Page 95 of Back to You
Anna grins, slow and certain. “About damn time.”
CHAPTER 44
Mariana
Idon’t hesitate, I don’t second-guess myself, I don’t turn the car around halfway there—that alone tells me how much I’ve changed.
Because two weeks ago? Hell, two days ago? I wouldn’t be doing this, I would’ve let my fear win, but not anymore.
Sebastian isn’t just my person—he’s Analyse’s brother, Maya’s uncle, someone who has been woven into so many lives, not just mine. If I want him back, I have to face more than my own regret. I have to face the people who watched him break—because of me.
I park outside Analyse’s house, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I have to press my palm against my chest like that’ll do anything to settle it. The lights are on inside, a warm glow spills onto the porch, soft shadows moving inside—her, maybe Maya.
The sight stirs something in my chest, something warm and aching. I used to belong here, but now I don’t know if I ever will again.
I step out of the car, force my legs to move up the driveway, force myself to breathe through the panic, then, the door swings open before I even knock.
Analyse stands there, arms crossed, brow arched like she already knows, but her voice isn’t warm when she speaks; it’s cool, measured. "Are you here to hurt him again?"
It takes everything in me not to flinch, because I deserve that. I force myself to meet her eyes, to hold my ground. “No,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “I’m here because I love him, and because I need to make this right.”
Analyse studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable; she exhales sharply and steps aside. "Come in."
I walk in, and the faint scent of coffee lingers in the air. Maya’s tiny shoes sit by the door, and a handful of toys are scattered across the floor, abandoned mid-play. I don’t sit, I can’t sit.
The air feels too heavy, pressing down on my shoulders, making it impossible to stay still. I stand in the center of her living room, my hands clenching at my sides, fingers digging into my palms. If I don’t hold onto something, anything, I might come apart.
Analyse leans against the arm of the couch, watching me carefully. "So what exactly do you want, Mari?" she asks. “Because if this is just about you feeling guilty-"
“It’s not.” The words leave my mouth before she can finish. “I mean…I do feel guilty. I feel like the biggest fucking coward in the world. But this isn’t about that.” I take a breath. “This is about fighting for the man I love, the man I never stopped loving.”
Her jaw tightens. “Then why did you leave….again?”
I look away, pressing my lips together. Because fear convinced me I was safer alone, because I thought the distance would shield me from the pain because I believed that pushing him away would make the loss easier to bear.
I lift my gaze back to hers. “Because I was wrong.”
Something flickers in her expression. Not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to understanding. I swallow hard, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out my mother’s letter.
“This is why I’m here,” I whisper, voice thick. “My mom wrote it before she died. She gave it to Sebastian. She knew I would need it…and she was right.”
Analyse hesitates, then, cautiously, she steps forward and takes it from my hands. Her gaze drags over the familiar handwriting, over the creased edges from where I’ve been holding onto it too tightly. She doesn’t say anything for a long time, then, quietly, but not unkindly, “So what are you going to do?”
I lift my chin, something fierce burning in my chest. "Everything."
I wake up before the sun. For the first time in weeks, I don’t wake up feeling hollow. I don’t wake up with that crushing weight on my chest, the ache of absence wrapping itself around my ribs like something alive. I wake up with something else, restlessness, determination.
I stare at the ceiling, my pulse steady but strong, my body buzzing like my mind is already three steps ahead of me. There’s no more debating, no more wondering if I should fight for him. I already know I will, I just have to figure out how.
The house is still quiet when I push back the covers and sit up. The air is cold, and I pull Sebastian’s hoodie tighter around me before making my way downstairs. I don’t even realize I grabbed it when I left my house, but it’s been with me every daysince. The sleeves are a little too long, the fabric worn soft, the faintest trace of his scent still clinging to it.
In the kitchen, I move on autopilot, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove. My mind is already spiraling forward. I need to prove to him that I’m not going to run again, that I won’t let fear win. I lean against the counter, arms crossed, staring at the steam rising from the kettle like it holds the answers. What do I do? What does he deserve? I don’t even hear Anna walk in until she speaks.
“Didn’t expect to see you up this early.”
I glance over my shoulder. She’s still in her pajamas, her hair tied up in a messy bun, her voice thick with sleep. “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit.
She hums, padding over to the coffee maker and pressing the button to start brewing. “Thinking about him?”
