Chapter 28 ???
KARA’S POV
The ride back is quiet.
Not the awkward kind, not the kind that begs to be filled, but the kind that presses in on my chest the longer it lasts. The city lights slip past the windows, blurring into streaks of gold and white, and I sit there with my hands folded on my lap, replaying everything that just happened like it might disappear if I don’t hold onto it tightly enough.
Finnian drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console. The tattoos on his arm catch the passing lights, shadows and ink moving together like they’re alive. He doesn’t look at me. Not once. And somehow, that feels louder than any conversation we could be having.
I clear my throat.
“You didn’t have to bring me home.”
“Yes, I did,” he replies immediately.
No hesitation and no explanation.
I turn to him. “You don’t even know where I live.”
He glances at me then, just briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I do now.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does. The car slows as we pull into my street, the familiar sight grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. My apartment building stands there, ordinary and unremarkable, like it has no idea I’m stepping back into it as someone slightly altered.
Finnian parks and turns off the engine then silence settles between us again.
“Well,” I say softly, fingers tightening around my bag strap, “thank you. For… tonight.”
He nods once. “You’re welcome.”
I wait for more and for something. A question, maybe. An invitation and a reason not to open the door and walk away. None comes and I reach for the handle.
“Kara.”
My hand freezes and I look at him.
“Don’t overthink this,” he says, voice low. “You tend to do that.”
I let out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
“You don’t make it easy not to.”
His gaze holds mine, steady and unreadable. “I never claimed to.”
For a moment, it feels like the world is balancing on something fragile again. Like if either of us moves the wrong way, it’ll shatter.
“Goodnight, Finnian,” I say.
“Goodnight,” he replies.
I step out of the car and close the door gently, like any sudden sound might break whatever spell still lingers between us. I take two steps toward my building before I feel it.
His eyes.
I turn back and found out that Finnian is still there, watching me through the windshield, one hand resting on the steering wheel as his expression is unreadable but heavy with something I can’t name. He gives a small nod, almost imperceptible, then starts the engine and pulls away.
Just like that, no lingering words and no dramatic goodbye. And yet, as I watch his car disappear down the street, it hits me all at once.
My world is revolving around him again.
I press my lips together, forcing myself to move, to climb the stairs, to unlock my door like this night didn’t just carve itself into me. Inside my apartment, the silence greets me, familiar and safe and suddenly too small. I drop my bag on the chair and lean back against the door.
Why does he do this to me?
I pull out my phone without thinking, thumb hovering over his name, then stop myself. I don’t text him. I don’t call. I just stand there, heart pounding, knowing it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Because I don’t know how to avoid him.
Not when he lives in quiet cafés hidden in gardens, in photographs that freeze uncertainty, and in moments that feel too real to deny. Not when even fate seems determined to place him directly in my orbit, again and again.
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, knees drawn to my chest.
“This is dangerous,” I whisper to the empty room.
But my heart doesn’t argue.
Somewhere out there, Finnian Matthew Stewheinz is driving through the city like nothing happened. And here I am, undone by his silence, caught in the gravity of a tattooed man I don’t know how to escape, even when I’m already home.
Morning comes too fast and I barely sleep, caught between shallow dreams and the echo of his voice telling me not to overthink. When my alarm goes off, I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, reminding myself that today is normal. Work. Paperwork. Coffee that tastes like regret. A life that is supposed to be steady.
At the office, it’s unusually quiet. No reports are due, no urgent meetings, just the low hum of the air conditioner and the soft tapping of keyboards. I stay at my desk, organizing files, answering emails, convincing myself that routine is enough to keep my thoughts in line.
Then my phone rings.
I glance at the screen and frown.
Home.
A strange chill runs through me as I answer. “Hello?”
“Kara,” a familiar voice says, trembling. “It’s Manang Milda.”
My chest tightens instantly. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a pause, just long enough to make my heart start racing. “Your dad,” she says softly, like she’s afraid the words might break something. “He collapsed this morning. He suddenly couldn’t breathe properly. We rushed him to the hospital.”
The room tilts.
“What?” I whisper, already standing up, my chair screeching loudly against the floor. “What hospital? Is he... is he awake?”
“I don’t know yet, hija,” she says, her voice cracking now. “They took him to the emergency room. Please come.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, my voice barely holding together. “I’m coming now.”
I end the call with shaking hands. Panic floods me all at once, sharp and merciless. I grab my bag, nearly dropping my keys as I rush out of the office, ignoring the curious looks, the questions I don’t stop to answer.
The drive is a blur. Traffic feels cruel, every red light is like a personal insult. My hands grip the steering wheel too tightly, my vision blurring as tears spill freely now.
“Please,” I whisper over and over, like a prayer I forgot how to say. “Please be okay. Please.”
Guilt crawls up my spine, heavy and suffocating. I left him. I chose independence, space, silence. I convinced myself he was fine because he never complained, because he always told me he was strong, because he smiled and said, I’m proud of you, anak. I didn’t see the loneliness and I didn’t see the years catching up to him.
By the time I reach the hospital, I’m already crying openly. I don’t even remember parking properly. I just run.
“Kara!”
Manang Milda spots me immediately. She rushes toward me, pulling me into a tight embrace before I even have the chance to ask anything. Her arms are warm and familiar, and I break completely.
“I should’ve stayed,” I sob into her shoulder. “I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
“Hija, no,” she says, rubbing my back gently. “Don’t say that. Your father understands you. He always talks about you. Always.”
“But I wasn’t there,” I choke. “He’s getting older, Manang. And I just.. I just left.”
She guides me to a chair outside the emergency room. The red light above the door feels like a warning, like a verdict I’m not ready to hear. I sit there, knees weak, heart pounding so hard it hurts.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “I don’t want to lose him.”
Manang Milda squeezes my hand. “You won’t,” she says, though her eyes are glossy. “God is kind.”
Minutes stretch into something unbearable. Every time the door opens, I hold my breath. Every sound makes me flinch. I press my palms together, resting my forehead against them.
“I thought I had time,” I whisper to no one in particular. “I thought there would always be later.”
Later suddenly feels like a luxury I don’t deserve.
When the doctor finally steps out, my heart nearly stops. I stand so fast my head spins.
“How is he?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“He’s stable for now,” the doctor says calmly. “He had a severe episode, but we managed it. He’ll need observation.”
Relief crashes into me so hard my legs give out. I sit back down, covering my mouth as sobs shake my body.
“Can I see him?” I ask.
“In a while,” the doctor nods.
I close my eyes, letting the tears fall freely.
I don’t think about work.
I don’t think about independence.
I don’t even think about Finnian.
All I can think about is my father, lying on a hospital bed, and the terrifying realization that no matter how far I try to run toward my own life, some parts of my heart will always be rooted where I began.
And this time, I’m not sure I want to run anymore.