We are not going back

Chapter forty-seven

The park was serene, a soft breeze stirring the leaves overhead. I sat on a bench, my eyes following the children playing in the distance, their laughter ringing through the air like an echo from another lifetime. I smiled, though my heart felt heavy. Today was Elivio’s day.

Eight years.

It felt like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The pain hadn’t dulled, not really. I had just gotten better at pretending it wasn’t there, but the ache always lingered beneath the surface. On days like this, it was harder to ignore. My fingers absentmindedly traced the grooves of the wooden bench beneath me, grounding myself in the present.

Then my phone buzzed, breaking the silence. I pulled it out, seeing Richard’s name flash across the screen. A lump formed in my throat as I answered.

“Hey,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Eleonora,” Richard’s voice was gentle, understanding. “I know what today is. Oliver and I are having a small thing at my place, just a few of us. We’re celebrating Elivio’s life. We’d love it if you could come.”

My chest tightened. The thought of going felt unbearable, but avoiding it felt wrong too. I had always wrestled with this day, torn between honoring Elivio and running from the memories that still haunted me.

“I don’t know, Richard...” I started, unsure of what else to say.

Before he could respond, I felt a presence behind me. Kamala. She had slipped into the park quietly, her calm energy instantly wrapping around me like a protective shield. I hadn’t even heard her approach, but I wasn’t surprised. She always seemed to know where I needed her most.

I glanced up at her as she sat down beside me, her dark eyes full of understanding. She didn’t need to ask; she knew what day it was.

“Eleanora, come. Please,” Richard urged gently over the phone.

I hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of indecision. Before I could answer, Kamala spoke softly, her voice steady and soothing. “You should go, Eleonora.”

I shook my head, feeling torn. “I don’t know if I can,” I whispered, more to Kamala than to Richard. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Kamala took my hand, her thumb gently brushing over my knuckles, but it came out as more platonic since all eyes were on us. “It’s been eight years, and it still hurts, I know. But Richard is inviting you to celebrate Elivio’s life, not just to mourn him. You deserve that space.”

I exhaled slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. I had always been afraid of showing up, of letting others see the pain that was so deeply personal. But Kamala’s words were like a balm. They didn’t take away the pain, but they made me feel less alone in it.

“I don’t want to go alone,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Kamala’s grip on my hand tightened. “Then don’t. I’ll go with you.”

I looked at her, startled. “Kamala, you can’t. What about Secret Service? What if people see us together?”

A small, reassuring smile crossed her lips. “I’ll be discreet. They can make arrangements to ensure everything goes smoothly. We don’t need to draw attention.” She paused, her eyes softening. “This isn’t about politics. This is about you. And I want to be there for you.”

Her words hung in the air, and a sense of relief washed over me. But still, doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

“I don’t want to make this a thing... what if people start talking, or worse, if Olivia-”