Page 47 of Lost Summer
Orion sighed, her silver hair shimmering in the bar’s dim light. “I don’t know either, Dell. But I know you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Her words were meant to be comforting but only amplified my fear. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had all the answers. I didn’t even know where to begin. I looked down at my wine glass, the swirling liquid a blurry reflection of the chaos in my mind. I was lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty, and I desperately needed a lifeline to pull me back to shore. I needed Ted. But even he, with all his promises and reassurances, couldn’t erase the nagging doubt that lingered in the back of my mind. The doubt that whispered,What if it’s not enough?
The following days were a blur of forced smiles and strained conversations. I found myself constantly striving to maintain normalcy, wearing a carefully constructed mask to shield my anxieties from my colleagues and even Ted. He’d try to reassure me, his words soft and tender, but the unspoken tension between us remained, a palpable force pushing us further apart.
How could we possibly get through this?
At work, I meticulously documented Elena Dalton’s every move, every public appearance, and every carefully curated social media post. I felt like a detective in pursuit of an elusive truth, desperately trying to glean any information—any hint of weakness, any chink in her armour—that might offer a glimpse into her motives. But Elena remained unscathed, a seemingly invincible force of polished composure and unwaveringconfidence. Each article I wrote felt heavy, laden with a weight of unspoken emotions and brewing resentments. My writing, once a joyous outlet, now felt like a burden, a chore that strained both my body and soul.
I hated her.
One evening, at the same bar where Orion and I had spent countless nights decompressing, I confided in my best friend about my anxieties. The warm glow of the pub’s interior lights cast long shadows across the polished wooden tables, creating a cosy, intimate atmosphere. The scent of freshly brewed beer and roasted nuts hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of food drifting from the nearby kitchen. A low hum of conversation, filled with bursts of laughter and the clinking of cutlery, filled the space, but it was all a backdrop to the emotional turmoil swirling within me.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Orion wrapped her arm around my shoulder, her grip surprisingly firm. “Look, love,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent. “You need to focus on you.” I inhaled sharply. “Focus on the only person you should be worried about, which is you.”
“But Ted...he’s in a shit situation, and he doesn’t deserve this.”
We had only just found each other again, and I desperately wanted this to work. I was terrified of losing him again, of letting another ten years slip away. This wasn’t just about us but about finally having a future. All the hopes and dreams of a lifetime were wrapped up in this moment, and I couldn’t bear the prospect of letting it all fall apart.
Orion sighed, her eyes shimmering with understanding. “I know. But he can’t handle this without you, Delly. He needs you to be strong.”
Her words, though simple, held a truth I kept forgetting.
Ted needed me just as much—if not more—than I needed him. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was hopelessly useless and destined to fail him. Even if Ted didn’t want to admit it on my behalf, the thought that someone else—Elena—held the key to his future was...disturbing.
But Orion was right. Ted would be stronger with me by his side, no matter what schemes Elena tried to pull. Elena could try anything in her power, but I wouldn’t leave Ted. Baby or no baby, we belonged together—and I knew we could face whatever challenges came our way as long as we stayed united.
But that didn’t make it easy.
Days rolled into weeks, and I felt the pressure of time closing in on us. As Elena’s pregnancy progressed, so did the frequency of the tabloid headlines—the glossy photos of her smiling in carefully styled maternity wear, her hand resting on her growing belly. Each new headline felt like a fresh wound, deepening the rift between me and the version of the future I had held onto for so long.
But I tried.
I tried to block out the noise, to focus on Ted and the here and now. We spent as many moments together as possible. When he wasn’t juggling business obligations or meetings with his lawyers regarding his parental rights, he was here—with me, in our little bubble of comfort and quiet reassurances.
Yet, I couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in Ted’s demeanour. The lines around his eyes deepened, and his shoulders seemed more weighed down with each passing day. I knew the responsibility of impending fatherhood was heavy on him, and while he would talk to me about some things, there were moments when he would go quiet, his gaze distant as if lost in a future he couldn’t understand.
One quiet Saturday morning, as we lay in bed, tangled in each other’s arms, the soft light slipping through the curtains,Ted turned to me. His expression was severe, his usual joking tone nowhere to be found.
“Adele,” he began, his fingers threading slowly through my hair. “I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest. No bullshit.”
His voice was hesitant in a way I hadn’t heard before, sending a cold ripple through my veins.
“Of course,” I said, keeping my tone steady even as my heart hammered. “Ask me anything.”
He met my gaze, his green eyes sharp and searching, as though he was looking for something—some reassurance, some guarantee I wasn’t sure I knew how to give. “Do you think this will work?”
The question hung between us, heavy and raw.
It felt like the room’s ceiling was closing in on us, the warmth of the sheets suddenly suffocating. I shifted, pulling myself up into a sitting position beside him, unsure how to answer.
“Us?” I squeaked out.
He nodded. “Yeah. Us.”
Did I think we’d make it? Could we survive the wreckage of the aftermath of Storm Elena?
