Part 4:
Mason handed her the coffee. And because someone should. Elena took the mug. Her hands were still shaking. I don’t know how to thank you. Don’t thank me yet. Mason smiled slightly. You haven’t met the kids when they’re fully awake. As if on Q. Thundering footsteps echoed from upstairs. Sophie burst into the kitchen.
Elena, you’re still here. Good morning, Sophie. Are you staying? Daddy said maybe you’re staying. Are you? Please say yes. Mason sighed. Sophie, we talked about this. I know, but give her space. Sophie deflated slightly, but she climbed onto the chair next to Elena anyway. I’m glad you didn’t leave, she said quietly.
Elena felt something shift in her chest. Me, too, she heard herself say. And for the first time in 24 hours, she meant it. 3 days turned into a week. Elena kept telling herself she’d leave tomorrow, find a job, find an apartment, find some way to restart her life that didn’t involve living in a billionaire’s guest room like a charity case.
But every morning, Sophie would knock on her door with that hopeful smile, asking if Elena wanted pancakes. And every evening, Mason would casually mention that the roads were still bad or that he’d appreciate help with homework or that Mara had actually asked where Elena was, so she stayed.
The house developed a rhythm. Mason left early for his office downtown. The kids had online classes most days because of the lingering winter weather. Elena found herself naturally filling the gaps, making lunch, helping out Ethan with his math homework, sitting quietly in Mara’s room while the teenager did her own thing. She tried not to get attached.
She failed completely. On the eighth day, Elena woke to raised voices downstairs. She pulled on a robe and crept to the top of the stairs. I don’t want to go. Mara’s voice, angry, desperate. You have to. Mason sounded exhausted. It’s not optional. Why? So some therapist can pretend to care about my feelings for an hour. Dr.
Martinez does care. She gets paid to care. That’s different. Mara, I’m not going. A door slammed. Silence. Elena found Mason in the kitchen, head in his hands. Sorry, he said without looking up. Didn’t mean to wake you. You didn’t? Elena poured herself coffee. Is she okay? Define okay. Mason rubbed his face. She’s supposed to have therapy this afternoon.
She’s been refusing to go for 2 weeks. Why? because the anniversary of Caroline’s death is in 3 days and Mar is convinced that if she doesn’t talk about it, she won’t have to feel it. Elena sat down across from him. That’s not how grief works. I know that. You know that. Mar’s 14 and thinks she can logic her way out of emotions. Sounds familiar.
Mason glanced up. Yeah. Elena shrugged. I spent 6 months after my accident convincing myself I was fine. That infertility was just a medical fact, not something to grieve. That I could just move on. How’d that work out? Terribly. Elena wrapped her hands around her mug. Turns out you can’t logic away loss. Tell that to my daughter. Maybe I will.
Mason’s eyebrows rose. Seriously? Why not? Worst case, she tells me to leave her alone. She might. Then I’ll leave her alone. Elena stood. Where is she? Her room. Third door on the left upstairs. Elena climbed the stairs slowly. She knocked on Mara’s door. Go away, Dad. Not your dad. Silence. Then come in. Elena opened the door.
Mara’s room was exactly what you’d expect from a grieving 14-year-old. Dark walls, band posters, clothes everywhere, a desk covered in art supplies and half-finish sketches. Mara sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest. He sent you to convince me to go to therapy. Nope. Elena leaned against the door frame. I came because I heard you yelling and wanted to make sure you’re okay.
I’m fine. You don’t sound fine. Mara’s jaw tightened. What do you want me to say? That I’m sad? That I miss my mom? That therapy doesn’t actually help because talking about her doesn’t bring her back? No. Elena moved further into the room. I want you to say whatever you actually feel. I just did. Okay.
Mara blinked. That’s it. No lecture about how I should go anyway. Not my place. Dad would lecture me. I’m not your dad. Exactly. So why do you care? Elena considered the question. Because I know what it’s like to lose something, she said finally. and to have everyone tell you how you’re supposed to feel about it.
Mara’s expression shifted slightly, your husband, among other things. Did people tell you to go to therapy? Constantly. Did you go eventually? Did it help? Elena thought about the six sessions she’d done before David pulled the plug, claiming it was too expensive. Sometimes, she admitted, when I actually let it, Mara picked at her blanket.
