Chapter 168 Under the Stars

Chapter 168 Under the Stars
(Lily Carter's POV)
The sun had finished its slow descent behind the hills, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and oranges that eventually gave way to a velvet black. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Outside the back door, on the small stone patio, my mother had set up a table. It wasn't fancy—just a wooden table with a simple cloth and some mismatched plates but in the soft, flickering light of a few lanterns she’d hung, it looked like the most beautiful place on earth.
"Let me take that, Elena," Ethan said, gently stepping in to take the heavy platter of roasted vegetables from her hands.
"Oh, thank you, dear," she said, smoothing out her apron. "I’m not as quick as I used to be, I’m afraid. But everything is ready."
I stood by the edge of the patio, watching them. It felt so natural, the way Ethan moved around the small space, helping her, making her laugh. I had been worried about how this would go whether there would be tension or awkward silences but so far, it had been nothing but grace.
"You look like you're daydreaming, Lily," my mother said, turning to me with a warm smile. "Come, sit. The food is getting cold."
"Sorry," I said, walking over and pulling out my chair. "I’m just… taking it all in."
"It’s a good night for it," she said. "The air is clear. We’ll see the stars soon enough."
We sat down, the three of us huddled in the soft glow of the lantern. Ethan reached for my hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze, before helping serve the salad.
"This looks incredible, Elena," Ethan said, looking at the spread. "I didn't know you had a garden like this."
"I let it go a bit wild over the last few years," she admitted, passing him the bread. "But it still produces. There’s something about the soil out here; it just keeps giving, even when you aren't paying as much attention to it as you should."
"I think that’s a metaphor for a lot of things," I said, smiling at her.
"Maybe it is," she replied, her eyes catching mine. She didn't look away. "I’ve had a lot of time to think about metaphors lately."
We ate for a few minutes in a comfortable, easy silence. The food was simple roasted chicken, potatoes, and fresh vegetables—but it tasted better than anything I’d eaten in years. It tasted like home.
"So," my mother said, breaking the silence as she took a sip of her water. "Tell me about this apartment of yours in the city. You said it has a lot of light?"
"It does," I said. "It has these huge windows that face east. In the morning, the whole room just turns gold. It’s my favorite part of the day."
"And you have space for all your books?" she asked.
"I have shelves everywhere," I laughed. "Ethan hates how many books I have, but he pretends he doesn't."
Ethan chuckled. "I don't hate them. I just think we need to install a library ladder at some point because they’re starting to reach the ceiling."
My mother laughed, a bright, genuine sound. "She always was a reader. Even when she was tiny, I couldn't get her to go outside to play. She’d be curled up in the corner with a storybook, completely lost in another world."
"I remember that," I said, feeling a surge of nostalgia. "I used to hide in the attic when it rained."
"I remember finding you up there once," she said, her expression softening. "You had a flashlight and a blanket, and you looked like you were in a fortress. I didn't want to disturb you, so I just left a snack by the door and walked away."
"I remember that snack," I said. "It was apple slices with peanut butter."
"She remembers everything," my mother said, looking at Ethan. "It’s a blessing and a curse."
"I think it’s a blessing," Ethan said softly. "It makes her who she is."
We talked for a long time about everything and nothing. We talked about the city, about the work I was doing, and about Ethan’s projects. It was the kind of easy, flowing conversation I had desperately missed, but hadn't realized I was starving for until this moment.
As the sky darkened, the stars began to poke through the blackness, one by one. It was so quiet out here compared to the city. There was no hum of traffic, no sirens, no distant shouting. Just the sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.
"It’s so beautiful out here," I said, tilting my head back to look up. "I forgot how many stars you can see."
"They don't change," my mother said. "They’re always there, even when the city lights hide them. You just have to be in the right place to see them."
She fell silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the table. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts.
"Lily," she said, her voice dropping to a more serious tone.
"Yeah, Mom?"
She reached across the table and took my hand. Her skin was warm, and her touch was steady. "I’ve been thinking about what you told me earlier. About the last three years. About how hard it was, and how much you had to change to get to this point."
"It was hard," I admitted. "But I made it."
"You did," she said. "And I want you to know something. I want you to know how proud I am of you."
I felt my throat tighten. "Mom, you don't have to"
"I do," she interrupted gently. "I have to say it. For a long time, I blamed myself for everything. I blamed myself for the distance, for the silence, for the things I didn't say when I should have. I thought I had failed you."
"You didn't fail me," I said, shaking my head. "I made my own choices."
"But I watched you struggle," she continued, her eyes glistening. "I watched you carry so much weight on your shoulders when you were just a girl. And then, when you left… I was terrified. I thought, 'She’s going to be alone. She’s going to get lost out there.'"
"I was lost for a little while," I said. "But I found my way."
"You did," she said, squeezing my hand tighter. "And that is why I am so proud. Not because you’re perfect. Not because everything worked out exactly the way you planned—because I know life doesn't work that way. I am proud because you fought for your own happiness. You didn't settle. You didn't let the fear turn you into someone bitter or cold. You kept your heart open."
She looked at Ethan, then back at me. "And you found someone who sees that. Someone who cherishes it. That takes courage, Lily. It takes so much courage to trust again after everything you’ve been through. You are the strongest person I have ever known."
I couldn't speak. The words hung in the air, washing over me, healing parts of myself I hadn't realized were still wounded. I had spent so much of my life waiting for validation, waiting to be told that I was doing okay, and hearing it from her the person whose opinion mattered most was everything.
"Thank you," I finally managed to whisper. "That means… that means the world to me."
"It’s the truth," she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I look at you now, and I see a woman who knows who she is. And that is the only thing a mother really wants for her child. To be their own person."
Ethan leaned in, resting his hand on my shoulder. "She’s incredible, Elena. I know it sounds biased coming from me, but every day I learn something new about her that just amazes me. She’s kind, she’s resilient, and she’s the most authentic person I know."
My mother smiled at him, a genuine, joyful expression. "I believe you. I can see it. You don't have to convince me."
We sat in silence for a few seconds, the weight of the moment hanging beautifully between us. It wasn't heavy; it felt like a relief, like a long-held breath finally being released.
"So," my mother said, shifting the mood and standing up. "Who wants dessert? I made a pie. I remembered that Ethan said he prefers pie over cake."
Ethan grinned. "You remembered that?"
"Of course I did," she laughed, heading toward the back door. "I pay attention to the important details."
I watched her walk away, then looked at Ethan. "We’re really here, aren't we?"
"We are," he said, pulling me up from my chair. "And it’s perfect."
We followed her inside, leaving the stars and the quiet night behind us. The house was no longer a place of ghosts. It was a place of memories, yes, but more importantly, it was a place of new beginnings. As we walked through the back door and back into the warm, lighted kitchen, I knew that whatever happened next, we would face it together.
"I think I could get used to this," Ethan whispered, glancing at me.
"Me too," I said. "I think I really could."
My mother was already at the counter, cutting the pie. She turned and smiled at us as we entered, and the warmth in her eyes was all the proof I needed. The past was behind us. The future was waiting. And for the first time in my life, I was ready to meet it.
"Ready for the best pie you’ve ever had?" she asked, sliding a plate toward us.
"Definitely," I said, pulling up a chair.
The world outside was dark, but inside, everything was bright. I took a bite of the pie warm, sweet, and comforting and listened to the sound of laughter filling the kitchen. It was the sound of a family finding its way back to one another. And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that this was only the beginning.
I looked at my mother, then at Ethan, and felt a profound sense of peace settle over me. I was home. And I couldn't wait to see what happened next.