Anastasia
The morning light spilled through the kitchen curtains, soft and golden, brushing against the clutter of notes, receipts, and menus I'd been scribbling on since dawn. My pen tapped nervously against the counter as I reviewed the long list for the restaurant, supplies, inventory checks, shifts, and opening arrangements.
I was trying to lose myself in work, in order, in control. But the sound that cut through the silence shattered my concentration.
Ring. Ring.
I froze, eyes darting to my phone on the table. The same number. Again. I clenched my jaw and pressed the pen harder against the paper. I hadn't blocked it, but I had scolded them, warned them. Whoever it was, they just wouldn't stop.
Ring. Ring.
A second time. My pulse quickened.
"Aren't you going to pick it up?"
My mother's voice broke into tension, calm but sharp with curiosity. She was seated at the table across from me, sipping her tea with that knowing look she always wore when she thought she'd caught me hiding something.
I turned away, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Listen, my dear," she said gently. "If it's your boyfriend and you've had some issues, you can solve them by communicating. Or else, no one will ever know your opinion."
Her words hit me like a blunt blow; I didn't see them coming. My breath caught. My hands still went over the paper.
"Mom…" I whispered, heat rising to my cheeks. "I don't have a boyfriend."
The words tasted embarrassing, almost shameful, though they shouldn't have.
She arched her brow and leaned back, as though the thought had never truly crossed her mind. "And why is that?"
I had no answer. My lips parted, then closed again, helpless. I stared at the papers in front of me as if they could save me.
Her gaze softened, and before I could pull away, she reached across the table and held my hand. Her touch was warm, grounding.
"Listen, dear," she began, voice low and steady. "I know what you have gone through and are still going through. That's why I haven't arranged a single blind date for you, though hundreds of families have asked. Isn't it time to move on? It has been so many years now. You're no longer a girl…you're a woman. Just let it go."
Her eyes searched mine, and for the first time in a long time, I saw her pain hidden behind the strength she carried for me.
"Free yourself, Anastasia," she whispered. "I didn't want anyone for you more than him… but sometimes, everything happens for a reason. And it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself."
My throat tightened. The weight I had carried for years, the shadow I never spoke about, suddenly felt exposed in the morning light.
"Maybe…" she hesitated, brushing her thumb over my knuckles, "…maybe you will meet someone even better."
I didn't know when the tears started, but they slipped silently down my cheeks, hot and relentless. My chest shook, the dam breaking after years of holding it all in.
"You are beautiful," she said, pulling me into her embrace. "You are successful. And most importantly, you are my daughter. I am proud of you."
She kissed my forehead, and her words cracked something inside me I thought I had sealed shut forever.
"Live your life, go on dates, have fun, okay. And no one dares to bully you; I will break their legs and hands before they know it is coming. You can count on me," my mother said.
Before I could find my voice, two small gasps sounded from the doorway.
"Me too," Sophie said, her face blotchy with emotion.
"Me too, did I hear breaking legs? Gracious me, when are we leaving?" Sebastian echoed, his voice trembling, his fists clenched as if he were fighting the urge to unleash madness.
I turned to see them both standing there, their eyes wet, their expressions mirroring the ache in my chest.
I didn't even think. The three of us collided into a hug, arms tangled, tears streaming freely. We cried together in a knot of grief and love, while Mom wrapped her arms around us all, rocking us like we were children again.
For a few moments, time didn't exist. It was just us, my family, my safe place, holding me together when I felt like I was falling apart.
When the tears dried into hiccups and sniffles, I pulled back, brushing my cheeks and laughing softly at the sight of their red, puffy faces.
"You all look terrible," I teased, though my own reflection probably matched theirs.
Mom smiled, her eyes shining with the remnants of her own tears. "That's what family is for. To look terrible together."
We laughed, the sound fragile but healing.
The day slipped by faster than I wanted, and before I knew it, twilight painted the sky in shades of lavender and gold. I stood at the doorway, suitcase in hand, staring at the road that would take me back.
"It's a three-hour drive," I reminded them, trying to keep my voice light even as my chest tightened. "I should go."
Mom fussed with the collar of my jacket, her hands lingering longer than necessary. "Drive safe, dear. Call me when you get there."
"I will," I promised.
Sophie and Sebastian stood side by side, their hands clutching each other as if letting go of me was unbearable.
"You can do this, Ana," Sophie said, her voice firm but her eyes wet again.
"Yeah," Sebastian added, his throat bobbing. "No one touches my sister and gets away with it. Call me if anything happens."
Sebastian is always kind of possessive about Soph and me. The other time, Soph was in trouble with some bullies on campus, and he broke someone's nose.
He worries too much, he said he is our guardian, oh! That was the cutest thing I had heard. My young brother, who is afraid of cockroaches, is a warrior when it comes to us two, and we call him Night Fury.
I smiled at them, the kind of smile you wear when you're holding back everything else. I turned to wave one last time, memorizing their faces framed by the warm glow of the porch light.
One last look. Then I stepped into the car, started the engine, and whispered to myself, Time to go.
The road stretched out before me, long and uncertain, but for the first time in years, I didn't feel completely alone.