The Return That Came Too Late
The sky was already heavy with gray clouds when Tavian's plane landed. He had been summoned urgently when his father, Mr. Leonard Lockridge, was gravely ill. For the first time in a long time, Tavian felt fear, the kind that burns in your stomach and freezes your hands.
He raced to the hospital.
But life, as always, did not wait. Leonard Lockridge took his last breath only minutes after Tavian arrived, his fading eyes meeting his son's with a mixture of regret, pride, and unspoken apologies.
"Father," Tavian whispered, voice trembling.
But the man who had been both his shadow and his chain was gone. And with his passing, the bond that held Tavian to Vionna's family, the arrangement, the expectations, the obligations died too.
The days following the funeral were suffocating. Sympathy cards. Business partners. Lawyers. A parade of polished shoes and empty condolences.
Through it all, one thought kept clawing at Tavian's chest: Oriana. The girl he loved. The girl he broke. The girl he left.
As soon as the burial ended, Tavian didn't even return home. He drove straight to San Martin Village.
The sea breeze hit him like a memory. This was where it began where he first saw her innocence, her laughter, her barefoot joy. Where she held his heart in her hands without even knowing it.
But now the beach was empty.
Tavian searched everywhere, the hut, the markets, the rocky shore where she used to sit with her hair dancing in the wind, the small cliff where she once said she could "hear the world breathe."
Nothing.
Villagers watched him curiously as he asked for her.
"Have you seen Oriana?"
"Do you know where she went?"
"Please, someone must know."
No one answered.
On the second night, with the moon hanging low and tired over the sea, Tavian sat alone on the sand, defeated, exhausted, hollow.
"Oriana, where did you go?" he whispered into the darkness.
On the morning of the third day, as Tavian prepared to leave the village with a heart heavier than when he came, a soft voice called, "You're looking for her."
He turned. It was Mrs. Penita, one of the older women who had known Oriana since childhood. Her face was worn with sadness, as if she carried memories she wished she could forget.
"Please," Tavian said, stepping toward her. "Tell me where she is."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"You came too late, sir."
Tavian froze. His breath hitched.
"Too late? What do you mean?"
Mrs. Penita lowered her eyes.
"Her grandmother, Grandma Gina, passed away. The old woman's heart simply couldn't carry any more pain."
Tavian staggered backward.
No, not the gentle grandmother who welcomed him with warmth. Not the one who had encouraged Oriana to be brave.
His voice cracked.
"And Oriana? What happened to her?"
Mrs. Penita hesitated, then said softly,
"She broke completely. I have never seen a child cry like that. Not even when she buried her parents."
Tavian felt the world slip beneath his feet. He closed his eyes.
"I did this," he whispered. "She was alone because of me."
The woman nodded sadly.
"There is more you must know."
Tavian looked up, heart pounding painfully.
"Oriana was pregnant."
Everything stopped the wind, the waves, his heartbeat.
"Preg, pregnant?" he repeated, barely breathing.
Mrs. Penita's voice trembled with sympathy.
"She carried your child. She was already showing when she left the village."
Tavian pressed a hand against his mouth, trying to hold in the broken sound rising from his chest.
"She tried to reach you," the old woman continued. "But you were gone. You have disappeared too."
Gone. Out of the city. Unreachable. His work, his obligations, his pride they had stolen every chance she gave him.
"She left after her grandmother's burial," Mrs. Penita said. "We don't know where she went."
Tavian's eyes filled with tears he didn't bother to hide. His knees hit the ground.
"My God, my child"
His voice broke completely. For hours he remained on the beach broken, destroyed, drowning in regret. He whispered her name like a prayer.
"Oriana, please forgive me. Wherever you are, I will find you. I swear it."
That evening, when Tavian returned home, someone was waiting at the door.
Vionna.
Dressed in black lace, her eyes glossy with fake sympathy.
"Tavian," she breathed, stepping forward, "I am so sorry about your father. Now more than ever, we must honor his wishes and continue with the engagement."
Tavian lifted his head slowly. His eyes were dead.
"No."
Vionna blinked. "What?"
"No," he said again, firmer. "The arrangement was between our fathers. My father is gone. And I will never marry you."
Her face twisted, disbelief turning into rage.
"This is not how things work, Tavian."
"This is exactly how things work now."
Vionna grabbed his arm.
"Is this about that girl? That worthless"
"Don't," he growled, stepping away. "Don't even say her name."
Vionna froze. She had never heard him speak like that before.
"I am done with your family," he said. "I am done with pretending. And I am done letting others decide my life."
She clenched her fists.
"If you walk away from me, Tavian, you will regret it."
He met her glare with a cold fire in his eyes.
"The only thing I regret is leaving Oriana."
Then he turned and walked away out of the mansion, out of her reach, out of the future their families had planned.
But the past was already gone.
Tavian searched for Oriana for days. But she was no longer the girl waiting on the shore. She was gone carrying his child, carrying her pain, carrying a future he had lost the moment he walked away from her.
And Tavian vowed, He would spend every breath he had left searching for her.