Page 144 of Before We Were

But even now, I'm afraid.

Afraid to let him see all the broken parts of me I hide, and the trauma I carry in silence. There's a darkness in my story that I can't bear to share, even with him.

What if he saw me differently?

What if all he saw from that point on was damaged goods?

The beach comes into view, and I slow my pace, letting my feet sink into the sand. The ocean stretches before me, endless and gray in the early morning light. I stare out at the waves, letting them swallow my thoughts. In these moments of stillness, Dad's absence hits hardest. This is the second birthday he's missed, and it feels like it will never get easier. Grief is a hollow space in my chest, the unspent love that has nowhere to go, it's just a constant ache that reminds me of everything he's missing.

I stand with eyes closed, listening to the waves crash against the shore, letting the tears come freely. The salt air mingles with the taste of salt on my lips, and I don't bother wiping them away. Sometimes the most important lessons come in these quiet moments, like how grief is just love with no place to go, and this morning, it's more than I can hold in.

When I finally make itback to the lake house, my legs feel like I've run a half marathon at record pace. The moment I step into the living room, I'm greeted by a burst of color and sound. Balloons and streamers fill the space as Mom, Lydia, Jake, and Ollie all scream, "Happy birthday!"

This has Lydia written all over it—confirmed by her bright, excited energy that fills the room. Jake grins as he gives me a hug. I can feel the tension in his body that's still lingering from yesterday. It makes the hug feel awkward and we've never felt awkward around each other.

Ollie steps up next, ruffling my hair like he always does.

"Happy birthday, Len," he says with his trademark lopsided grin before pulling me into another bear hug and kissing the top of my head.

"Thanks, Ol," I say, playfully swatting him away, though the familiar gesture brings comfort I didn't know I needed.

Mom waits for her turn, a soft smile on her face though worry lingers in her eyes.

"Happy birthday, my love." Her hug threatens to cut off my airways, but after this morning, it's exactly what I need. "My God, I can't believe you're seventeen."

The celebrations continue, but I can't help noticing Nate's absence. I try to hide my disappointment, wondering if like me, he needed space to process everything. Or maybe he was second-guessing it all. The uncertainty sits heavy in my stomach, even as I smile and laugh with everyone else.

At breakfast, Mom notices something's off—she always does. We rarely get moments like this anymore, just the two of us. Usually, we only cross paths at Ollie's games or briefly in the mornings as we rush in opposite directions.

"You okay?" she asks, her hand resting over mine. There's so much love there, so much patience, and I feel this rush of gratitude that almost brings tears back to my eyes.

"Yeah," I whisper, but the word feels hollow.

I wish I could tell her everything. But every time I try, it's like standing on a cliff edge overlooking a dark abyss. The words burn inside, a searing mix of shame and guilt, each memory sharpened to painful clarity. My heart pounds furiously, echoing in my ears like thunder.

Mom has been healing from Dad's loss for over a year now. I tried to keep it together, not wanting to add another worry to her life, but all it's done is chip away at me, piece by piece.

"You can talk to me, Nora. I know you're getting older now, but I'm always going to be here whether you're seventeen or forty-seven."

"I know, Mom." I offer her a small smile and take a sip of orange juice, letting the darkness win again.

"So how does it feel to be another year older?"

I stare across the café table at Mom, sunlight streaming through the window catching the light strands in her hair.

"How am I feeling?" A small laugh escapes me. "Well, I'm not sure I feel any wiser now that I'm another year older."

She laughs softly, warmth in her eyes.

"You're wise beyond your years. Just like your father." A flicker of pain crosses her expression, quickly replaced with pride. "He'd be proud of the woman you are. There was never a day that went by that he wasn't proud of you."

The words hit like a physical blow. I'm not sure that's true anymore. The memory of our last interaction burns—slamming the door in his face, telling him to leave me alone, that he didn't understand. All the words I wish I could take back but know I can't. I was angry and I took it out on him.

Then he was gone.

"Nora?" Mom's voice pulls me back.

"Hmm?"

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