After Ethan left, I lay in my room, staring at the ceiling, feeling the absence he left behind like a quiet ache. The soft click of the door closing had settled somewhere inside my chest, refusing to leave. His last words kept replaying in my head, looping gently but insistently
"Text me to schedule our date night whenever you're healthy."
For a moment, I had truly believed I was done with him, done with the pressure, the judgment, the expectations. But then there was something in the way he looked at me, something warm and stubborn, something that felt like he wanted more than my weakness, more than my burden.
I didn't understand it fully. But I felt it.
Just as I was lost in my thoughts, the door creaked open. My stepmother walked in, holding a cup of tea, the steam rising in calm curls. Her presence filled the room gently, like she didn't want to startle me.
"You didn't tell me that part of the story, Esme," she said quietly.
I froze, my fingers tightening slightly over the blanket. I had no idea how long she had been listening earlier or how much she had heard.
"Which part of the story, Mummy?" I asked, using the name I had grown to call her ever since my mother left. It sometimes felt fragile on my tongue, but it was honest.
"The part about your misunderstanding with Ethan," she said softly, her eyes steady.
I swallowed, then lifted the cup from her hands instead of answering. "Is the tea for me?"
She gave a small smile, the kind she used when she knew I was avoiding the question. "Well… definitely it is."
I nodded, grateful for the out she gave me, even if she didn't say anything more. She let the conversation end there, stepping back to allow silence to settle in the room.
The rest of the day passed quietly. My body was still weak, but I needed air, a change of space, a break from the tightness in my chest. So in the cool of the evening, I decided to walk to the swimming pool nearby. The water sparkled faintly under the last rays of sun, the faint smell of chlorine mixed with the soft chatter of children and adults winding down from their day.
I had just reached the edge of the shallow end, walking along to check for misplaced towels, when I noticed a young woman near the poolside. She was hunched slightly, moving her hands frantically inside her bag, and then dropping items on the wet tiles, a towel, a pair of goggles, a wet cap, and trying to put them back hurriedly. At first, I thought she was simply searching for something.
But then I noticed her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide with panic, her knees trembling. She was struggling to breathe.
I had seen this before. I had been there, gasping for air, trapped inside my own body, the panic rising with each shallow breath. I understood her plight.
Immediately, I rushed to her side.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" I asked softly, kneeling beside her. My hands hovered near hers, ready to steady her if she fell further. She could barely nod, only gesturing weakly toward her bag.
I swallowed, my heart thudding. "Hold on," I said, lifting my voice slightly to call for help. "Someone, please! She needs an inhaler!"
Heads turned. A man near the benches called out, "My son uses one! I think I can help!" He dashed over, rummaging in his bag, and produced a small blue inhaler. His hands shook slightly as he handed it to me.
"Here," he said, panting. "Give it to her slowly. Just like she uses it."
I nodded, guiding the inhaler to her lips. "Breathe with me slowly, in and out." I watched as she sniffed deeply, once, twice, following my rhythm. Gradually, her chest began to rise more smoothly, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the medicine took effect.
She took another puff, this time with a small, shaky exhale, and I could feel the tension leaving her body. She leaned back on the wet tiles, exhaustion washing over her, yet relief shimmering in her wide, grateful eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling but clear.
"You're okay now," I said softly, holding her shoulder gently. "Just rest. You're safe."
A few people who had gathered nearby began to clap quietly, nodding in approval. "Good job," one woman said. "You saved her."
The man who had handed over the inhaler smiled. "Most people just watch. You jumped in immediately. That was remarkable."
I managed a small smile, though my chest still raced from the adrenaline. "Anyone would have helped," I said, though deep down, I knew I had understood her struggle in a way others might not. I had been there, trapped in my own body, desperate for relief, fearing the next breath might be the hardest.
As the young woman was helped to sit on a nearby bench, sipping water, I stepped back and breathed in deeply. Relief settled in me, soft and steady, but my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket.
I pulled it out, squinting at the screen. An unsaved number.
I opened it.
"We need to see. Tomorrow. Alone."
My heart skipped violently. My fingers trembled as I read the words again.
It was from Ethan's mother.
The message left me frozen, a mix of dread and anticipation settling deep in my chest. Whatever awaited me tomorrow, it wasn't going to be simple, and I wasn't sure I was ready. Yet, the storm was coming, relentless and unavoidable, and there was no turning back.