Fashion. That's what she went with.
Sophie had always been interested in fashion and design. Elliot didn't think she would take it anywhere. But she did, it hadn't taken long but now she has her own agency, employee's and models walking on the runway with her pieces.
It was weird, sometimes coming home and not seeing her there. He was relieved whenever he came home to that, but the stress wasn't fully gone. Corbin always went with her to her exhibitions.
Sophie had a talent for it, Elliot didn't know how. He thought that with her mouth and her attitude, there was no possible way for her to end up in such a high place in the world where he now sees her name, his family name in ads that weren't directly tied to him.
Elliot had even seen a picture of Corbin in a kids magazine. He had a mute expression. Elliot couldn't tell if his son was angry or not.
But Elliot was happy for his wife. She had found something to do, something that was just for her. But whenever Corbin came back, he was a hot mess. Screaming and shouting about how he didn't want to be there anyway, about how weird the people were.
His mother just told him to cry about it. Elliot wasn't happy with that, with Sophie gone he had a lot more work to do, a lot more free time to catch up with whoever was available, he never let the chance slip away and used it to its full.
So he would typically be incredibly tired and unfortunately ignore Corbin a lot more. It had barely been more than a year. Corbin was older, and there was a new cleverness in his eyes, a cleverness that was very much like his mother's.
Insults became a specialty to him too. Just like her, they would always hit close to home. The sharpness of his jaw... or cheekbones, the arch of his brow while gauging his verbal opponent's reaction.
Elliot loved his kid... but sometimes he felt like he hated him. Like he wanted to grab his head and smash it into pavement until he stopped making sound. He shook at the blackness that ran through his veins when he thought of his seven year old boy.
He hated the feeling, so much that he knew none of it could be real.
'I love my son!' He would repeat in his mind.
There was a reason for Corbin's attitude, he gets everything he wants and some. He's smart like his father, and picks up on things with ease. His wit and charm come from his mother. So he looks down on his classmates.
Elliot was always described as a 'kind boy', but it seemed that it wasn't enough to balance the mischievous kid of his.
With a sigh he decides that his work is finished for the day. He wanted to visit his mother today anyway, so he left the office early.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cemetery as Elliot made his way through the wrought-iron gates. The air was crisp, the kind of Autumn chill that made you pull your coat tighter around yourself, and the fading light painted the gravestones in hues of gold and amber.
He walked slowly, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel path. The cemetery was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the leaves in the wind and the distant chirping of birds settling in for the evening. His mother's grave was near the back, under an old oak tree whose branches stretched like protective arms over the plot.
He hadn't visited in months, and the guilt of the fact sat heavily in his chest.
As he approached, he noticed a figure a few rows over. At first, he thought it was just another mourner, but then he recognized the long, dark hair and the way she stood, still, but not stiff, as if she were part of the landscape itself. Grace. And beside her, a small boy, no older than six or seven, clutching a bouquet of flowers.
Elliot hesitated, unsure whether to approach or give her space. But something about the scene held him there, rooted to the spot. He watched as Grace knelt down, her hand brushing against the plaque in front of her. The boy, her son, he didn't want to believe, was standing close, his small hand resting on her shoulder. Elliot couldn't hear what she was saying, but her voice carried softly on the breeze, gentle and melodic.
He took a step closer, his curiosity outweighing his hesitation. As he did, her words became clearer.
"...and these are Asters," she was saying, holding up a cluster of small, star-shaped flowers. "They're my favourite. They symbolize patience and love, they bloom even when everything else is fading. That's why I named you after them, Aster. You remind me that even in the darkest times, there's still beauty."
Elliot's breath hitched in his throat. Aster. The name echoed in his mind, a soft and sweet sound. Elliot didn't even have a say in naming Corbin, at the time he didn't care. He still doesn't, in his mind he was still going to be the same kid.
His ears picked up on more of the conversation... "This is where your older sister was buried."
A wave of nausea and tightness filled him internally. Grace had another child. This whole time Elliot didn't even know of this Aster kid, and now he knows she had a daughter too.
Was this something that she had tried telling him before? Did his wife interrupt again?
Every time they met she was kind enough to always give Corbin her greetings.
The boy, Aster, nodded solemnly, his small face was serious as he listened to his mother. "Is that why we bring flowers to her?" he asked, his voice high and clear.
Grace smiled, though there was sadness in her eyes. "Yes, sweetheart. It's a way to show her we remember her, and that we love her. Even though she's not here with us, she's still part of our family."
Elliot felt a lump rise in his throat. He hadn't expected this, hadn't expected to stumble upon such a private, tender moment. He watched as Aster leaned into his mother, his small arms wrapping around her neck in a tight hug. Grace held him close, her face buried in his hair for a moment before she pulled back, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead.
"Do you think Dad will come next time?" Aster asked, his voice hopeful.
Grace chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar. "Maybe. But even if he doesn't, we'll still come. Just the two of us. Okay?"
Aster nodded, his smile returning. "Okay."
Elliot felt a strange ache in his chest as he watched them. There was something about the way Grace spoke to her son—so gentle, so full of love—that made his own shortcomings as a father feel all the more glaring. He thought of Corbin, of the way his son's laughter had grown quieter over the years, of the way he used to, and sometimes still does, shrink into himself whenever he and his wife argued.
And then he thought of Grace, of the way she seemed to carry her grief with such grace, turning it into something beautiful for her son.
Motherhood suits her, he thought, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. It wasn't just the way she looked—though she did look beautiful, her dark hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her cheeks flushed from the cold—but the way she was. She was patient, kind, nurturing in a way that felt effortless. And Elliot couldn't help but compare her to Sophie, to the way his wife's sharp words and constant scrutiny had turned their home into a battlefield.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Grace turning until her eyes met his. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Then Aster turned too, his gray-green eyes wide with curiosity.
"Elliot," Grace said, her voice soft but steady. "I didn't expect to see you here."
He swallowed, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I, uh... I came to visit my mom," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the oak tree. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Grace shook her head, her smile warm but tinged with something he couldn't quite place. "You're not interrupting. We were just leaving." She glanced down at Aster, who was still staring at Elliot with open curiosity. "Aster, this is Mr. Hayes. He's an old friend of mine."
Aster stepped forward, his small hand extended in a gesture that was both sweet and oddly formal. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes," he said, his voice clear and bright.
Elliot blinked, caught off guard by the boy's politeness. He shook Aster's hand, his own feeling clumsy and oversized in comparison. "Nice to meet you too, Aster." He glanced at Grace, his voice softening. "He's... he's a good kid."
Grace's smile widened, and for a moment, Elliot felt like he'd said the right thing. "He is," she agreed, her hand resting on Aster's shoulder. "He's my little star."
Aster beamed up at her, and Elliot felt that ache in his chest again. He wanted to say something more, to ask about the grave or the flowers or the lost child, but the words were stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nodded, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Well," Grace said after a moment, her voice breaking the silence. "We should get going. It was nice to see you, Elliot."
"Yeah," he said, the word coming out in more of a gruff way than he intended. "You too."
She gave him one last smile before turning away, her hand still resting on Aster's shoulder as they walked toward the gate. Elliot watched them go. It was nice to see you. The words echoed in his head, soft and bittersweet. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a flicker of something—maybe, or just the faintest hint of peace.
As he turned back toward his mother's grave, the sun dipping below the horizon, he couldn't help but think that nothing—not even Sophie's sharp words, not Corbin's quiet anger, not even the weight of his own regrets—could ruin this moment. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.