Reflections of the choices

Сhapter twenty five

"When it was good, we were on fire

Now I'm breathing ashes and dust

I always wanna get higher

I never know when enough is enough

So many wasted (wasted)

Nights with (nights with) you (you)"

"People You Know" by Selena Gomez

Eloise had felt increasingly despondent in recent days, a state that had not escaped the notice of her family. Even her usual pursuits no longer seemed to interest her, and a shadow lingered in her gaze, one that none could quite discern. At first, her family attributed it to the usual strains, supposing that perhaps her condition was tied to her pregnancy, or possibly to her chance encounter with a former confidante now seen in her sister's company. But if only they knew the truth, Eloise thought, as her mind drifted, seeking but never finding solace. She could not reveal what troubled her, for that would mean acknowledging the choices she herself had made, a path from which there could be no turning back.

After opening the school, her life had become even more detached from Theo. She was seldom home, always preoccupied with matters concerning the school and her pupils. Each day left her exhausted, and by the time Theo returned home, she was already fast asleep, feeling a sense of relief at being spared the need for explanations. At first, this arrangement disturbed her, but in time, she grew accustomed to it. And then he simply ceased coming home at all. Eloise found herself oddly relieved by this. Her thoughts were filled with other concerns—she had her own work, her own freedom, and she determined that this should be enough. "After all," she reasoned, "it could be worse. Love is not granted to everyone, and one can learn to live without it." These musings seemed entirely rational to her, at least until she met Philip.

They had encountered each other at an exhibition to which she had been invited by Cressida. Eloise had been reluctant to attend yet another social event, but her friend had insisted. It was not difficult to understand why; since her husband's death, Cressida found it uncomfortable to appear at public events alone. She was acutely aware of the sympathetic glances cast her way, as if she were an unfortunate soul destined for perpetual sorrow—or worse, a potential bride waiting for the next suitor. Eloise knew this sentiment all too well, and in the end, she had agreed to go.

In the midst of the crowd, she noticed Philip standing before a painting. He was intently studying the landscape as if searching for some hidden meaning within it. Something in his concentrated gaze, directed toward the canvas, caught her attention. She approached, hoping to discern what had so captivated him, but it was merely a field of flowers, much like countless others she had seen.

"Do you know the time?" he asked suddenly, without turning.

Eloise looked around in surprise, certain he could not be addressing her. It was as though he had spoken the words into the void, not expecting a response.

"Eight in the morning," he added, still not lifting his gaze from the painting.

Eloise furrowed her brow, quite certain it was nearly time for afternoon tea.

"It seems more likely to be nearing tea time," she ventured, attempting to lighten the moment's peculiar tension.

"On the painting," he clarified, finally turning to look at her, a smile touching his lips.

Her face lengthened in bewilderment, and she looked back at the landscape, seeking some clue. But it was nothing but flowers. Sensing her confusion, Philip elaborated:

"Every child knows that flowers close at night. But there are some blossoms that open and close with precision according to the hour. Chicory, for example, awakens just before dawn, while the rose hips open at the first light of day, at five in the morning. Six belongs to the dandelions and bluebells, while the tardiest of all, marigolds and morning glories, open nearer to eight."