Chapter 20
Daphne didn’t say a word as she wheeled her suitcase inside.
Once the door closed behind her, shutting out his gaze, she finally had a moment to really take in the room.
*There was a wedding photo hanging above the bed, jewelry boxes lined up on the dresser, and an entire wall covered in snapshots of happier times. On the windowsill, a carefully tended vase of pink hyacinths swayed gently in the breeze.
For a fleeting second, Daphne felt as if she’d slipped back five years.
Back then, none of this had happened yet; the room was still filled with the traces of their love.
But time changes everything. No matter how perfectly things are restored, what’s done can’t be undone. The relationship they once had was gone, irretrievable, no matter how hard anyone tried to pretend otherwise.
Exhaustion from her long journey settled over her. After a quick shower, Daphne lay down, letting the mattress’s faint scent of sandalwood and cedar seep into her senses.
It wasn’t overpowering, but it was unmistakable.
That had always been Nestor’s favorite cologne.
Suddenly, she understood exactly why he wanted her to stay in this room. The realization made her want to laugh.
He kept trying to resurrect their old love, to make her remember what they’d had–hoping that nostalgia alone would be enough to bring her back to him.
But he’d forgotten: you can replace objects, but scars never truly heal.
She would never forgive him. Not now, not ever.
She
That night, sleep eluded her.”
The next morning, Daphne woke early. After washing up, she made her way downstairs to find Nestor already seated at the dining table, smiling as if nothing had changed. A plate of breakfast waited at his side. Daphne picked it up without a word and sat down one seat away from him, quickly eating her food with her eyes fixed on the table. Only when she’d finished did she finally look up at him.
“When are we going to see Mr. Bridges?”
Just from the briefest proximity, Nestor could catch a whiff of his own cologne on her skin. Satisfaction flickered through him, but her blunt question shattered the illusion.2
The smile froze on his face. He forced himself to stay composed, but there was no hiding the note of disappointment in his voice.
“Let’s finish breakfast first,” he said quietly.
The tension in the room thickened, and Nestor felt more uncertain than ever.
On the drive to the hospital, trees blurred past outside the window. Daphne sat in the back seat, putting as much distance between them as possible, staring determinedly out at the passing city.
Nester couldn’t quite believe it–the years they’d spent together, all whittled down to nothing.
Maybe she was still angry, he thought. Maybe if he could just prove himself, she wouldn’t keep trying so desperately to pull away.
He was still lost in thought when his phone buzzed, displaying an unfamiliar number.
1
He answered, and a man’s voice came through the line.
“Mr. Bridges, shes refusing to eat again. Every meal we bring in, she finds a way to dump it out. It’s been five days now. She’s not doing well. How should we handle it?”
Is this your first day on the job?” Nestor snapped. “Handle it the same way you always have. My only requirement is that she stays alive.”
He hung up, his gaze lingering on the number long after the call had ended.
Eventually, they pulled into the hospital’s underground garage. Daphne got out first, with Nestor following a step behind as they headed toward the inpatient wing. Suddenly, he called out, “Daphne, I want to take you somewhere after this.“%
She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain, but he fell silent and pressed the elevator button. They rode up in silence, and when the doors chimed open on the third floor, Nestor smoothly changed the subject, talking instead about Felton.
*All these years, you changed your number and drifted out of touch. Grandpa never said much, but I know he’s missed you. He’ll be happy to see you today.”
