For two days, Kendrick existed more out of habit than will.
The world moved — cars, clocks, people — and he moved with it, but not within it. He went to work, spoke in meetings, and signed papers, but none of it stuck. His mind wandered back to that night: his mother's glare, Elsie's voice steady but breaking beneath it, the way she walked away without looking back.
He didn't sleep the first night.
By the second, he wasn't even trying.
Damien's apartment had become his refuge — a temporary escape with mismatched furniture, the smell of takeout, and the low hum of city traffic just beyond the window.
"Bro, if you keep pacing, you'll wear a groove into my floor," Damien said from the couch, a beer dangling loosely from his hand.
Kendrick didn't stop. "I shouldn't have let her leave like that."
Astrid, perched cross-legged on the armrest, rolled her eyes. "You think? You've said that twelve times."
Jeff glanced up from his phone. "More like fourteen."
"Fifteen," Damien corrected with a grin.
Kendrick shot them a glare that softened into something tired. "You're all comedians."
"We're trying to stop you from imploding," Astrid said. "It's been two days. You've barely eaten."
Damien leaned forward. "Look, I get it. She means a lot to you. But maybe she needs this space."
"I gave her space," Kendrick muttered. "All it did was make everything worse."
"Sometimes people need quiet to think," Astrid offered.
"Yeah," Kendrick said bitterly. "And sometimes quiet just feels like being forgotten."
That silenced them.
For a while, the only sound was the soft buzz of the fridge and the occasional honk from the street below.
Jeff finally broke it. "So what's your plan?"
"I don't know." Kendrick rubbed the back of his neck. "I called Alicia. She wouldn't tell me where Elsie went."
"Good girl," Astrid said with a smirk.
"She said she promised," Kendrick continued, ignoring her. "That I had to let Elsie breathe."
Damien stood, stretching. "Well, sitting here moping isn't helping anyone. You need a change of scenery."
"I need her," Kendrick said quietly.
Damien met his eyes — steady, loyal. "Then go find her."
Kendrick blinked. "You just said—"
"I said she needs space," Damien cut in. "But maybe what she really needs is to see that you'll show up anyway. That you won't hide behind excuses or your mother's temper."
Astrid smiled softly. "He's right. You've done the guilt thing. Now do the brave thing."
Jeff raised his beer. "To reckless romantic decisions."
Kendrick almost laughed. Almost.
---
He left before dawn the next morning.
The city was still half-asleep — pale light crawling between buildings, streets slick with the memory of rain. Kendrick's car rolled through the quiet roads like a confession waiting to be spoken.
His first stop was Alicia's apartment.
She opened the door in an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy bun, eyes narrowing the moment she saw him. "You didn't."
"I did," he said simply.
She folded her arms. "You're impossible."
"Where is she, Alicia?"
"I told you — I can't."
He stepped closer. "Alicia—"
"I promised her, Kendrick."
His voice softened. "Please. I just need to know she's safe."
Her resolve faltered, guilt flickering across her face. "She's fine. She's with someone."
He stiffened. "With who?"
"My guess? Joan," she said. "They left the city two nights ago."
He frowned. "Did she say where?"
"No." Alicia's tone gentled. "She didn't have to. You already know."
He hesitated, confused — and then it clicked.
The countryside. The old house beneath the willow tree. Her grandparents.
Alicia saw the realization in his eyes and sighed. "I didn't tell you anything."
He smiled faintly. "You didn't have to."
---
The drive stretched long and quiet, the highway unraveling beneath a pale sky. The city gave way to open land, the air growing clearer, cooler, touched with the scent of rain and earth.
He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this kind of silence — not the empty kind that echoed inside penthouses, but the living kind that breathed between fields and trees.
By the time he reached the countryside, the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in shades of amber and lilac. The willow tree came into view first — tall and familiar, its branches trailing like soft curtains over the small stone house.
Kendrick parked at the edge of the path, heart beating too fast.
He walked up slowly, gravel crunching underfoot. The porch light was on. He hesitated, straightened his jacket, then knocked.
The door opened to reveal Elsie's grandfather, eyes kind but cautious.
"Well," the old man said, recognition dawning, "if it isn't the Langston boy."
Kendrick managed a small smile. "Good evening, sir. I was hoping to see Elsie."
"She's not here," came the reply, gentle but firm. "She and her friend went into town for supplies. Should be back soon."
Kendrick nodded, swallowing his disappointment. "Mind if I wait?"
The old man studied him for a moment, then stepped aside. "Come in, son. No sense standing out in the wind."
Inside, the house smelled of pinewood and bread. Photographs lined the mantel — childhood summers, family picnics, Elsie's smile bright in every one.
He stood there for a long time, staring at one photo — Elsie on the porch swing, sun in her hair, laughing at something unseen.
"She always liked that swing," the old man said quietly from the kitchen doorway. "Said it made her feel like time could slow down."
Kendrick smiled faintly. "It suits her."
"You hurt her, didn't you?"
The question caught him off guard.
"Yes," Kendrick admitted after a pause. "But not how you think."
The old man studied him, then nodded slowly. "You're here, aren't you? That's something."
Kendrick opened his mouth to reply — but the sound of tires crunching over gravel cut him off. Headlights swept across the window.
He turned just as the door opened.
Elsie stepped in, hair loose from the breeze, cheeks flushed from the cold. Joan followed with a paper bag and a knowing grin that vanished the moment she saw Kendrick.
"Well," Joan said under her breath, "I'll just… put these away." She disappeared into the kitchen before either of them could speak.
Elsie froze in the doorway, grocery bag in hand. "Kendrick?"
He took a step forward. "Hi."
Her voice was quiet but sharp. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you."
"You shouldn't have."
"Maybe," he said. "But I couldn't not."
She exhaled, setting the bag on the table with more force than necessary. "You shouldn't have come all this way just to—"
"See if you're okay?" he cut in gently. "That's exactly why I came."
Her eyes flickered — frustration, disbelief, something softer hiding beneath. "I needed space, Kendrick."
"I gave you space," he said. "Two days of it. It didn't change a thing."
She looked away, lips pressed tight. The porch light behind him threw his shadow long across the wooden floor.
"I can't keep fighting your family," she said finally, voice trembling just enough to betray her. "Every time I think we're fine, they remind me I'm not welcomed."
He took another step closer, slow, careful. "Then don't fight them. Fight with me."
Her eyes lifted to his, shining now — part anger, part longing. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," he said. "But neither is losing you."
Something in her wavered then — the wall she'd built, the edge in her voice. The air between them grew heavier, the kind of quiet that hummed with everything unsaid.
Outside, the wind shifted through the willow branches, whispering softly against the house.
Elsie's lips parted, a breath caught between protest and surrender. "You don't give up, do you?"
He smiled faintly. "Not on you."