Page 224 of Before We Were

The memory floods back. That first night at the beach party, when Nora looked at me like I was someone else entirely. Someone dangerous. Someone she couldn't trust. And in that moment, I knew I couldn't be that person anymore.

Not for her. Not for Mom. Not for myself.

Mom's hand reaches out, trembling as she cradles my face. The touch is so gentle it aches.

"You've come so far," she whispers, voice breaking with emotion that mirrors my own. "I see you trying, Nate. And I'm so proud of you."

Her words wash over me, soothing the wound I've been carrying so long I forgot it was there. Her eyes find mine, and I watch something shift behind them, like hope breaking through storm clouds, tentative but determined.

"It's in the past now, all of it," I say, my voice soft. "I'm more focused on the future. And you should be too."

She nods, the motion starting hesitant before gaining strength, like she's letting the words take root somewhere deep inside.

"You're right," she says, her voice finding its footing. "And… I am. I'm trying."

Then she does the thing I've been silently praying she'd find the strength to do for years. She reaches for the bottle of red wine on the counter, fingers wrapping around its neck like she's confronting an old enemy. My heart clenches, caught between wanting to take this battle from her and knowing this has to be her choice. With a breath that sounds like courage, she tips the bottle over the sink. The wine spirals down the drain in a crimson rush, taking years of pain with it. The glass follows, emptying itself like a final confession. The smile that touches her lips isn't triumphant—it's fragile as a new leaf in spring—but her eyes, though red-rimmed, hold something I haven't seen in years. Resolve.

I realize I've been holding my breath only when she looks at me and says, "We're both going to do better."

"We are," I agree, the words feeling like a promise I finally believe I can keep.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow night?" she asks, her voice lighter now. In this moment, she's not the broken version of herself I've grown used to seeing. She's the woman who used to sing while making pancakes, the one who taught me about strength even when life was crumbling around us.

Pride swells in my chest, warm and unexpected.

A soft laugh escapes me, easing some of the tension that's been hanging in the air like smoke.

"Maybe a little," I admit, lowering my voice as if speaking the fear too loudly might make it more real. "Okay, maybe more than a little. It's been a long time since I've played, let alone played for a room full of people."

Her hand finds mine, warm and steady—an anchor I didn't know I was searching for.

"I'm so proud of you," she says, voice trembling just slightly, like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. "For so many things." There's warmth in her words, but also something heavier. "I've made more mistakes than I can count in my life. Some of them haunt me, but if every single one had to happen to bring you and your brother into this world, then I forgive myself for them all. And I think it's time you forgive yourself too, so you can start to embrace every opportunity life gives you."

Forgiveness.

A word that feels too big to hold yet too important to ignore. I've carried guilt like armor, kept it close because being burned so many times has taught me to expect the worst. Maybe because somewhere along the way, I started believing forgiveness was something I didn't deserve. Or maybe because I never thought I was worthy of it in the first place.

But hearing her say it now—seeing the love and sincerity shining in her eyes—something shifts. A crack forms in the walls I've spent years building. Small, but enough to let light seep through.

The morning sunstreams through Sonder's windows, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility. The place still carries the crisp scent of fresh paint and polished wood, an electric anticipation humming in the air as final touches are made for tonight's opening.

Nick's already here—probably has been since dawn broke, knowing him. The guy treats sleep like a suggestion rather than a necessity. He's adjusting bar stools with surgical precision, fussing over a vase of flowers like they hold the secret to perfection. But I get it—this place isn't just a business to him, it's a dream given form.

"Morning," I call out, my voice carrying through the quiet space. The mingled scents of wood polish and fresh espresso hang in the air like a held breath before tonight's storm.

Nick looks up from behind the bar, his grin easy but eyes sharp as ever. "Morning."

"Figured I'd get a head start, make sure everything's set for tonight." My words carry more nerves than I let on—this isn't just another gig, it's a chance at something I'm only beginning to understand.

He waves me toward the small stage tucked in the corner, already moving with his characteristic efficiency. I set the guitar case down, the familiar motions of unpacking grounding me as my fingers instinctively check the strings.

"Hey," Nick says after a moment, his tone shifting to something softer, more deliberate. "I got you a little something. To say thanks for helping with this place and??—"

"Nick," I cut him off, shaking my head as I straighten up. "I can't keep taking from you. You've saved my ass more times than I can count. Me helping out this summer? That was because I wanted to."

"And I wanted to do this," he counters, amusement sparking in his eyes like flint striking steel. "So don't fight me on it, just say thank you and make sure you use it religiously."

Before I can form another protest, he disappears to the far corner of the stage, returning with a sleek black guitar case. The kind that makes my heart skip a beat just looking at it.

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