Chapter 155 The Search for Solace
Carson sat alone in his car, parked on a dimly lit street, staring blankly at the steering wheel. His suit jacket lay crumpled beside him, and the silence inside the vehicle pressed down like a heavy fog.
For the first time in years, he didn’t know where he belonged. The world that had once revolved around him now felt like it had spun completely out of his control.
He rubbed his tired eyes and leaned back against the seat. Anabelle’s face flashed before him—her gentle smile, her calm voice, her kindness.
But the image that haunted him most was not of her love, but of her walking away from him. Strong. Confident. Changed.
“She doesn’t need me anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
He slammed his fist lightly against the steering wheel, frustration tightening his chest. He had destroyed everything—her trust, her peace, and maybe even her feelings for him. Still, something deep inside refused to let go. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The night air was cold when he finally stepped out of the car. His phone was nearly dead, but he scrolled through his contacts anyway. Names blurred before his eyes—old friends, business partners, people who once envied his life. None of them mattered now.
He called someone at last. “Daniel, it’s me,” he said quietly.
The man on the other end paused. “Carson? You sound terrible. What happened?” he asked.
“I need a favor,” Carson said, ignoring the question. “I need to find someone.”
Daniel hesitated. “Who?”
“Anabelle,” he said, the name trembling on his lips. “She left a long time ago. I just need to know where she is now.”
There was another pause. “Carson, after everything that happened, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Daniel asked gently.
“I don’t care if it’s a good idea,” Carson said, his tone low and desperate. “I just need to see her. Please.”
Daniel sighed. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”
When the call ended, Carson stood on the empty sidewalk, feeling the weight of his own words. He knew how pathetic he must sound—how weak. But regret had a way of breaking even the proudest men.
The next morning, he went to a café he remembered Anabelle used to love. It was small and quiet, tucked between two bookstores. The moment he stepped inside, the smell of coffee and baked bread hit him, stirring old memories.
He took a seat near the window, glancing around as if expecting to see her there. The waitress approached with a polite smile.
“Can I get you something, sir?” she asked.
“Just coffee,” he said. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Do you know if a woman named Anabelle used to come here? About a year ago maybe.”
The waitress thought for a moment, frowning slightly. “Anabelle... Yes, I think so. She used to come in with a notebook, right? Always ordered cappuccino?”
Carson’s heart skipped. “That’s her,” he said quickly. “Do you know if she still comes here?”
“I haven’t seen her in a while,” the waitress said. “But last I heard, she moved to the east side. Opened some kind of art studio.”
An art studio. The words echoed in his mind. He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. She really had changed.
“Thank you,” he said softly before leaving some money on the table and walking out.
The east side was quieter, less polished than the places he used to frequent. He drove there anyway, searching street after street until he found a small sign that read Aurora Studio. His pulse quickened.
He parked and got out, his heart thudding as he stared at the glass door. Inside, through the window, he could see paintings lined neatly on the walls—bright colors, soft strokes, full of life. He could almost feel her presence in every corner.
But when he reached for the door handle, something stopped him. What would he even say to her? That he was sorry? That he finally understood what she meant when she said love shouldn’t hurt?
He stood there for several minutes, paralyzed by his own fear. Then a familiar voice behind him made him turn.
“Carson?”
It was Mia, one of Anabelle’s old friends. She looked surprised, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Mia,” he said, forcing a small smile. “You work here?”
“She hired me to manage the place,” Mia said, folding her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see her,” he said quietly. “I just need to talk to her.”
Mia studied him for a long moment. “She doesn’t want to see you,” she said finally. “She’s moved on, Carson. She’s happy now.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m not here to ruin that. I just... I need to make things right.”
“She doesn’t need your apologies anymore,” Mia said, shaking her head. “You had your chance.”
Carson looked down. “I know. But I still need to try.”
Mia sighed, her expression softening slightly. “She’s not here today. She went to an exhibition out of town. But even if she was, I don’t think she’d talk to you.”
“I’ll wait,” he said simply.
Mia frowned. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “but that's all I have left.”
He walked back to his car and sat there, staring at the studio from afar. The sign above the door glowed softly in the fading light. He could almost see her inside—laughing, painting, free.
He smiled faintly, though pain twisted inside him. He realized that maybe this was the closest he would ever get to her again—watching her from a distance, seeing the life she built without him.
As night fell, Carson finally started his car. His reflection stared back at him in the rearview mirror—tired, lost, but strangely calm. He wasn’t sure if he would ever find peace, but at least now, he understood.
Love wasn’t about possession. It was about letting go.
And so, he drove away slowly, the city lights fading behind him, carrying nothing but the faint hope that somewhere, she was happy.