"Seven years apart, but their silence never really ended."
*****
(Brianna's POV)
Brayden Roderigo.
Even after all these years, his name still had the power to split me open—like an old wound that never really healed.
And there he was.
Standing before me again, just as vivid, just as untouchable.
His posture was straight, his presence sharp enough to cut through the quiet air between us. The years had sculpted him into something colder—authority wrapped in restraint. But those eyes… those were the same. Dark. Steady. Unreadable.
For a moment, everything else blurred—the walls, the hum of the air conditioner, even the sound of my own heartbeat.
It was just him.
And the echo of seven years collapsing into a single breath.
He turned, and our eyes met.
That look—calm, piercing—cut through me like lightning through glass: silent, brilliant, and destructive.
"Mr. Brayden," Anya's polite tone sliced through the tension, unaware of the storm building in my chest. "This is Mrs. Brianna Valencia, the founder of The Light of Hope Foundation."
Brayden extended his hand. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Brianna."
His voice.
Still the same—low, smooth, and dangerous in its familiarity.
I forced a small smile, though my fingers trembled slightly as I took his hand.
"Good to see you too, Mr. Brayden."
Warm skin, cold air.
A handshake that lasted two seconds—long enough to bring back a thousand memories.
The sound of rain on our window.
The warmth of his palm on my cheek.
The laughter we thought would never fade.
But that was before everything fell apart.
Now, all that remained was the ghost of what we used to be.
*****
The presentation began.
My lips moved, my slides changed, but I barely heard myself. I spoke about budgets, expansion plans, outreach programs—words I had rehearsed a hundred times—yet all I could feel was his gaze.
He didn't stare. He observed.
Quietly, carefully, as if dissecting every breath I took.
As if trying to find the girl I used to be beneath the woman I had become.
When it was finally over, I could breathe again—barely.
Brayden leaned back, his tone unreadable.
"I have to admit," he said, "the foundation is impressive. I never imagined you would create something like this."
It should've sounded like praise.
But beneath the words, there was an edge.
The same quiet cruelty he used when he was hurt but too proud to admit it.
I smiled faintly. "This is the result of many people's effort. I only built what they believed in."
His eyes narrowed, as though he could peel the truth off my calmness.
"We should talk more," he said at last. "Somewhere more private, perhaps?"
A tremor passed through my chest.
Danger always sounded polite at first.
But I nodded anyway. "Of course. Please—this way."
*****
We walked down the hallway, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor.
Children's laughter spilled from the art room—bright, pure, and painfully innocent. I slowed my pace, glancing through the open door.
Tiny hands painted suns and flowers, crayons rolling across the floor.
When a few of them saw me, they waved.
"Mommy!"
The word filled the air like sunlight after rain.
I smiled and waved back, warmth blooming in my chest despite everything. That word—Mommy—was my anchor, my reminder that love could still build something from ruins.
"They always call you that?" Brayden asked quietly.
I turned to him. "Yes. I believe connection starts with how we call each other. To them, 'Mommy' means safety. Love. Home."
He said nothing. But for a brief second, something flickered behind his eyes—confusion, maybe admiration.
And for that one heartbeat, I saw the boy he used to be.
Gentle, before the world taught him to build walls.
But the moment passed.
*****
In my office, I gestured to the chair across from me.
"Please, have a seat."
He did.
The silence stretched. Even the ticking clock on the wall felt too loud.
"Would you like some tea?" I asked, mostly to fill the space.
He shook his head. "No, thank you."
Then his gaze found mine—steady, piercing, unyielding.
"Why did you leave?"
The question cut deeper than any accusation.
Simple words, but heavy with years of anger, confusion, and something softer he couldn't hide.
My breath caught.
"Seven years, Brianna," he continued. "You vanished. No calls, no letters, not even a goodbye. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
My hands tightened around each other. "Mr. Brayden, this meeting is about the foundation. Let's focus on that."
He leaned forward slightly. His voice was calm—but the calm that came before a storm.
"You're still running from the truth. Just like before."
I swallowed hard. "If there's nothing else, I think this meeting is over."
He stood slowly, exhaling through his nose. His face was composed, but his eyes…
They looked like mine—haunted.
"Fine," he said finally. "But I'm not walking away this time. Not without answers."
He turned and left.
The soft click of the door broke something inside me.
*****
I pressed a trembling hand against my chest. My vision blurred.
Seven years of silence, of pretending, of trying to forget—all of it unraveled in that single moment.
The man I once loved, the one I thought I'd left behind, had returned…
And he still had the power to make me crumble with a single look.
A tear slipped down. I covered my mouth to muffle the sob that followed.
He didn't know what those seven years cost me.
He didn't know what I lost to protect what mattered most.
Outside, laughter echoed again—the laughter of the children I'd promised to protect. Their joy seeped through the cracks of my breaking heart.
I wiped my tears, forcing myself to breathe.
I couldn't fall apart here. Not in the only place built to keep hope alive.
*****
Somewhere beyond these walls, I knew he was walking away.
But I also knew him well enough to understand—he wouldn't stop.
Brayden never stopped until he found the truth.
And when he did… I didn't know which would hurt more—his anger, or his forgiveness.
Because hidden beneath this foundation, behind every smile, was the secret I'd sworn to protect.
The one with his eyes.
His smile.
His blood.
My daughter.
Our daughter.
Ella.