The days following her conversation with Margaret passed in a blur for Eliza. The weight of the secrets she had uncovered about her mother's past felt suffocating, and yet, it was impossible to shake the need for more answers. Margaret had confirmed that her mother had once been in love with someone else, a man named Thomas, and the idea that her mother had kept this part of her life hidden for so long had shaken Eliza to her core.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the letter her mother had written, the words "I wish I had told you sooner," echoing in her mind. Eliza couldn't help but wonder what might have been different if her mother had shared her past with her—if she had trusted Eliza with the truth. But as much as the truth hurt, Eliza knew deep down that she couldn't change the past. All she could do was move forward, one step at a time.
James had given her the space she needed, not pushing her to talk more than she was ready for, but his presence remained a quiet anchor in her life. They still spent time together—long walks by the beach, quiet evenings at the harbor café—but there was a subtle shift in their dynamic. Eliza felt more distant, not because she didn't care for him, but because she was grappling with something inside herself that she couldn't quite share. The deeper connection they had forged was now tempered by the weight of her unresolved emotions, and she wasn't sure how to bridge the gap between them.
One evening, as they sat by the fire in James's cottage, Eliza found herself staring into the flames, her thoughts far away. The soft crackling of the wood was the only sound breaking the silence, and James, sensing her distance, watched her with quiet concern.
"Eliza," he said, his voice gentle, "I can see something's on your mind. You haven't seemed like yourself lately."
She looked at him, meeting his steady gaze, and felt a pang of guilt. She knew he cared for her—perhaps even more than she had realized—and yet, she was holding back, retreating into herself in a way that she hadn't meant to.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just… a lot has happened. I found out some things about my mother's past. Things I didn't know, things I wasn't prepared to hear."
James nodded, his expression open and understanding. "You don't have to explain it all right now. But if you want to talk about it, I'm here."
Eliza hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. She had spent so much time trying to make sense of everything—her mother's secrets, the love her mother had hidden, and now the question of how to move forward with James when she wasn't sure who she was anymore.
"I found out that my mother… she had someone before me," Eliza said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "His name was Thomas. She loved him. But she never told me about him. Not once. I don't even know what happened to him."
James's brow furrowed in concern. "That must have been difficult to learn."
"It was," Eliza admitted. "I always thought I knew everything about her. But now… I don't know what to believe. It's like I've been living in a house of mirrors, where everything is distorted, and I don't know which reflection is the real one."
James moved closer, his presence a comforting weight beside her. "The past has a way of shaping us, Eliza. But it doesn't define who we are now. And it doesn't have to control the future. You're not alone in this. You have me."
Eliza swallowed, her throat tightening at his words. She had never realized how much she needed someone to stand beside her in this. It wasn't just the weight of her mother's secrets, but the fear that she would always be left alone with them, unable to find peace.
"Thank you," she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know what I would do without you."
James gave her a small, reassuring smile, his hand finding hers in the dim light of the fire. "You'll never have to find out."
For a long moment, they simply sat in the quiet warmth, the fire crackling softly between them. Eliza felt a sense of comfort, though the ache in her chest remained. There were still so many unanswered questions, still so much she needed to understand about her mother's past. But sitting next to James, she felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could face it all with him by her side.
The next few days were a blur of conflicting emotions. Eliza couldn't stop thinking about Thomas—this mysterious man from her mother's past who had, in some way, shaped the woman her mother had become. She still didn't know what had happened to him, but the fact that her mother had kept him a secret for so many years left her with more questions than answers.
But one thing became clear as Eliza spent more time with James—she couldn't keep running from the past. She needed to find out the truth, not just for herself, but for the woman her mother had been. The woman who had carried so many burdens, so many secrets, and had kept them locked away for reasons Eliza was only beginning to understand.
That afternoon, as the sky outside began to darken with the promise of rain, Eliza decided to take a step toward the answers she had been avoiding. She walked to the town's old library, the one where she had spent countless hours in her childhood, surrounded by stories and the comforting smell of old books. It was a place she had always found solace, and she knew it was the place where she might find more pieces to the puzzle of her mother's past.
Inside the library, the silence was heavy, the only sound the soft shuffling of pages as a few patrons studied in the far corner. Eliza made her way to the back, where the archives were stored—dusty boxes filled with old letters, photographs, and town records. Her heart raced as she began to sift through the boxes, her hands trembling as she pulled out old files and documents, searching for anything that might lead her to Thomas.
After what felt like hours of searching, Eliza found it—a letter, yellowed with age, bearing a familiar name in the corner. Thomas.
She sat down at one of the tables, her pulse quickening as she carefully unfolded the letter. The words were faded but still legible, and as she began to read, she felt a sense of dread rise in her chest. This was it. The truth was finally within reach.