Lies Beneath the Cherry Tree

chapter 4

Mom’s leaving for a two-week business trip tomorrow morning. Since Dad left, she’s buried herself in work, and while I understand, I don’t mind having the house to myself. It’s a welcome break from the constant hustle and bustle. When she returns, we have our mother-daughter days that I treasure, a fleeting sense of normalcy amid the chaos.

"You could always stay over at Dylan’s, help out around the house—"

"No, Mom. I want to stay home. I have assignments to finish," I lie, trying to sound resolute, though my voice wavers.

Mom and Dylan's mom were inseparable once, best friends bound by their shared history and dreams. Their friendship was something I admired, a bright spot in our childhoods. They planned every detail of our lives, from school events to weekend outings, and Dylan and I were often the center of their joy. It was a simpler time, one that I look back on with a mix of nostalgia and pain.

When Dylan’s mom passed away, it was a devastating blow to both families. Mom stepped in as much as she could, but nothing could fill the void left by her best friend. As time went on, Dylan's dad became our only connection to their world. Mom and I moved to this town, not just to be closer to our new lives, but to be there for Dylan’s family in any way we could. The thought of his dad struggling alone was too much for Mom, and she wanted to make sure we were available if anything went wrong.

Dylan had been my rock in many ways, but he was also the cause of so much heartache. We were best friends, then something more, but our relationship was never what it seemed. He had a way of being both charming and cruel, and the things he did to me—those dark, painful memories—are something I’ve kept hidden, even from Mom. She thinks we simply grew apart, but the truth is far more complicated and painful.

When Dylan left our old town, I felt a mix of relief and sorrow. The damage was done, and I had to learn to navigate life without him, carrying the weight of our broken past.

Mom has no idea of the truth. She still speaks fondly of Dylan, remembering him as the friend who brought light into our lives. If only she knew how much I suffered because of him, the secrets I hold in the depths of my heart. For her, Dylan is still the boy who was once part of our family, a beacon of friendship and shared happiness. For me, he is a ghost of the past, a reminder of the love that turned into something dark and painful.

Mom and I exchange a quiet, brief hug, her arms warm but her presence already distant. As she climbs into the car, I watch from the window, my heart heavy yet relieved. I wave until the car turns the corner.

I head back inside my house and I take a seat on the bottom of my bed. The promise of being there for Dylan’s family feels hollow when I think about the scars he left on my heart. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if this town, this house, is a way of finding some semblance of peace or maybe a chance for closure.

I stare outside my window and my gaze drifts to the mansion across the street.
It’s an imposing structure, dark and silent most of the time. Today, however, there’s a faint flicker of movement behind the windows. I squint, the tension coiling in my chest, and then I see it—a figure moving with an eerie grace. They approach the window, pulling it up with deliberate slowness. My breath catches as their face becomes visible.

The blood drains from my face. Without thinking, I slam the window shut, my hands trembling as I yank the curtains closed. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm erratic and loud. That figure—it was Nathan Parker.

.......

NATHAN'S POV

Waking up in the mansion always feels surreal. The walls are old, the rooms cavernous, and the emptiness echoes with the ghosts of the past. My mornings are spent in a haze of routines—shower, breakfast, and then a brief glance out of the window to see if anything has changed.

The house has been occupied since a week ago and I've tried to find out who the new tenants were. Two days ago, I found out that it was Lyllea who lives there.

As I pull myself from the bed and walk towards the window, my gaze lands on Lyllea’s house across the street. It’s a small comfort compared to our mansion, and seeing her there always stirs something inside me.

As I peer out today, I notice her moving around the house, preparing for her mom’s departure. She’s trying so hard to appear strong, but I see through it. I see the cracks in her facade, the loneliness she’s trying to mask.

Then, I spot her in the front yard. It’s a brief moment—she’s there, and then she isn’t. My attention is immediately drawn to the window of the master bedroom, which now I assume to be her room. I catch sight of her looking back at me, her expression shifting from surprise to alarm. My heart skips a beat. I know I shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have let myself be seen. The guilt of it hangs heavy on me.

I pull back from the window, trying to ignore the pang of regret that hits me.
I’m acutely aware of the weight of my own secrets and the precarious situation I’ve been placed in. The house is not just a house; it’s a symbol of everything I’ve tried to escape from, a place where every shadow holds a part of my past that I can’t fully escape.

There’s a cherry blossom tree in the backyard of that house that keeps calling me back. It’s as if the tree holds the last remnants of my past, a piece of me that I can’t fully let go of. I’ve tried to stay away, to respect my family’s wishes, but the pull of the tree is strong. It’s a reminder of who I was and what I’ve lost—a connection to my parents and to a life that I can never fully escape.

Even though I’m now living across the street, the sight of it through the window brings back a flood of memories, both good and painful.

I wonder how Lyllea perceives the tree. Does she see the same beauty and sadness in it that I do? The idea of her living in the house where my past still lingers is both haunting and comforting. I want to visit the tree, to stand beneath its branches and remember, but I fear what might happen if I do. The past is a powerful thing, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face it, even if it’s just through the lens of those cherry blossoms.