I don't go back to my apartment that night.
The decision isn't something I think through carefully. It happens somewhere between one breath and the next, between the weight of everything Harley said and the quiet realization that I can't sit in that space any longer without breaking again. The walls there feel too close now, too filled with echoes of things I can't unhear.
So instead, I find myself standing in front of the Huang mansion.
The gates open slowly, just like they always have, and the sight alone makes something in my chest tighten. It's been a while since I've come here without a reason, without a call ahead, without preparing myself for what I might feel when I step inside.
Tonight, I didn't prepare at all.
The driveway stretches out in front of me, lined with soft lights that glow gently against the dark. Everything looks exactly the same, untouched by time, as if the years I spent away never happened. As if I could walk through those doors and slip back into the life I once had.
The thought hurts more than I expect.
Mr. and Mrs. Huang are still in Hawaii, I remind myself. The house will be quiet. Empty, almost. That should make this easier.
It doesn't.
By the time I reach the front door, my steps have slowed. Doubt creeps in, sharp and sudden.
Do I still belong here?
Before I can let that thought take root, the door opens.
Mrs. Chen looks surprised for only a moment before her expression softens into something warm and familiar. "Miss Sophie," she says gently, stepping aside to let me in.
My throat tightens at the sound of my name spoken like that—like nothing has changed, like I never left, like I'm still part of this place.
"Hi," I manage quietly as I step inside.
"You're back," she says.
Back.
The word settles deep in my chest as I move past her, my gaze drifting slowly across the foyer. Everything feels the same—the polished floors, the soft lighting, the quiet elegance of a home that once felt like it belonged to me as much as anyone else.
But I don't feel the same.
"You must be tired," Mrs. Chen continues. "I'll prepare your room."
My room.
I nod, unable to say anything else, and before she can notice the way my expression falters, I turn and head toward the stairs.
Each step upward feels heavier than the last.
My hand slides along the railing as I climb, and memories rise with every movement. Running down these steps when I was younger, laughing too loudly while Harley chased after me. Sitting at the dining table late at night, textbooks spread out while Auntie Huang placed a cup of tea beside me with a soft smile. Feeling safe in a way I didn't question back then.
Feeling like I had a home.
When I reach the top of the stairs, my steps slow.
Harley's room is at the end of the hall.
I don't mean to look, but I do.
My gaze lingers there for a second too long before I force myself to turn away.
I walk into my room instead.
It's exactly the same.
The bed neatly made, the curtains drawn just the way I used to leave them, the faint scent of something familiar lingering in the air. It's as if time stopped here, waiting for me to come back.
My chest tightens painfully.
I close the door behind me and sit on the edge of the bed, my hands resting loosely in my lap.
Everything feels too quiet.
Too still.
Too full.
"I can't do this," I whisper to myself.
But even as the words leave my lips, I know they aren't true.
I don't have the option of not doing this.
Not anymore.
My gaze drifts slowly across the room until it lands on the bookshelf near the window. Without really thinking about it, I stand and walk toward it, my fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books lined up in neat rows.
Most of them are exactly where I left them.
A few novels. Old textbooks. And then—
I pause.
A photo album.
My stomach tightens slightly as I pull it free and carry it back to the bed.
For a moment, I hesitate before opening it.
Then I do.
The first photograph makes my breath catch.
It's me and Harley.
We're younger—carefree in a way that feels almost unreal now. I'm laughing at something, my head tilted toward him, completely unaware of the way he's looking at me.
Because he isn't looking at the camera.
He's looking at me.
There's something in his expression—something soft, something unguarded, something I never understood back then.
My chest aches.
I turn the page.
More photos follow. Family dinners, birthdays, quiet moments captured without thought. And in every single one, Harley is there—not just standing beside me, but present in a way I never noticed before.
Always close.
Always watching.
Always choosing me.
"How did I not see it?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Or maybe I did.
Maybe I just didn't want to.
Because seeing it would have meant acknowledging something I wasn't ready for.
I turn another page and stop at a photo I remember too well.
The day before I left for England.
The tension in that moment comes rushing back—the confusion, the fear, the conversation that changed everything between us.
I stare at Harley in the picture.
He looks the same as always.
But now I know he wasn't.
He had already made his decision.
About me.
About us.
And I ran.
My grip tightens slightly on the edge of the album.
"I was scared," I murmur.
The realization settles slowly, but it doesn't shake me the way I expect it to.
I wasn't protecting us.
I was protecting myself.
From rejection. From losing the only family I had left. From loving him in a way that could destroy everything if it went wrong.
And in trying to avoid that risk…
I broke us anyway.
Tears slip quietly down my cheeks, but I don't wipe them away.
Because this time, they don't feel overwhelming.
They feel… clear.
I close the album gently and set it aside before leaning back against the headboard, my gaze drifting toward the ceiling.
For the first time since everything happened, my thoughts begin to settle instead of spiral.
Harley didn't tell me the truth because he didn't care.
He didn't tell me because he was afraid.
Afraid of losing me.
The same way I left because I was afraid of losing everything.
"That doesn't make it okay," I say softly into the empty room.
And it doesn't.
What he did still hurts.
It still feels like a betrayal.
But it isn't as simple as I wanted it to be.
Nothing about us ever has been.
My hand moves slowly to rest against my stomach, and this time, the gesture feels different.
More real.
More grounded.
This isn't just about me anymore.
This isn't just about him.
There's something else now.
Someone else.
And that changes everything.
I sit there for a long time, letting the silence settle around me, letting the weight of everything finally find its place instead of crashing into me all at once.
For the first time in days, I don't feel like I'm drowning.
I feel like I'm standing still.
Not at peace.
Not yet.
But steady.
My phone vibrates softly beside me, pulling me from my thoughts.
I glance at the screen.
Samuel.
Are you okay?
My chest tightens slightly as I stare at the message.
Samuel.
Kind. Steady. Patient.
Safe.
I type back slowly.
I'm okay.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Where are you?
I hesitate for a moment before answering.
At the mansion.
There's a pause this time.
Longer.
Then—
Do you want me to come?
My fingers hover over the screen as I consider the question.
Being with Samuel would be easy right now.
Comforting.
He would sit beside me, listen without judgment, give me space without leaving.
He would make this feel softer.
Simpler.
But—
I close my eyes briefly.
And Harley's face flashes in my mind.
The way his voice broke.
The way he said he loved me.
The way everything inside me reacted even when I didn't want it to.
My chest tightens.
Because that feeling hasn't gone away.
It hasn't weakened.
If anything…
it's clearer now.
I open my eyes and type.
Not tonight.
The message sends.
A few seconds later, Samuel replies.
Okay. I'm here if you need me.
I stare at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down beside me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Because now I understand something I didn't want to admit before.
Samuel isn't where my heart ends.
He's where it rests.
And that isn't the same thing.
I lean back against the headboard again, my gaze drifting toward the window where the city lights glow softly in the distance.
Everything feels quieter now.
Not resolved.
Not easy.
But clearer.
I know what Harley did.
I know how much it hurt.
I know what I need to face.
And more importantly—
I know what I can't walk away from.
The realization settles deep inside me, steady and unshakable.
Tomorrow, I'll face him.
Not as someone running away.
Not as someone hiding behind fear or confusion.
But as someone who finally understands what she feels.
What she wants.
And what she's willing to fight for.
Because love was never something I was meant to run from.
Not then.
And not now.