SASHA’S POV
It was morning, and the soft, golden light filtered through the curtains of my bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, my legs tucked beneath me, staring at the floor with a foggy mind.
It had been months since that fateful night when everything changed-when my father fell into a coma and I was left to wrestle with the aftermath.
I felt a strange, unfamiliar weight on my chest as I thought of the events that led us here, to this place where I sat in confusion, alone in my thoughts.
Sebastian.
The thought of him had been circling in my mind constantly, just as it had every day since that night.
There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but the anger, hurt, and confusion I had been holding on to made it hard to breathe.
How could I even look at him after everything? He had been the cause of my father’s coma. The man I had loved, the man I had trusted with my heart, had been the one responsible for the very thing that broke my life.
My father was still unconscious in a hospital bed, while Sebastian went on living as though nothing had changed.
Was he even thinking about me? Or was I just some fleeting shadow in his past, a forgotten piece of the puzzle? I couldn’t even imagine what he might be feeling.
Was he devastated by what he had done? Or had he moved on, burying his emotions like he always did, always in control of everything, even when it came to the deepest parts of himself?
I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. The conflict inside me felt unbearable, as though I were caught between two worlds-one where I still loved him and one where I despised him.
It wasn’t fair, not to myself or to him, but I couldn’t help it. I had no idea how to handle this.
Every part of me screamed to reach out to him, but then another part of me reminded me of what he had done. I didn’t know how to reconcile these feelings. And it hurts.
I reached for my phone, the screen lighting up as it buzzed on the nightstand. The sound sliced through the stillness of the room, making me flinch.
I stared at it, my breath catching as I saw the name flashing across the screen. Sebastian.
My heart skipped a beat. My fingers hovered over the screen, torn between answering and ignoring it.
I couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing in my chest, the old warmth creeping back in, but I quickly shoved it aside. No. I couldn’t let myself be weak. He didn’t deserve me. He didn’t deserve anything from me.
The phone continued to ring, the vibration relentless in my hand.
He had called me so many times over the past few weeks, each time I had ignored him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would understand that I needed space. I needed time.
But now, with the phone ringing again, I felt the pull of his voice, the temptation to hear his side of the story, to know what was going through his mind.
“No,” I whispered under my breath, shaking my head.
“He was the one who put your only family in a coma for so many months.” The words felt like daggers, but they were the truth, weren’t they?
I tried to ignore the way my hands trembled, the soft pressure in my chest growing heavier with every passing second.
I couldn’t take this anymore. I had to do something. Anything to stop the suffocating thoughts from taking over.
My heart ached in a way I couldn’t explain, but I couldn’t keep going around in circles like this, letting myself drown in confusion and pain. Not anymore.
I pressed the red button, silencing the call, and for a moment, I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. But as soon as the phone stopped ringing, the silence felt louder than before.
It was like an echo, a reminder that I was still here, stuck in a limbo where everything was unresolved.
There was no closure, no answers, no way to know how Sebastian was feeling or what had been going through his mind when he made the decision that had altered my life forever.
The phone buzzed again, and I jumped. It was a text this time. I stared at the screen, hesitating. The text was from Sebastian. My breath caught as I read the words: I’m sorry, Sasha. Please, let’s talk.
The simple message hit me like a ton of bricks. My heart beat faster, and I quickly turned the phone over, burying it under a pillow to block out the temptation.
I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. It was like I was trapped in a web, unable to move, unable to escape from the constant pull of my emotions.
Why was he doing this? Why now, when everything was so complicated and painful?
The ringing stopped, but my mind was still reeling. I couldn’t sit in this room any longer, not with these thoughts spinning in my head.
I grabbed a sweater and rushed out of the room, needing to be away from the oppressive silence of my thoughts.
The hallway was quiet, and the soft sound of my footsteps echoed as I made my way downstairs.
I knew where I was headed before I even reached the kitchen. There was someone here who might be able to offer some guidance, some advice.
The cook, Maria, was always the one I turned to when I needed someone to talk to. She was kind, wise, and always willing to listen without judgment.
She had been there for me for years, even before all of this had happened. I had a deep sense of trust in her, and right now, I needed that more than anything.
I found her in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred something in a pot. The smell of fresh coffee and breakfast filled the air, and for a moment, I felt a fleeting sense of normalcy, as though everything hadn’t spiraled out of control.
“Good morning, Maria,” I said, my voice quiet but strained.
She turned to smile at me, but the moment she saw my face, her smile faltered. She had known about everything that had been going on with my father and Sebastian.
She had seen the toll it had taken on me, and she never pushed me to talk about it unless I was ready. But today, I knew she could see that I was struggling more than usual.
“Good morning, Sasha,” she said gently. “You’re up early.”
I nodded, moving toward the counter where she was working. “I couldn’t sleep.”
She set the spoon down and wiped her hands on a towel. “I see. Is everything okay?”
I hesitated, unsure of where to begin. The weight of the conversation I had been avoiding for so long felt too heavy to carry. I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come right away.
What could I even say? That I was confused, lost, and didn’t know how to feel about the man who had once meant everything to me? That I was scared of facing the truth?
“I…” I trailed off, staring down at my hands.
“I don’t know what to do, Maria. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I don’t even know if I’m angry or sad or confused or… or what.”