The flight to Florida felt longer than it actually was.
Rose sat by the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, watching the clouds drift below.
Elena sat in the middle seat, occasionally squeezing Rose's hand for reassurance.
Ethan was in the aisle, earbuds in, staring at the seat in front of him with a tense jaw.
None of them spoke much during the journey.
The reason for the trip hung heavy between them.
When they landed and reached the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the quiet beeps of machines made Rose's stomach twist.
Her father's room was on the third floor.
Elena knocked softly before they entered.
He looked smaller than Rose remembered — pale, propped up against pillows, an IV line in his arm.
His eyes lit up when he saw them, but the smile was tired.
"You came," he said, voice rough.
"All of you."
Elena stepped forward first.
"Of course we did."
Ethan hung back near the door, arms crossed.
Rose moved closer, sitting in the chair beside the bed.
She didn't know what to say.
The last time they had spoken properly, the conversation had been about the engagement — the childhood promise her parents had made with Pierre's family years ago, back when everything felt simpler.
They talked in fragments — about his health, the doctors' updates, how the seizure had been scary but not fatal.
Her father kept glancing at Rose with a look that carried both love and expectation.
A soft knock came at the door.
A young man stepped in — tall, with warm brown eyes and neatly styled dark hair.
He carried a small bouquet of flowers and a gentle smile that brightened when he saw Rose.
"Rose," he said, voice warm with genuine surprise and affection.
"It's really you."
Pierre.
Rose stood up slowly, a mix of emotions crossing her face — nostalgia, nervousness, and a flicker of old familiarity.
"Pierre," she said softly.
"You're here."
He crossed the room and gave her a quick, respectful hug — the kind old friends give after years apart.
"I flew in as soon as I heard.
Your father asked me to come."
They stepped back, studying each other.
Pierre looked the same as she remembered — kind, steady, with that gentle French accent that had always made him sound a little softer than everyone else.
"You look well," he said, smiling.
"Different… but good.
How have you been?"
Rose managed a small smile.
"I'm okay.
The new city is… different.
But I'm adjusting."
They sat together near the bed while Elena and Ethan spoke quietly with her father.
Pierre kept the conversation light at first —
asking about school, her friends, what she liked about her new home.
He listened attentively, never pushing.
When Rose's voice faltered slightly while talking about how overwhelming the move had been, Pierre noticed immediately.
He leaned forward, voice low and kind.
"Hey," he said gently.
"You don't have to pretend everything is fine.
I can see you're carrying a lot right now.
Your health, your mind… those come first.
Always.
Whatever else is going on — the old promises, the expectations — none of it matters if you're not okay."
Rose's throat tightened.
She looked down at her hands, blinking quickly.
Pierre continued, sincere and without pressure.
"I'm happy to see you after all these years.
Truly.
But I'm not here to make anything harder for you.
If you need space, or time, or someone to just listen… I'm here for that.
No strings.
No expectations."
Rose felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
Pierre had always been kind — genuinely kind.
That was what made this so difficult.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"I… I needed to hear that."
He gave her a small, understanding nod and changed the subject to something lighter — a funny story from their childhood about chasing fireflies in the backyard.
Rose laughed softly despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.
But in the quiet moments between words, her mind kept drifting back to Jade — to the gentle way Jade had carried her bag, the protective way she had stepped in during games, the soft kiss on her cheek by the bonfire.
Pierre was here, kind and safe.
But her heart was somewhere else — with a girl who made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had.
The visit stretched on.
When it was finally time to leave, Pierre hugged her again — brief, respectful, warm
"Take care of yourself, Rose," he said quietly.
"That's all I want."
She nodded, unable to speak.
On the drive back to the hotel, Rose stared out the window, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.
Her father's illness, the old promise, Pierre's kindness… and the growing feelings she could no longer ignore for Jade.
She closed her eyes and let one silent tear fall.
Everything was becoming too complicated, too fast.
And she didn't know how much longer she could keep pretending it wasn't.