Magnetic Hearts

The Goodbye

Chris sat in her apartment, staring at the half-packed suitcase. Her flight to Brazil was just a day away, and everything felt like it was slipping through her fingers. She'd decided to go back, to keep her job and leave Franco behind. But it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like she was giving up a piece of herself.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and for the hundredth time, she ignored Franco's name lighting up the screen. He'd been calling and texting nonstop since she told him it was over. She couldn't face him—not when she knew she couldn't stay.

She had already told her sister about her decision. Clara had been supportive, but there was a hint of worry in her voice. "Are you sure this is what you want, Chris? You've never sounded so... broken."

But Chris had been firm. "I need to do this, Clara. My job, my life—it's all falling apart. Franco's world is different from mine. I can't be in it without losing myself."

---

The next day, as Chris prepared to head to the airport, a knock on her door startled her. She opened it to find the hallway filled with flowers—roses, lilies, tulips—arranged in the most extravagant display she had ever seen.

It was from Franco. No note, no message—just the overwhelming presence of the flowers, filling the air with their intoxicating scent.

Chris's heart clenched as she stared at the blooms. It was the kind of grand gesture she might've expected from someone like Franco, but it felt hollow now. He was trying, but it was too late. She had made her decision. She couldn't let herself fall back into that whirlwind.

She turned away from the flowers, grabbed her suitcase, and left for the airport without looking back.

---

Brazil welcomed her with the familiar warmth of home, but it didn't soothe the ache in her chest. Chris's sister, Clara, was waiting for her at the airport, arms wide open. The two embraced tightly, Chris burying her face in Natalia's shoulder as the weight of everything finally hit her.

"You made it," Clara said softly, her voice filled with concern.

"Yeah," Chris whispered, her voice barely audible. "I made it."

---

The first few days in Brazil passed in a blur. Chris moved into her sister's apartment, and the reality of her decision slowly began to sink in. She was back, but it didn't feel like home. Everything reminded her of what she had left behind—of Franco.

She tried to dive into her work, but the new position as a sports editor felt dull compared to the excitement of Formula 1. The adrenaline, the travel, the intensity of it all—it was gone now. Her new life felt small, and she felt even smaller within it.

At night, Chris cried herself to sleep, clutching her pillow as memories of Franco flooded her mind. She missed his touch, his voice, the way he'd make her laugh, the intensity of their connection. But most of all, she missed the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

---

One evening, after nearly a week of crying and sleepless nights, Clara finally had enough. She sat Chris down at the kitchen table, her expression serious.

"Chris, you've been miserable since you got here," Clara said bluntly. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know you're hurting."

Chris wiped at her red, swollen eyes, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears. "I made the right decision," she mumbled, but even she didn't believe it anymore.

Natalia shook her head. "No, you didn't. You're here, but your heart is still in Monaco. It's with Franco."

Chris opened her mouth to argue, argue Emma held up her hand. "Listen to me. You ran because you were scared—scared of your feelings, scared of the pressure, scared of what being with him might mean. But you can't hide from this forever. Franco loves you. He sent you all those flowers, for God's sake."

Chris sighed, slumping in her chair. "I don't know what to do, Clara. I just... I couldn't handle everything."

Emma reached across the table and took her sister's hand. "Then maybe it's time to stop running and start facing it. If you love him—and I think you do—then you owe it to yourself to try. Don't let fear control your life."

Chris stared down at the table, her mind racing. Could she go back? Could she face the storm of emotions she'd been running from?

"You're not happy here," Clara said softly. "You need to go back. Talk to him. Figure things out."

Chris bit her lip, torn between the familiar comfort of home and the undeniable pull of what she had left behind in Monaco. Franco's face flashed in her mind, the way he had looked at her during their last conversation, desperate and pleading for her to stay.

"I miss him," Chris whispered, tears filling her eyes again.

Clara squeezed her hand. "Then go to him, Chris. It's not too late."

Chris wiped her face, taking a deep breath. Her mind was still foggy with doubt, but a flicker of hope began to ignite deep inside her. Maybe, just maybe, Clara was right. Maybe she had been running for too long.

"I think I need to go back," Chris said, her voice stronger now.

Emma smiled, relief washing over her face. "Good. Now go get him."