Present day…
Elena's hands were trembling as she finished the story. Words she had buried for five years now lay between her and Marcus like shards of glass dangerous, impossible to avoid without drawing blood. She had told him everything: the call from Albany, the job offer, the terror that had wrapped itself around her chest until she couldn't breathe. The way she had convinced herself that leaving was the only way to save them both.
Marcus stared at her, unmoving, his arms folded across his chest. Rain drummed against the windows of Rosa's house, a steady percussion underscoring the silence. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low, dangerous.
"You left because you got a job offer?" His tone cut sharper than any shout could. "You broke off our engagement, disappeared in the middle of the night, and broke my heart because you were afraid of being happy?"
Elena flinched. "It wasn't that simple"
"Then explain it to me!" The sudden explosion in his voice made her step back instinctively, her shoulders pressing into the wall. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you chose career over love. Ambition over the life we'd planned. Me over us."
"That's not" She stopped. The words caught in her throat, because wasn't that exactly what she had done? Her chest tightened, guilt clawing up her ribs. "Marcus, I was twenty-five. I was terrified of becoming my mother."
The name hung heavy in the air: Maria Vasquez. Elena's mother, who had died when Elena was only twelve. Marcus's eyes flickered with something softer recognition, maybe even pity but it didn't erase the anger that simmered beneath.
"Your mother was happy," he said quietly. "She loved your father. She loved you. She loved her life here."
Elena shook her head, tears burning hot behind her eyes. "She was forty-three when she died, Marcus. Forty-three, and she'd never been more than fifty miles from Millbrook. She used to talk about traveling, about seeing the world, but she never did. She got married at twenty, had me at twenty-two, and spent the rest of her life making everyone else's dreams come true while her own withered away."
Her voice broke. The words sounded ugly and ungrateful, but they were true. She had carried them like a stone in her chest all these years.
"I loved her," Elena whispered. "God, I loved her. But I was so scared of ending up like her. Smiling on the outside while dying slowly on the inside."
Marcus's jaw clenched. His hands dropped to his sides, fists loosening, then curling again. He studied her, eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle he had never known existed.
"So you assumed that would be your fate too," he said finally. "You assumed I would hold you back."
"I assumed I would hold myself back," she corrected quickly, desperate for him to understand. "I assumed that if I stayed, I would wake up one day and resent you for it. Resent our children, our home, our life. And I couldn't bear the thought of that, Marcus. I couldn't bear the thought of turning into someone who hated the very things she'd once prayed for."
Her words hung in the air like smoke, heavy and choking.
Marcus was silent for a long moment. He turned toward the fireplace, where the faint scent of ash still lingered though the hearth was cold. He braced a hand against the mantel, shoulders tense, his back to her. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less cutting.
"Did it ever occur to you to talk to me about it? To trust me enough to share your fears? We were partners, Elena. We were supposed to face things together."
She pressed her fingers to her scar, her old nervous habit, as if touching the past could somehow soften the present. "I tried," she admitted. "I tried to convince myself I could turn down the job. I spent three days trying to find the courage to tell you about it, to explain why I needed to go. But every time I saw you saw how excited you were about the house, about our wedding, about our future…" Her voice cracked. "I knew I couldn't ask you to give up everything for me."
Marcus turned then, his gaze locking on hers. "That wasn't your decision to make."
The words landed like a physical blow. Elena staggered under their weight. She closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill. "I know. I know that now. But then… I was young and scared and stupid, and I thought I was protecting both of us."
"You were protecting yourself," Marcus said. There was no venom in his voice now, just quiet certainty. "I get it, Elena. I don't like it, but I get it. What I don't understand is why you never called. Never wrote. Never gave me the chance to tell you that I would have followed you anywhere."
The confession cut deeper than his anger. Elena's heart twisted painfully. The image of Marcus leaving Millbrook behind his family, his business, his whole world for her, was almost impossible to imagine.
"You would have given up everything here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your family, your work, the only life you've ever known?"
He didn't hesitate. "For you? In a heartbeat."
The sincerity in his tone shattered her. He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, close enough that his presence wrapped around her like a storm.
"That's what love is, Elena," he said softly. "It's not about holding each other back. It's about lifting each other up, even if that means letting go sometimes."
Her tears finally broke free, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. "I'm so sorry, Marcus. I'm so, so sorry."
He reached up, his calloused thumb brushing the wetness from her skin. The gesture was heartbreakingly gentle, tender in a way that made her chest ache.
"I know you are," he said. "But sorry doesn't give us back those five years."
"No," she whispered. "It doesn't."
The words settled like a stone between them. For a long moment, they stood in silence, the house around them darkening as the storm outside deepened. Every unspoken word, every lost chance, every memory they had avoided seemed to press in on them.
Elena wanted to ask was there still a chance? Could they start again, build something new from the ruins of what they'd lost? But the fear of his answer kept her lips sealed.
Finally, she broke the silence. "I should go," she said softly. "It's getting late, and you probably have work tomorrow."
Marcus's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He nodded slowly, stepping back to give her space.
She moved toward the door, her body heavy with regret. She was just reaching for the knob when his voice stopped her.
"Elena?"
She turned, her heart stuttering painfully in her chest. Hope fluttered there too, fragile and dangerous.
"The Morrison place," Marcus said quietly. "I still live there. If you want to see it sometime…" His gaze softened, just for a moment. "It turned out pretty perfect."
The words lingered in the air, more invitation than statement, more promise than memory.
Elena swallowed hard, her hand tightening on the doorknob. She didn't trust herself to answer. Not yet.
Instead, she opened the door, stepping into the night. The storm had eased, but the air still smelled of rain, fresh and raw. Behind her, Marcus's house light spilled into the darkness, a beacon she wasn't sure she deserved.
As she walked down the steps, her heart ached with the knowledge that some promises, once broken, could never be repaired. And yet… some part of her wondered if maybe just maybe there was still a chance to build new ones.