The cold air hit Leo like a slap as he stepped onto the dimly lit sidewalk. His fists were stuffed into his jacket pockets, but the chill had nothing on the fire raging in his chest.
He didn't know where he was going—he just walked.
"Eighteen years," he muttered under his breath. "She shows up now? Now?"
The streetlights blurred at the edges of his vision, but he refused to let the tears fall. He'd done enough crying as a kid. Now he just felt hollow. Angry. Like a wounded animal that had forgotten how to stop bleeding.
His shoes scuffed against the pavement as his thoughts spiraled.
"She left us," he hissed to the wind. "She left me. You. Dad. And now she's sorry? Just like that? Is that all it takes?"
He kicked a rock so hard it scraped across the asphalt and clattered into a drain.
"Where the hell was her sorry when you were crying yourself to sleep, Steph?" he said aloud, his voice rough. "Where was her sorry when I couldn't even look at other kids' moms without feeling like I got cheated?"
He stopped in front of a corner store, hands trembling.
"I was eight. Six," he whispered. "You don't do that to a kid."
A car passed by slowly, headlights stretching across the cracked sidewalk, but Leo didn't move.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, shaking his head slowly.
"Dad saved a life that night," he muttered. "And she left because of it? What kind of person does that?"
He stood there a long while, jaw tight, chest heaving.
And then, slowly, he turned back the way he came—toward home.
⸻
Meanwhile, across the city, Nathan sat behind the wheel of his parked car, staring blankly at the streetlamp outside Stephanie's building. The apartment lights were still on. The silhouette of someone—probably her—moved past the window once before disappearing.
He leaned forward, elbows on the steering wheel, guilt pressing down on him like an avalanche.
He hadn't followed her upstairs. Hadn't knocked. Hadn't forced an explanation.
She needed space. That much was clear.
But that didn't stop the ache that was spreading behind his ribs like slow poison.
"I should've told her," he murmured to himself. "From the beginning."
The image of her face—shocked, betrayed, heartbroken—flashed behind his eyelids.
He let out a heavy breath and picked up his phone.
[Text Message to Stephanie]
I'm sorry for everything. I didn't know how to tell you the truth, and I never meant to hurt you. You don't have to respond. I'll give you space. I'll wait until you're ready. — Nathan
He stared at the message for a long moment before finally hitting send.
Then he leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and let the silence settle in.
⸻
Stephanie sat on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, her face pale and expressionless. Her eyes stung, but she didn't have any more tears left to give.
Her phone buzzed softly beside her.
She didn't want to look.
But she did.
Nathan's name lit up the screen.
As her eyes skimmed the message, she exhaled sharply and dropped the phone beside her, letting her head fall back against the wall.
She laughed bitterly, just once.
"The boy Dad saved," she whispered. "That's you, Nathan."
Her fingers gripped the comforter as the weight of it all slammed into her chest.
"The boy that ruined everything," she muttered, her voice breaking. "The reason she left. The reason Leo's broken. The reason—"
"Steph?" Anita's voice came gently through the cracked bedroom door.
Stephanie didn't move.
The door opened slowly, and Anita slipped in, eyes soft and worried. She walked over and sat beside her friend without asking.
"I heard everything," Anita said quietly. "I didn't mean to, but…"
Stephanie didn't speak.
Anita touched her arm. "You okay?"
Stephanie gave her a long, tired look. "No. I don't think I'll ever be okay again."
Anita waited, letting the silence hold.
Then Stephanie whispered, "Nathan. The guy I've been seeing. He's the boy my dad saved that night."
Anita's eyes widened. "Wait. What?"
Stephanie nodded slowly, like it hurt just to move her head. "He knew. He recognized the sketch. The dream. He knew my father saved him."
Anita blinked. "Oh my God…"
"He didn't tell me," Stephanie went on, her voice flat. "He just waited. Watched. Got close. Lied by omission."
Anita exhaled, visibly stunned, but her hand didn't leave Stephanie's arm. "Steph…"
"And now she comes back," Stephanie said, bitter. "The same night. Like fate decided to twist the knife. The boy who wrecked everything… and the mother who ran away from it."
Anita gently pulled her into a hug.
Stephanie didn't cry.
She just sat there, frozen, her head against her friend's shoulder.
"Can this night get any worse?" she whispered.
Anita didn't answer.
She just held her tighter.