unexpected love (Leah Williamson)

Shadows of the Past

Ella's POV:

Having Leah here made me feel more secure than I'd felt in years. The silence between us was comforting as we sipped our coffee, a sense of peace settling over the morning that seemed to lift the last few remnants of the week's heaviness. I was about to suggest a walk when my phone buzzed, and my heart sank as I recognized the caller ID. My mother.

I hesitated, staring at the phone, wondering if I could ignore it. But Leah noticed the change in my expression, her brow furrowing.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her tone gentle.

"Yeah, it's just... my mom," I said with a sigh. "We don't exactly have the easiest relationship. She's never really understood my career choices, and whenever things get rough, she has a way of making it feel like it's my fault."

"Do you want to talk to her?" Leah asked, not pressing, just offering support.

I looked at her, and her quiet strength grounded me. I nodded, taking a deep breath before answering. "Hi, Mom."

"Ella," my mother's voice was sharp, already loaded with judgment. "It's been days since you last called. Your father and I were worried."

"I'm fine, Mom," I replied, glancing at Leah, who gave me an encouraging nod. "I've just had a tough week."

"Well, that's what happens when you choose a career like that," she said, her tone disapproving. "I told you that being a surgeon would be too much. You could've had a more reasonable job, one that doesn't leave you so... drained."

Her words stung, the familiar feeling of disappointment wrapping around me. I wanted to defend myself, to tell her how much I loved my job despite the challenges, but I'd tried that countless times before. It always ended the same way.

"Mom, I'm fine," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I love my work, and I don't regret it."

There was a long pause on the other end before she sighed. "Well, just think about what I've said, Ella. Your father and I want the best for you."

I muttered a quick goodbye and hung up, the weight of her words lingering. I felt Leah's hand on my shoulder, grounding me, and I let out a shaky breath.

"She's just... she's always like that," I explained, trying to brush it off. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to make her understand."

Leah's hand moved from my shoulder to take my hand. "You don't have to prove yourself to anyone, Ella. Not even her."

I managed a small smile, appreciating the way she seemed to know exactly what to say. "Thank you, Leah. Really."

Leah's POV:

The rest of the day passed in quiet companionship. We took a walk through one of London's parks, letting the cool autumn air and vibrant colors of the changing leaves offer a kind of peace that words couldn't. I wanted to remind Ella of her strength, to reassure her that she didn't have to carry all these burdens alone. And as we talked about everything but work and family, she seemed to lighten, letting herself be just Ella, not the surgeon or the daughter with impossible expectations placed upon her.

That evening, back at her flat, I felt a sense of calm as we settled down to make dinner together. It was a simple meal, pasta and wine, but as we laughed and talked over the stove, it felt like we were building something important, something that went beyond the past week's struggles. There was a warmth between us that was growing, like a fragile bloom that we were both carefully nurturing.

After dinner, as the evening grew late, Ella walked me to the door, a mix of gratitude and something deeper in her expression.

"Thank you, Leah. For... everything," she said softly, her eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

"Anytime," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

She reached for my hand, and I felt her fingers tighten around mine, as if she didn't want to let go. "Would you... maybe stay again tonight?" she asked, her voice tentative but hopeful.

I nodded, feeling a rush of warmth. "I'd like that."

We settled back onto the couch, her head resting against my shoulder, our hands intertwined. It was quiet, the sounds of the city drifting softly from outside. And in that stillness, it felt like all the pieces of our lives—the struggles, the fears, and the vulnerability—had led us to this moment.

As we drifted into sleep, I knew that whatever came next, we'd face it together, side by side, each one anchoring the other.