her—the woman who had spent her entire life loving and protecting me. The woman who was fading before my eyes, yet was still more worried about my happiness than her own.
"You want me to go," I said quietly.
"I want you to live happily." Her smile was sad. "While you still can.’”
The unspoken meaning hung between us. I won't be here much longer. Don't waste time being scared.
"It's just dinner," I heard myself say. Testing the words.
"Just dinner," Mom agreed. But her eyes were bright. Hopeful.
And fuck, I couldn't take that hope away from her. Not now. Not when every smile, every normal moment, felt like borrowed time.
"Okay," I said. "I'll go."
Mom's whole face lit up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I pulled out my phone, typed quickly before I could overthink it. Tomorrow works. 7pm?
His response came almost immediately. Perfect. I'll send you the address. Thanks, Elena.
I set the phone down, feeling weirdly shaky.
"See?" Mom said. "That wasn't so hard."
Oh, but it was. It was fucking terrifying.
Because part of me—some stupid, hopeful part I thought Julian had killed—wanted to believe Mom was right. That I deserved good things. That maybe Ethan could be... something.
But the rest of me? The part that still woke up reaching for a baby that wasn't there? That part knew better.
‘You don't just walk away from the kind of damage Julian left behind. You don't just "move on" from losing a child.’
I wasn't ready.
I might never be ready.
But Mom was watching me with such fierce, protective love that I couldn't—wouldn't—take this away from her.
"What are you going to wear?" she asked, already moving toward my closet.
I almost laughed. "Mom, it's not—"
"Humor me." She pulled out a simple black dress, held it up. "This one. With your hair down."
"It's just dinner," I repeated. But I was smiling despite myself.
"Uh-huh." She winked. "Keep telling yourself that, baby."
---
The next evening, I stood outside a waterfront restaurant in Coconut Grove, second-guessing everything.
The black dress suddenly felt too tight. Too much. My hair—loose, like Mom insisted—kept blowing into my face in the humid breeze.
I should leave. Text him some excuse. Food poisoning. Family emergency. Sudden onset amnesia.
But then the door opened, and Ethan stepped out.
He was wearing dark jeans and a white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Casual but put-together. The kind of effortless style that probably took him thirty seconds.
And when he saw me, his whole face transformed.
That smile.
Warm. Open. Like I was the only person in the world worth looking at.
"Hey," he said, crossing to me. "You made it."
"Yeah." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I made it."
He gestured toward the restaurant. "Shall we?"
I nodded. Took a breath. Reminded myself: Just dinner. Just one meal. You can do this.